For the briefest of moments, Castrol saw something flicker in Kingg's eyes, a shadow that danced across his features like a candle's flame caught in a sudden gust of wind. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there—a flicker of doubt, a crack in the veneer of charm. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and in its place was the same warm, inviting smile that had been there before. "Indeed," Kingg said, his voice as smooth as the whiskey they had been forced to sip. "A gift reserved for those who are worthy."

"And what makes you so certain that it is possible?" Millie's question was a challenge, her voice as sharp as the edge of a freshly honed blade. "For even the elves, with their long lives, are not immortal. And I have heard tell of their efforts to conquer death, to no avail." Her words hung in the air like the scent of rain before a storm, a promise of the tumult to come.

Tobias took a moment, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words. He took a sip from his whiskey, the amber liquid seeming to dance in the candlelight as it swirled within the glass. "Ah," he said at last, "As always, you cut to the heart of the matter, Millie." His smile was like a crescent moon, hinting at the night's secrets without fully revealing them. "The problem with humans, you see, is their tendency to elevate the elves to the status of gods. To believe that their long lives and grace are a sign of some innate superiority."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze piercing. "But the elves are not without their own flaws, their own weaknesses. Their pursuit of immortality has blinded them to the true nature of power." His voice grew softer, more intimate, as if sharing a secret whispered by the very gods themselves. "You see, elves are bound by the cycle of life and death, as are we all. They seek to extend their lives, but in doing so, they miss the greater truth. It is in our divine blood, in the ephemeral nature of existence, that true power lies."

The room was silent, save for the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of the city's heartbeat. "Imagine," Kingg continued, "a world where only those who truly understand the value of life, those who have felt its fleeting warmth, are granted the gift of eternity." His eyes, cold and calculating, bore into Castrol's soul. "It is not the elves with their endless years that the gods have chosen, but us, the humans with our brief, passionate lives."

He leaned back in his chair, his expression one of smug satisfaction. "You see, the elves have been living for so long that they have forgotten what it means to truly live. They squander their days in pursuit of knowledge and beauty, neglecting the power that lies within their very veins." He paused for a moment, as if to let the gravity of his words sink in. "But we, we understand the value of time. We know that every second is precious, and it is that understanding that makes us worthy of the gods' ultimate gift—immortality."

The room remained taut, the tension palpable. Castrol could feel the weight of the unspoken words pressing down on them like a heavy blanket. He knew that Millie was not one to be easily swayed by grandiose promises, especially when they were wrapped in such opaque language.

Her voice, when it came, was as clear and sharp as a bell ringing in the silence of the library. "Your Highness," she said, her eyes never leaving Kingg's, "you speak in circles. Tell me, how will your divine prophecy grant us this immortality you so generously offer?"

The smirk on Kingg's face grew, his eyes gleaming like polished onyx in the candlelight. "Ah, so eager for the truth, aren't you?" He leaned back in his chair, his movements languid and unhurried, like a cat toying with a mouse. "If you wish to understand the intricacies of our divine plan, all you had to do was ask, Millie."

He took another sip of whiskey, savoring the flavor before setting the glass down with a deliberate clink. "Our world," he began, his voice like the purr of a contented cat, "operates on the most fundamental of principles: the rule of equivalent exchange." His gaze swept over the room, as if daring any of them to question his wisdom. "For every action, there is a reaction. For every gift bestowed, there must be a price paid in equal measure."

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He leaned forward, his eyes locked on Millie, the weight of his gaze as heavy as a crown of iron. "Mages, as you know, draw upon the very essence of their souls to wield their magic. The more they give, the more powerful they become. But as they give, their souls grow weary, their flames dimming with every spell cast. It is a dance with fate, a delicate balance that keeps their power in check."

Tobias paused, letting his words hang in the air like a noose. "But what if," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire, "what if that same rule could be applied to your life span? What if one could harness the very essence of life itself, and offer it as a sacrifice to the gods in exchange for eternity?"

Castrol felt a coldness spread through him, a chill that seemed to seep into his very bones. The word "sacrifice" echoed in his mind, bouncing off the library walls like a mournful chant. He knew where this was heading, and his stomach clenched in a knot of dread. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Tobias Kingg's smile grew, as if delighted by Castrol's reaction. "It's quite simple," he said, his voice as sweet as a siren's song. "In order to extend one's life indefinitely, one must offer something of equal value to the gods. And what could be more precious than the very essence of life itself?" He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a feverish intensity. "By offering a long life span in exchange for a longer life span, one ensures the gods' favor and, in return, their immortal gift."

"All that is required," Kingg said, his eyes burning with a zeal that was both mesmerizing and terrifying, "is to bind the years of one life to another. To offer a soul brimming with potential, a life unlived, in exchange for one that has worthy blood flowing through their veins." His fingers danced in the air, illustrating an invisible web of fate that he claimed to manipulate.

The horror of the revelation struck Castrol like a blow to the chest. "So," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's just a cycle of borrowed time. A never-ending chain of lives consumed to fuel the greed of those who wish to live forever?" The thought was monstrous, a perversion of everything he had ever believed the gods to stand for.

Tobias Kingg leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening into a full-blown smile. "Ah, you see," he said, his voice like velvet, "you are a clever one. That is one way to think of it. Yes." His eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement, or perhaps it was the reflection of the flickering candlelight. "But think of it not as greed, but as divine right. Those who are chosen to wield the power of the prophecy, those whose blood sings with the music of the gods, they are the ones who shall inherit the earth."

"...h-he's basically admitting to the ritual murders," Millie thought, her eyes widening in horror as she took in the implications of Kingg's words. Her heart raced like a wild stallion, and she had to fight the urge to stand up and draw her blade. The very air in the library seemed to thicken with the weight of his revelation, as if it too was suffocating under the weight of his monstrous plan.

But before she could respond, a knock pierced the quietude, echoing through the hallowed halls of the library like a gunshot in the night. The sound was so jarring that Castrol's hand instinctively reached for the sword at his side, and even the unflappable Lady Catherine looked surprised.

Tobias Kingg's smile never wavered. He looked at them, his eyes gleaming with an anticipation that sent a shiver down Castrol's spine. "Looks like it's time," he said, his voice a silken thread of darkness.

With a grace that seemed almost unnatural, the Pontiff of the Post-Avarician Faith rose from his seat, the fabric of his robes billowing around him like a cloak of shadows. He held out a hand to Lady Catherine, who took it with a tremble that she quickly tried to hide, her eyes wide and unsure. Mathews followed suit, his hand clamping down on Kingg's with the desperation of a drowning man grasping for a rope thrown from a distant shore.

Tobias Kingg turned to Castrol and Millie, his smile as warm as a summer's embrace. "Are you not eager to see the dawn of this new era?" he asked, his voice a siren's call, sweet and seductive. "To bear witness to the birth of a world where the worthy shall never know the embrace of the grave?"

"Come," Tobias Kingg urged, his hand outstretched to Castrol and Millie, a knowing glint in his eye. "Do you not wish to be part of this historic moment?" His voice was like a lullaby, coaxing them to follow, to accept the twisted fate he offered.

-To Be Continued-