I felt a bolt of adrenaline run down my spine.

Precursors were meant to kill the Gods?

But…

“But most of them are dead,” I said tentatively. “My understanding is that nearly all of them died in the fighting of the War in Heaven.”

“Most is not all,” The Elder said decisively. “The Gods of Order were all but wiped out, yes, but the Gods of Chaos lost only a single member.”

I tamped down on a surge of irrational panic building up inside me with my core ring. “Is it just the Chaos Gods I’m supposed to, uh, deal with then?”

“Again, I suspect no. The wording of the ancient Precursor’s ‘Quest’ was...somewhat clear,” The Elder denied. “What few records I have that survived the fall of the Elven empire described it. The text read, ‘Slay the usurpers, and be returned’. After that was a counter reading zero out of fourteen. The total number of Gods, between both Order and Chaos. While such wording is vague, ancient Precusor's insisted that the 'usurpers' the quest referred to were the gods. They said there was simply an impression from the quest that they were the targets.”

Slay the usurpers, and be returned.

Then…there actually was a way to get back home. To Earth.

And Dad.

I let out a shuddering breath.

“That’s impossible, though,” I said quietly. “From what I’ve been told, there are only two Gods still available to Vereden. The Mad God here, and the leader of the Orcs on Indiqua. The rest of them are scattered out among the other planets that you guys lost contact with after the War.”

I don’t know if I was feeling defeated or relieved right now. Maybe a mix of both? I had long ago resolved to build myself a new life here on Vereden, and here this guy was telling that there might be a way to get back home. Only, it had been locked away for literal millennia.

“Well,” The Elder said wryly. “Only part of that is true.”

Uh. What?

“While Fynneas and Lyneia, the Orcish Goddess of Prosperity as the last of the Gods of Order, are still on Vereden and Indiqua,” The Elder leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. There is one last God that stayed in familiar waters, following the War. The Chaos God of Death, Xavien. He settled with the Goblins on Indiqua.”

I blinked. The Goblins? Grey had told me what little he or anyone knew about them, several months ago. According to him, they were incredibly insular. While they didn’t outright turn away visitors, they were pretty damn xenophobic. They had no interest in interacting with the combined peoples of Vereden and Indiqua. The Elder was telling me that was because they were harboring one of the Chaos Gods?

How the hell did he know all of this?

“How do you know that?” I said, bewildered. “Who are you? Why are you actually telling me all of this? I don’t buy that you just wanted to tell me old rumors about Precursors.”

The Elder deflated then. Where before he had seemed like a mysterious old sage, imparting lost wisdom to the young, now he just looked like a silly old man in cosplay. With a tired wave of his hand, a series of roots crept out of dirt floor of the cellar we were in, forming into a makeshift seat for him that he veritably flopped into. “That’s a valid question,” He said, in a worn-down tone of voice.

The Elder reached up then, and grasped his mask. Lowering it, I could see his face for the first time. While Grey and Honoka looked like well-preserved people in their fifties or sixties, the Elder most definitely looked elder. His face was drooping in places, with numerous deep wrinkles. Oddly, they nearly seemed to radiate out from the center of his face, giving the impression of rings, as if the Elder was a great aged Oak long past its prime.

The old Elf before me looked exhausted in both body and spirit.

“I, am Prince Alveron of House Coillmhòr, of the now defunct Elven Union of Lasgach,” Elder Alveron said, in a defeated tone of voice. “The man you know as the Mad God was, once upon a time, my great-grandfather.”

I hadn’t noticed, but ‘Alveron’ had apparently created a second root chair for me as well. I was startled when my foot brushed against it. Finding the chair waiting behind me, I decided to take the invitation and sat down. “How does that work? Gods having families?”

Did that make this guy the Elven equivalent of Jesus or something?

“It isn’t complicated,” Alveron answered with a fatigued smile. “The ‘Gods’ are physical existences, after all. In the old days, if you were foolish enough to approach them, you could theoretically clasp hands with one. Possessed of a body as they were, that came with certain…urges. They were capable of siring children, who came to be known as the Godblood. Fynneas of Coillmhòr only begat one line, who would receive his blessing to lead the Union in his stead. I am the last of that line.”

“So, I’m guessing that after the end of the War and the Initiation, you…came here then?”

“I did not, no,” Alveron shook his head. “When Fynneas returned to us after the War, we could tell that something was wrong with him. He was agitated, and moody. He would lash out in irrational anger against those who cared for him the most. We tried to comfort him when we could, thinking it was only the horrors of losing his Pantheon causing his fugues. However, you cannot imagine how chaotic those days were in the aftermath of the Initialization. None knew the particularities of the System as we do in this day and age. Blood ran thick in the streets across the breadth of Vereden, even the vaunted Gem City’s. We simply thought to give him time to process his grief, as we fought for stability. This…would be our downfall.”

He fell silent then, nearly drooping in place from his own grief. I…almost wanted to comfort him, but honestly, I just didn’t know the guy well enough to do so. I remained silent myself. Eventually, the old Elf stirred and continued his story.

“Fynneas grew worse over time. He retreated to his keep, and was not seen in person for many years as the Initialization Wars raged. After a time, the majority of the violence in the Union was quelled after drastic, distasteful actions were taken. Looking back, I can see how we were being influenced by Fynneas’s worsening state even then, from the Union’s increasingly bloodthirsty responses to the emergency. By the time we had regained a measure of control over the situation, the God of Freedom was dead. In his place was the Mad God, ravening, bloodthirsty, and all too eager to share his mania with others. He started with his own family.”

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Alveron clasped his hands before him and stared off into space with a blank look on his etched features.

“I will never forget that day. He came with the rising of the sun, as my family was breaking our fast. My grandfather was the first to greet him. Standing from the dining table with joy at the first sight of his father in years, he moved to embrace him. Instead, the Mad God reached into my grandfather's chest and tore out his heart. Amidst the screams and whispered questions of ‘why’, he consumed it before us. The slaughter continued from there. My father moved to engage the creature in our progenitor's skin, shouting for me to run with my injured younger sister. I know he did not survive that confrontation. As I raced through the halls of the palace surrounded by fleeing servants and guardsmen, I was only saved by the foresight of the court Archmage. He gathered my teenage self along with everyone in his sight, and forcibly teleported us here. To this forest. My last sight of Lasgach was as the people began to succumb to the same madness as my great-grandfather, and turn on each other.” He fell quiet for a moment. “I did not know it during my flight, but my sister was long dead by that time. She had bled out in my arms long before the Archmage found us. She lies in this forest, now.”

Well. That was…

“How did you keep from going mad too? I mean, if everyone was already losing their mind from the influence?” I asked the fragile old Elf.

After a moment, Alveron stirred from his ancient grief and met my eyes, green on green. He gave me a wan smile. “Distance, I believe. At least initially. The Archmage was wise, and immediately suspected the connection that Fynneas had with our people for the reason my people lost their minds. He frantically searched for a way to halt the madness from taking us, as we mourned the death of our old life. He found it. This forest was a research site of the royal families, for one important reason. Here on this coast dwells a Spirit of immense power. Not as strong as one of the Gods, but strong enough. Bargaining with it, the Archmage made the ultimate sacrifice for his people, in a permanent deal with the Spirit. In exchange for his life, any elf that bound their blood to it would be protected from the madness of Fynneas. I’ve spent my entire life searching out stray members of my people and driving the madness from their soul, here at Ealáindeall. Our Haven.”

I furrowed my brow. “Why tell me all this? Again, I’m sorry you had to go through all that, but what does it have to do with me? I can’t imagine you’ve told many people this story. Does Grey even know all of this?”

“He does not, no,” Alveron’s eyes flickered behind me, before he shook his head. “These are very…private and difficult things to speak of. I tell you this, so you have the required knowledge to decide on what I’m about to ask you.”

I sighed.

I…could guess what it was, after Alveron’s tale.

“You want me to actually try and fulfill the Precursor’s quest, don’t you,” I said, tired for my own reasons. “You want me to kill the Mad God.”

“I do,” Alveron said quietly, ashamedly.

“Why does it have to be me?” I asked, frustrated. “If you’re so old, you have to be strong yourself. Why don’t you do it?”

Alveron gave me a bitter smile. “It may surprise you to hear this, but I have.”

I blinked rapidly in shock.

“Oh yes,” Alveron said. “Once I was strong enough, I sought out my great-grandfather in the charnel house that he had turned Lasgach into, and slew him. It wasn’t easy, and I very nearly died myself in the attempt. But I most certainly did slay him. For a time, I was nearly delirious with joy. I had finally done it. After more than a thousand years, I had avenged not only my family, but my very people as well. I watched as the hold that the Mad God had on the Elves slowly grew fainter, and they began to resemble what we had once been over the course of a year. Alas, it was not to be. Once that year was over, Fynneas reappeared in a rampage of insanity, right in the heart of Lasgach. With his return came the resurgence of his hold on my people. It was as if he had never left. I tried again. I was stronger, and more familiar with his abilities. I killed him a second time, and then he returned again, another year later. I would repeat this cycle for a very long time, young man. Several decades, in fact. It never worked. In between his rebirths, I searched for a reason as to why he was returning. I found nothing, no matter how many stones I turned. The only thing I did find…were ancient histories speaking about Precursors.”

Oh.

“You think that the only thing that can kill a God for good is a Precursor,” I said. I wasn’t even asking a question. It just seemed…obvious.

“I do,” Alveron inclined his head in my direction. “In fact, I’m certain of it by now. You aren’t the first Precursor I’ve approached about this task, since the Fall of Lasgach. I tried before, with another about oh, a millennium ago. I was never able to contact Wei the Righteous, you see. The Precursor before him was a man by the name of Nasir Jabbar, who grew to be a mighty warrior. By this time, my strength was starting to…wane from my advancing age. As much as I wished to help him in his battle, my contributions were not enough to win the day. Nasir fell in battle, and I shamefully fled. However, Nasir had a very curious racial skill. With it, he could strike through whatever defenses his target possessed. More than once, I watched as the mountain of a man simply punch straight through an opponent as if they were paper. Despite our failure, I was able to see that the Mad God was desperately avoiding Nasir’s burning fists, as if the odd flames were his bane. I suspect you might have a similar skill. Am I wrong?”

Odd flames…

I reached for my waist, where my collapsible spear rested. Drawing it, I cast The Scintillant Blade.

My dagger erupted in rainbow fire, casting odd shadows in the small cellar around me.

Alveron nodded, satisfied. “A sight I haven’t seen in a millennium. I believe it’s possible that this fire is the only weapon capable of killing a God for certain. A not unreasonable hypothesis, wouldn’t you agree…Greycton?”

What? Grey?

I was startled by the sound of a mild voice behind me. “Oh, it sounds possible.”

I turned around just in time to watch as Grey melted out of the shadows of the cellar, cloaked in void and stars. With a twitch of his finger, Grey’s concealment spell or skill dissipated. My mentor approached my and Alveron's sitting positions. He laid a hand on my shoulder and then fixed Alveron with a steady gaze. “It was certainly a very interesting history lesson, if nothing else.”

“What?” I said, bewildered. “When did…”

Grey smiled down at me. “Oh, about the time the Elder was leading you away from town. I didn’t get as far as I did in life by blindly trusting everyone, not even people that I believe are my allies,” He said pointedly. I winced, but nodded. Message received. “Besides, he knew I was following behind the whole time, didn’t you, ‘Alveron’?”

Alveron laughed slightly. “Of course I did. With my waning strength and failure with Nasir, our young friend here would need assistance against Fynneas that I cannot provide. This explanation was as much for you, as it was for him.”

Grey studied the older man for a moment with a critical gaze, before making a noise of understanding. “Ah, I see. You’re finally undergoing Core Collapse, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Alveron inclined his head serenely. “I have perhaps twenty years before I pass. I apologize for overstepping, but I wished to pass on what might be my people's last hope before the end came.”

I watched the oddly calm confrontation between the two old men with ping-ponging eyes. I had no idea what Core Collapse was, but it didn’t sound great.

“Well, it’s an interesting possibility, to be sure,” Grey said casually, as if the fate of an entire race wasn’t on the line. “However, it will have to wait. I’m afraid that Nathan and I have prior arrangements for the foreseeable future. What with the War and all.”

Alveron snorted, standing up from his makeshift chair. It melted away into the soil below. The Elder placed his mask back on his face and raised his hood again. “Oh, that little spat? You’ll have that settled in the next few months,” He said dismissively. “All I ask is that you keep my request in mind for afterward.”

Grey flickered his eyes my way, before smiling disarmingly at the Elder. “We’ll consider it. For now, I think it’s time my apprentice and I get back to the guest hall. After all, we have a big day tomorrow.”

The Elder inclined his head in our direction before pausing. He turned his masked face in my direction once more. “I don’t recommend pursuing the ancient Precursor’s quest any farther than the Mad God, if you do decide to accept my request,” He said bluntly. “Fynneas is reduced by his madness, but Lyneia and Xavien are not. Both were canny combatants, in the War. In either case, I wish you luck, young Precursor.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, I stood up from my own root chair, letting it retreat back into the soil. Exchanging a glance with Grey, we mutually decided it was time to get out of here. When we reached the door to the cellar though, I paused and turned for one last glance.

My last view was of Alveron standing in front of the statue of his great-grandfather and gazing at it pensively, hands behind his back.