The tattered fleet of ships of all kinds sailed from the island. From small fishing boats to large cargo ships, the boats were all filled. Hundreds of ships, thousands of Elves. Above us Lights flashed in the cloud; golden, red, black, hundreds of different colours that seemed to collide and battle each other. Their collisions caused explosions which roared like thunder unleashed. In the instants the sky lit up there was a chance we could see the outlines of the figures, a glimpse of the powers now deciding our fate.

In one echoing clash, the clouds themselves dispersed like dust in the wind, and I saw three blurs burst toward each other. One, a radiant lightning bolt of pure golden energy shot towards the rainbow of light, and the sickly green beam. In the following collision, their fight slowed enough to actually see the 3 gods.

Êathera, our mother, a radiant being, a warrior clad in golden armour, her silver spear leaking a chromatic mist, had collided with the many limbed arachnid horror, shrouded in green vapours, who’s arms ended in barbed claws and who’s face, shrouded in the vapor as it was, still made me feel sick from this great distance, and the serpentine dragon, with veins of rainbow light leading to the draconic scaled throat, feeding the energies that shot out of its mouth into our mothers face.

There was also something off with the two gods who sought to kill our mother and eradicate us elves from existence. An aura of corruption, a hint of madness, disease in its purest form. Whilst I had less than a second to make out the figures during their mid clash pause, I managed to make out crystallisation on the skin and scales of our would-be destroyers. I could have sworn the crystals moved around the bodies of the two gods, devouring and consuming them. The corruption seemed alive…. Alive and hungry.

A loud crack echoed behind us. I could see resignation in the faces of the survivors, though most were already as white as fresh snow I could have sworn I saw faces turn paler. We had gone through so much already. I turned to see what had caused the sound of a cacophony of bones breaking in unison. It was obvious that it came from the Island, our home.

My thoughts flashed back to earlier that day, the explosion in the centre of the city, in the middle of the crowded marketplace. Limbs, blood and viscera thrown everywhere. The poisonous fog that seeped from the hole which had once been the heavily populated market. The fog pouring through the city like waves in the ocean filling my walled home with its toxic intent. The multitude of varied monsters that came out of the poison, chasing those that were able to get high enough to escape the slow painful death, tracking down those of us who managed to flee. The millions of elves fighting each other to get onto a boat, the corpses that piled up on the beach… there are now so few of us.

Another whip like crack so loud it caused the boats to shake. Then an uncountable chaos of noise brought my thoughts back to the present. I could see the Island we had fled, but the corpses that I expected to see piled up on the shore, littering the beach, was now covered by a thick green fog. I could see movement in that fog, creatures prowling staring at us, the food that got away. Monsters who weren’t satisfied with the slaughter they were given.

The cracking noises from somewhere within the island piled on top of each other, more and more, faster and faster, louder, louder, louder, louder, louder, until they reached a crescendo. I couldn’t believe my eyes as chunks of the island fell into the ocean, first small sections of land fell out of the poisonous gas, then the mountains in the distance crumbled into nothingness. Soon, to the horror of us all the island itself sank into the ocean. Our home was truly lost, friends, family, millions dead and food for the creatures that dwelled in the deep.

I tore my eyes away from the heartbreak before me. Desperate for a sign of hope of any kind I prayed for our mother. Prayed she would slaughter the two bringers of death. I prayed she could somehow rewind time and bring me back my daughter and wife who had died in that marketplace. Searching the skies I found the 3 divine beings above, just as they paused in yet another clash.

My heart had already broken, my tears had already been wept. I had already seen sights that will haunt me throughout time, and yet what I saw brought a new wave of grief and hopelessness. The dragon god blasted his prismatic energy at her, forcing her to struggle against it with her spear. Taking advantage of the opening, the multi armed freak stabbed into her again and again. Golden rain dripped down from where she hovered, and I saw some sizzling and steaming as it entered the icy sea. She was losing. A tear ran down my face. I knew she would never run; she would die in a vain attempt to save her children.

A dome of golden energy burst from Êathera, forcing her enemies back. This energy shifted and split into two, chasing the dragon and the monster. Catching up to the gods the light encapsulated them, a radiant prison. The two powerful beings immediately attacked their radiant shells, and almost instantly cracks started forming. They would not be held for long.

Our mother however wasn’t watching them. She was looking down on us. Though she was high in the sky, I could somehow see her face, sadness, regret and worry plastered her expression, and she looked into the eyes of each and every one of us one by one. Though she was a god, a divine being, and we mere mortals, frail and weak, she was our mother. I saw her face shift into resignation. She refused to lose any more children.

An infinite moment later she poured unimaginable power into the prisons she had created, repairing the cracks caused by the raging gods, reinforcing them, stopping the divine monsters and buying us all time. I had to wonder though, we had nowhere to run too, what would more time give us except longer to comprehend our end.

The despair I felt, the lack of hope washed away as a golden light bathed me, and all others on the same boat as me. In the centre of the golden light a figure formed. It was her, Our mother here on the ship in person. Regardless of all that had happened on this horrible day, I felt joy love and excitement just being in her presence. Êathera turned to the elf who stood at the bow. Now that I cared enough to look, I realised I recognised him. He was one of the defenders of our city, as useful as they had been, and he was the one who got me and all others who had managed to escape the slaughter to the boats.

Looking at he who would become our leader, and our first high priest, Êathera spoke.

“Though I fall” she said in a voice so beautiful and melodic that the wind itself stopped blowing mesmerised by what it heard. The waves froze, desperate to remain close to the source of noise. “I have seen the future for my children. You will rise again in your new home. I have foreseen the rise of a new protector for elven kind. They shall be an elf, living but not born. They will have power of which they know not. They will come from the sky as the metal city falls. From the ashes of a civilisation, they will rise. They are survivor.”

Without looking I knew that all those around me had heard those her last words. We would never forget a word she had said. Her prophecy would be forever engraved into our minds. We would pass it down to our children and grandchildren. For her, we would never forget.

With an intricate movement of her hands, I saw a glyph appear. It was the most complicated and intricate glyph I, or any other who saw it, had ever seen. I couldn’t understand it, but I could tell its power was beyond anything I could even dream to approach.

Reality tore open, a cut in existence itself formed and a swirling golden portal appeared ahead of the mismatched fleet. In seconds it grew to a mile in diameter, large enough for us all to escape through. Another movement of her hands, another glyph of astonishing power, and the wind picked up to the point that all the boats started speeding towards the portal.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Amazed I stared at our radiant mother but all I saw was the flash of golden light as she once again disappeared. Confused I looked up and saw that our attackers had broken free of their spherical prisons and tore through the sky towards us. Êathera met them and punched with the strength only a god could muster. However, all I felt was confusion, why wasn’t she using her holy weapon, stories said that her legendary weapon could shift between forms, a whip a bow and a spear, yet all I had seen throughout this endeavour was the spear form. However now it was just gone.

Suddenly reminded of a weird noise that occurred when she disappeared from the ship, a quiet thudding noise, I looked to where she once stood and saw as the once magnificent weapon of the goddess fell to the floor, dull and powerless.

As we sailed through the portal, into an unknown land, I searched for our goddess. My final glimpse before we disappeared to safety was Êathera fighting with no weapons, being stabbed through by the queen of aberrations, and held in place whilst the dragon god blasted energy so powerful, I could see her being disintegrated. In that one final glimpse, my heart shattered.

- Unknown Elf on the fall of Êathera

Many of the races of the world think of elves and immediately jump to forests and nature magic, however that wasn’t always the case.

After sailing through the portal, those that escaped the desolation of their home found themselves, without their boats, on dry land in a forest clearing. The first few years were a struggle for those that had already been through so much. At first starvation and the elements nearly finished the jobs the two gods so successfully started. Then the beasts of the forest found them and saw new prey. However, over the years the elves built shelters, then homes. Villages, towns and cities. Elven kind flourished. Thriving in their new home they named MéghHaili, after the immense forest in which they resided, the elves thrived, growing in numbers and in culture until their kingdom was one respected and admired by all.

In the disaster that led to the death of their creator, much of the previous culture and society of the elves had been lost, with much more being forgotten in the desperate bid for survival in their new home. However, with this uprooting of their lives, and the heroic sacrifice of their creator, new traditions, beliefs and religious practices blossomed into the rich and vibrant culture which became synonymous with the elves.

The most sacred of sites within modern elven culture was the high temple, more specifically the temple garden, or lack thereof. The energy generated by Êathera’s portal to the new world completely decimated the land, annihilating all plant and tree life within a two-hundred-yard radius. The creation of the high temple in the centre of the site of the mothers last act, was as much an act of reverence, as it was to ensure future generations would never forget their mother’s final sacrifice. Surrounding the temple sat barren gardens, purposefully left empty and arid in remembrance of the destruction which gave way to new life for this civilisation.

Another key tradition that emerged from the desire to remember Êathera was the Kleos. Just as the original settlers of this land had been sent on a journey from their homeland, forced to find their place, so would every elf born from that day forth. The Kleos was an inherently transient experience, removing the elves from their home, from their identity, in order for them to find their true self. At the age of 25, every elf in MéghHaili leaves their homes and travels on their Kleos, some seek apprenticeships in various trades, some power, magical or political, others just want to find a place to call home. The Kleos is a tradition as old as the kingdom, and a rite of passage no single elf has missed.

Those partaking in this ancient rite of passage are recognised and respected by all inhabitants of the forest from the richest of nobles, to the poorest of beggars, from warriors, mages and merchants alike. Leaders of the council, and high priests hold those partaking in this pilgrimage to such high esteem that nearly all desires and demands are met. With great levels of respect for the power they hold, and the spiritual and historical importance of their Kleos, all Elves set out to achieve one goal. Whilst some are only part of this cultural journey for a matter of weeks, the Kleos will last until the goal is achieved, with some elves reaching old age, or even dying before reaching their goal. Some use it to follow pre-set paths, such as training for a career, the majority of priests for example are those who followed a religiously focused Kleos within a temple of their choice, whereas others venture into the unknown. The only thing that every elf’s Kleos has in common, is the setting of an achievement, a single goal, personal to them. Zosime has known what her Kleos will be for as long as she can remember.

Zosime, born to Agathe and Georgios, is a towering, elf, standing at 6ft 4. She is well built, very muscled, but dexterous and agile, as though her body represented the epitome of elven physical potential. In contrast to the perfect, peek condition of her physical health, her skin was tanned and roughened from years in the sun. Freckles were scattered across her sun damaged skin, like a galaxy of stars. Though not fitting the stereotype of fair-skinned and blemish-free, Zosime cherished her features - her skin, kissed by angels; her scars, telling her story.

Whilst most would choose to heal their scars with magic, Zosime was determined to keep them to remind her of past mistakes, and fond memories. One scar she both cherished more than any others, yet also loathed with a weird ambivalence as it reminded her more than anything else of the love her father had for her, but also the lack of power that she saw as a disability.

This scar, teeth marks on her hand, had been from a beast attack. She had been a young teenager, 13 nearly 14, and exploring with her father. He had seen a rare herb and went to extract it, wanting to grow the weird plant on her farm. Zosime, bored and curious, had wandered off looking for things to entertain her.

Whilst wandering, Zosime heard a high-pitched quiet yowling noise. Sneaking through the underbrush of the forest she saw a cub of some kind of feline race trapped under some logs. Zosime quickly ran to help it, it looked so cute that she had to make sure it was safe.

Luckily her physical strength was enough to lift the logs of the cub, however to her dismay Zosime saw that the cub had been injured. A large cut ran down its side, and the top of a leg. Zosime knew she couldn’t heal it, but her father could. She picked up the cub and was about to turn around and bring the cub to her father, when something heavy knocked her to the floor, the cub falling out of her hands.

Realising something was attacking her, Zosime scrambled to her feet. Turning she saw the thing that had collided into her was in fact a yellow claw. A Red and orange furred beast, with yellow paws (Which gave it its name) growled at her, standing over the dropped cub. ‘Must be the mother’ Zosime thought. As she started too slowly back away. But in this Yellowclaw’s eyes, Zosime had attacked its baby, and would not be allowed to just leave.

It lunged at Zosime who fell backwards, hands infant of her to protect her face. Its teeth sunk through her left hand, the spike of pain causing her to scream out. It had lunged at her so fast. She was but prey to this beast, which whilst ferocious, wouldn’t stand a chance against a normal elf.

The angry Yellowclaw pounced at her once more, and Zosime knew she couldn’t react fast enough, and wasn’t strong enough, to do anything except die. She closed her eyes, worried about how her parents would react to her death, hopefully one day they would have another child, a normal child.

It was only when death didn’t come for Zosime that she opened her eyes again. Her father stood there in front of her, his arm in the animal’s mouth, blood trickled down from where its teeth sunk through his flesh. He had jumped in front of it, he had saved her.

Her father went on to kill the Yellowclaw, carrying the body of the animal back to gut and cook. He had shouted at her the whole way back to the farm, furious that she had run off. Zosime stood silent, thankful for her father, and bitter for her weakness.

She kept the scar on her hand, and even refused to let anyone heal the wound, deciding that as a self-inflicted punishment she must bear the pain and let it heal naturally.

In contrast to her more masculine frame and life-worn features, her hair sat shoulder-length, a shimmering chocolate colour, styled in a pixie cut, giving her a mystical and feminine air that she would otherwise lack. As would be suggested by her strong build, she excels in physical tasks, both athletics and acrobatics, being just as happy to dance her way through a field of poisonous plants as she is to carry the farms produce through the town.

Throughout her life, Zosime has struggled where other elves have collectively excelled. She has no connection to either the laws of gods or magic. No way to manipulate the world around her or boost her own prowess, and it was here that Zosime fell behind others of her kind.