After Quëtzlá materialized in the hall of Tëzcál’s fortress, she saw him standing in front of a grand window, thoughtfully gazing out at the world. Anyone else would have only been able to see the pure white wind-blown flats of the great tundra in front of Tëzcál’s fortress, or perhaps if one had abnormal powers of sight they could see all the way to the snow-covered mountains that separated Tëzcál’s realm from the rest of Terra. However, for Tëzcál, looking out of this window allowed him to see all which occurred across Terra. Before Quëtzlá could approach him, Tëzcál turned to face her.
“Welcome sister,” he said calmly. “I have been expecting your arrival for some time now. Surely you have come to realize what must be done?”
Quëtzlá stood still a moment, examining her brother. She then spoke, though a hint of bitterness could be detected in her usually soft voice. “Yes, Tëzcál, I have come for your aid. Though I am curious as to why you have not provided any as of yet. You must know that both Itzlí and Hüitzlö have been vanquished and that my forces and I are soon to follow.”
Tëzcál did not react to her tone but instead stood calmly before her with his hands clasped together in front of him. Though Quëtzlá expected such a response, it did not stop her from feeling annoyed. “Yes, I have witnessed their defeats,” Tëzcál said after a moment. “Though, I am not sure if this outcome is as ruinous as you seem to believe.”
Quëtzlá stood dumbfounded for a minute, as even the Lord of Wisdom was unsure about the meaning of Tëzcál’s words. After some reflection, she took a deep breath and spoke. “I do not fully comprehend that which you say brother, and I certainly do not agree with it, but as the Lord of Creation you are entitled to your opinions.”
“That is all I may ask,” Tëzcál said with a slight grin. “Now, to the matter at hand. How do you suggest we defeat Xöltlá?”
Quëtzlá thought for a second, “His control of Nether Magic has made his army undefeatable through force alone. Perhaps if we could strip him of his power to control the Nether then we could stand a chance.”
Tëzcál’s grin grew slightly wider, almost patronizingly so. “I am afraid it is impossible to do what you suggest. Xöltlá is the Nether Lord, and as such, we cannot strip him of that power. Much like how he cannot strip us of our Lordships.”
“He managed to take Itzlí’s and Hüitzlö’s Lordships away easily enough!” Quëtzlá responded quickly.
“Yes,” Tëzcál agreed calmly. “However, he did so through destruction and his control of the Nether. Neither of which you nor I, for that matter, may wield.”
“Then what is your suggestion?” she asked bluntly.
Tëzcál turned around softly and began to stare out of his fortress’ grand window again. He stood there contemplating for what Quëtzlá felt like hours. He then began to speak while looking out of the window. “How long have we existed in this world sister?”
“It must be close to ten thousand years or so. Why do you ask?”
“Perhaps it is time for us to leave this plain of existence, and give this creation to those mortal races which you and our siblings have spawned.”
“And what does this philosophizing have to do with Xöltlá? Do you think he would willingly leave this world he has already killed two of our brothers to control?”
“No, I do not think he will do so willingly. However, I do not intend on allowing him to have a say in the matter.”
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Quëtzlá gave Tëzcál a confused look to which he responded. “I am the Lord of Creation, and you dear sister, are the Lord of Wisdom. We do not need to defeat Xöltlá with destruction. Let us create a new plane of existence in which to trap him. Surely you can come up with such a place that I may craft.” Tëzcál smiled at his sister kindly.
Quëtzlá thought for a moment and then gasped as an idea struck her like a bolt of lightning. “I have an idea, but we must act quickly. I do not know how much longer my soldiers can hold out.”
***
Lüma’í lay lifeless on the floor of Quëtzlá’s throne room in a pool of blood, her golden helm tossed near her side, nearly split in two by the blow of an axe. Screams of those Elven warriors, who had not fled into the wilds with the Orcish refuges to avoid being slaughtered, could be heard throughout the castle. After his force, now mostly consisting of the undead, had secured the throne room, Xöltlá entered. He strode across the floor, uncaringly stepping in Lüma’í’s blood, leaving a trail of bloody footprints as he walked towards the throne. As he turned to sit down he was stopped by a booming voice that sounded as if it was coming from all around him; a voice that Xöltlá feared.
“Enough, brother!” The voice commanded.
Xöltlá frantically looked around, but could not determine from where the voice originated. “Show yourself!” He hissed furiously.
“It is time to conclude this tantrum of yours,” the voice said, more calmly than before.
Xöltlá let out a wicked chuckle, though he still looked around for the source of the voice with a panicked expression on his face. “And what, oh dear brother, makes you think you can stop me when the rest of our siblings have failed? Hmm? Is it arrogance that I sense? That was always your one flaw, Tëzcál.”
At the saying of his name, Tëzcál appeared before Xöltlá. Quëtzlá then appeared beside Tëzcál.
“So that is where you fled to,” Xöltlá smirked seeing Quëtzlá. “You needed help to fight your own battles?”
“That’s enough!” Tëzcál said forcefully. “Let us end this!”
Xöltlá stared at his brother, the hatred was palpable. “Yes,” he hissed. “Let’s.” Xöltlá then rushed at Tëzcál, brandishing his Nether Dagger that had already tasted the blood of two of their siblings. However, before he could strike, he found himself frozen in place, paralyzed, and unable to move. Quëtzlá, with both her hands, stretched out towards him, spoke in the tongue of the Ancient Ones. Xöltlá could not turn his head to look at her.
Tëzcál slowly approached his brother. “May you find peace as you drift forever through The Plains of Eternity.” He said softly.
Xöltlá swore angrily, and after speaking a few words in the tongue of the Ancient Ones mustered up enough power to spit what appeared to be an egg-shaped mass through the opened doors of the throne room. Tëzcál squinted for a moment, pondering what his brother’s plan was, but then noticed that Quëtzlá was beginning to struggle with holding Xöltlá in place. Tëzcál looked over to his sister, who nodded affirmatively. Then, Tëzcál lifted his right hand towards Xöltlá, put his pointer and middle fingers together, and gently touched Xöltlá on the forehead. There was a blinding blue flash of light as if lightning trapped in a bottle exploded forth and engulfed the world, and then, quiet.
***
After a few days of scavenging in the woods, the Elves and Orcs returned to Quëtzlá’s realm to find no remaining sign of the Ancient Ones. There, both races settled and after generations of interbreeding, the Orcs, who there were far less of, to begin with, were almost totally consumed by the blood of Elves. There they founded the providence of Sédaliä, which became the kingdom of the Elves.
Those Dwarves that remained in Itzlí’s realm stayed amongst the mountains, and there they founded the providence known as The Forge Lands. Though they were no longer enslaved or forced to work the mines, they had grown accustomed to the work and even enjoyed it. Soon the Dwarven crown was established, and very few of their race now venture out of their homeland.
Lastly, it is said that from the egg-like mass, Xöltlá deposited on Terra during his final moments hatched the race of men. They are thought to have wandered across Terra for generations before founding the providence they called Olympia in the three-hundred and twenty-seventh year of the First Era, thus ending the First Era and beginning the Second. After a while, the Ancient Ones were mostly forgotten about, and those that did remember them talked of them as if they were legends and nothing more. Then tensions began to rise between the Elven kingdom in the West and the human kingdom in the East over who would control Terra. Wars became constant, and the hostilities continue to this day.
***
The old Elven man with dark grey hair and green eyes, that at one time may have been vibrant but were now dulled with age concluded his story. He arose from his chair next to the fire and walked across the main hall of his fortress towards a grand window. He wore leather armor, though light in weight, and provided much protection during combat. On the leather armor, there was an emblem that resembled a nightshade flower, with six strange runes written across its center and petals. Lastly, on his side hung a sword which, despite having seen plenty of battles, looked as sharp as a razor, as smooth as glass, and as strong as the finest Dwarven forged titan steel. As he stood staring out the window at the pure white wind-blown tundra below he heard the light footsteps of the child whom he had been reciting the story to come up to him. As the Elven man turned around, he looked down at the boy who was no older than six. He was a human child, with olive skin, dark black hair, and vibrant deep violet eyes. The old elf smiled as he looked down upon the boy.
“Master Dín Zalä,” the young boy asked impatiently. “Whatever happened to the Ancient Ones?” A good question for a curious child to ask, as it had been nearly twelve-hundred years since the Ancient Ones left Terra.
The elf got down on one knee, so he and the boy were the same height. He rested a hand gently on the boy’s shoulder and smiled. “That, my dear Elijah. Is a story for another time.”