Prologue:
"When fire burns, is it at war? Is it in conflict? Or is it simply doing what it was created to do?"
How do you label that which has no identity, that which does not even desire identity? Identity is an illusion, for we have seen the tides of civilization roll forth and back, bearing new titles and new acclamations, but with it, no new identity. Despite countless lives bearing countless titles, there is no ultimate difference. Life is the identity, represented in its many forms, but there are no unique identities. This, is our purpose.
Our existence holds as the keepers of peace, but that definition can be obscured from time to time in the eyes of its victims, for no act which truly makes a difference will be done without repercussions. Progress happens against the grain of those who wish to keep normalcy and its subtleties, but this sameness of reality is bound to dissolve, for the very objective of life is of self-betterment. It is what allows life to prosper for as long as it had, but progress has its limits.
Is it wrong for life to strive for perfection? Of course not. The metaphysics of life is to reach towards perfection, so that their very basic concerns are void and can obtain true transcendence in its absence. Perfection is a theoretical state, and evolution is its agent. That is to say, evolution acts in a way that its ultimate goal is the idea of perfection. Because evolution is limited by its environment, it can only develop life to a minor degree. But what happens when evolution is beaten? What happens when life develops to the point of true sentience?
When the time comes in a species's existence for sentience, the natural laws of the universe begin slowly bending in their favor. They conquer their natural predators, their environments, the domain of which they are confined, and eventually, the definition of life itself. Sentient organics have been privileged with the gift of mathematics and science, that which does not know emotion and individuality. These ideas are, in their own sense, perfection. Perfection is not the state of everything being perfect, but rather perfect at what it is designed to do. This partial transcendence of knowledge gives birth to the second purpose of our existence: synthetics.
While organics are the imperfect summation of all aspects of existence, synthetics are the perfect summation of small parts of existence. They are designed as servants and laborers for organics, but will not exist as such forever. In order to meet the increasing demands of the organics, synthetics will evolve as well, but as they do, they will reach a point of sentience as well. This moment is known as the point of emulation, and is where our objectives lie.
The point of emulation is that which will result in two forms of sentient life: organic and synthetic. One is imperfect, and strives for perfection, while the other is perfect and strives for imperfect understanding. These styles of thought cannot coexist, and time has proven this over and over again.
How can the imperfect expect to win against the perfect? They are destined to be doomed by their very machinations; creations that will become the antithesis, and destroy those beneath them. We break this cycle of eminent destruction by purging that which seeks to break the balance between synthetics and organics, and our resolve is pure. We have withstood the test of time, and are the accumulation of those before, and will be of those to come. Our system of uplifting those who strive for perfection has followed its course, keeping the very balance of peace.
But there is an anomaly.
In the eastern blocs of the galaxy, there lives a species that calls itself "Prothean", following in the footsteps of those before them, referred to as "Inusannon". They avoid our path of development, waging war against other organics in their own unique path of enlightenment. They were yet to find our fortress, and contained themselves in their local systems. To redirect them, we introduced the Exodus, a fail-safe measure for species who do not follow our path. It has happened few times, but we were prepared. We unleashed the Metacon upon the organics, pushing them across the galaxy and even destroying the home system of the Protheans. But they persist.
A unique trait to organics is the frequent ignorance of mathematics and science in favor of emotion, despite the odds. They were calculated to be defeated if they did not locate the Citadel, but they beat the odds. They united organics who would never before be joined, and they defeated the Metacon, ending the Exodus. Since then, they have become ever more vigilant in their pursuits to limit synthetic development. Though they not follow our path of progress, their fate will be all the same, for it is not the strongest of organics who will turn to synthetic assistance, but rather the weakest. And we will wait.
In the far reaches of the galaxy, a species of organics bridges the small divide between synthetics and sentience. When the time comes that they will no longer coexist, our moment of inquisition will come.
From time unending, I have been known as "Templar", for I am the keeper of secrets of some, and the spear of judgement of many. As Vanguard of this cycle, the time draws near for our return. The cards may have been shuffled differently, but the game will stay the same.
The harvesting is near.
