While the decision of whether to unmask the new God of Elves weighed on my mind, reality continued to unfold in the mortal realm. Karla had finished the grim task of feeding Kurraghal’s remaining life force into the eggs. She had employed a method similar to the one the velmoryns used to extract essences, but instead of allowing the energy to gather into a gelatinous mass, she had channeled the raw power directly into the eggs.
Now, the husk of Kurraghal lay before them, drained and hollowed of its powers.
“If you no longer need the rest of it, I’ll start breaking it down into smaller pieces,” Mirion said as he flexed his fingers around the hilt of his massive axe. “Gundir wants us to bring back everything we can carry.”
Karla glanced toward the corpse, a flash of genuine sadness crossing her features. It felt inherently wrong to further mutilate a creation of the Goddess, yet she understood the pragmatic reality of the velmoryns. To them, this was not a sacred relic; it was simply another beast they had successfully hunted.
“Perhaps… perhaps the corpse will be useful to Kurraghal itself when it is reborn,” she lied. She could feel the heat rising in her face, the tips of her long, pointed ears turning red. She pointedly avoided Mirion’s gaze, staring instead at the charred ground.
“You’re a worse liar than Tek… the Priestess,” Mirion remarked with a short, dry chuckle. He reached out and patted the elf on the back, a gesture intended to be comforting, but the sheer weight of his thick, heavy hand was too much for Karla’s delicate frame. She stumbled forward, nearly losing her footing.
“Erm, sorry,” Mirion apologized awkwardly and pulled his hand back as if he’d forgotten his own strength. He pointed the tip of his axe toward the remains of the creature. “I don’t know what connection you share with this thing, or why its fate bothers you so deeply. But I am grateful that you chose our kin over it.”
Karla opened her mouth to retort, but the words died in her throat.
“Have you ever seen a funeral? A true velmoryn funeral?” Mirion asked.
“Yes,” Karla replied quietly. “Just once.”
“Do you know why we plant trees over the graves of those we love?” Mirion asked again, though this time, he didn’t wait for the elf to answer. “There is no greater honor than to leave a mark behind after you’ve gone. Immortality isn’t a prize reserved only for the great and the powerful. Perhaps for your kind - beings, whom time cannot touch - death is viewed differently. But for us, those who fall victim not only to dangers of struggle but to the inevitability of years, we believe immortality is found in what we leave behind.”
Karla’s eyes widened, the shadow of sadness slowly lifting from her features as she listened.
“Think about it,” Mirion continued, his tone uncharacteristically solemn. “When I die, my daughter will carry me in her blood and in her heart. She is the continuation of my life, and her children will carry a fragment of both of us in turn. That is how mortal beings achieve the eternal, Karla. We tend to our future generations more fiercely than we tend to ourselves. Perhaps if we weren’t constantly staring down an inevitable end, our values would be different. But as it stands, our children are everything. Even after our Lord takes us to His kingdom, we hope to leave something in this world that continues to support our kin. That is why we plant those trees. They are nourished by the last of our remains, growing strong so they can shelter and support the new generations for ages to come.”
“That is indeed different from how elves see death and life,” Karla said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Mhm,” Mirion nodded. “What would change if we allowed the remains of Kurraghal to waste and rot here? Wouldn’t it become mere fodder for the forest? Instead, with Gundir’s care and talent, it could be forged into artifacts that will protect our people for ages. It could become the very shield that saves a life or secures a generation. I’ll tell you what my father once told me: Show pity before you swing your blade. After that, your heart should hold nothing but respect and a singular focus on the prosperity of your kin.”
Karla watched with wide eyes as Mirion stepped toward the creature and swung his massive axe. The edge, shimmering with a faint glow of mana, bit easily into the bark. Without Kurraghal’s essence to reinforce it, the hide was no longer an impenetrable armor.
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Karla turned away, unwilling to witness the disassembly of the creature. However, the tight lines of guilt and sadness had begun to fade from her face. Instead, her brows were knit together in contemplation, the weight of Mirion’s words beginning to take root.
“Lord… no,” she corrected herself. “Father. I want to rescue my kin. No matter how long it takes, I will become strong enough to save the elven race.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, the salt reaching the curl of her mouth. Karla was smiling. It was a bright, terrifyingly determined expression - the look of someone who had just discovered newfound resolve.
As I watched Karla walk away, I recalled my own past and the moment I had resolved to live this life to the fullest. Mirion was right: death was the very thing that gave life its value. Perhaps that was why the gods of this world were all transported creatures from other realities. If they had once been mortals, like Sophia or myself, then they possessed a fundamental understanding of life’s worth that a natural-born deity could never grasp.
However, knowing the value of life and respecting it were two vastly different things. I hadn't cared if my believers lived or died either. Perhaps, without the influence of my divinity, I would still feel that same indifference toward the mortals beneath me.
There must be gods who are like me.
If I could find them, if I could forge alliances with deities who still remembered what it meant to be mortal, what it meant to die, we might be able to form an alliance. Those who had died once and valued this life would be willing to help each other. Not out of goodwill or some benevolent motive, but because of necessity. United, we would stand a chance.
An alliance for survival.
The image of the Netherworld Marquess being obliterated with a mere touch remained fresh in my mind. It served as a persistent reminder that no matter how powerful I became, there would always be beings strong enough to erase me from existence on a whim.
Still, I needed to be careful. If the Goddess had failed to find allies she could actually trust, what guarantees did I have? I would make the attempt, but I wasn’t about to throw caution away.
Making the decision, I shifted my focus back to the mortal world.
Two eggs lay on a cloth beside the remains of Kurraghal’s corpse. In her emotional turmoil, Karla had forgotten them, but now she was crouched beside them, cleaning the golden ichor that had sprayed across their surfaces when Mirion began his work.
I had expected the eggs to hatch the moment they absorbed Kurraghal’s life force, but they were taking their sweet time.
I decided to use Guidance.
[Reviving Extinct Species]
Restoring life to an extinct species is an achievement recognized even by the gods. To claim this feat, both eggs must successfully hatch and possess the capacity to reproduce.
The eggs are currently digesting the absorbed life force and will hatch when ready. Supplementing formless mana is recommended to ensure a successful outcome.