"I can hardly believe we speak that name so freely now." She smiled, a touch of comfort warming her features. "Even with lives far longer than ordinary elves, we still die. If you leave that wound untended, Celas, you too will perish." "Bleeding out, just as Oris did. She was the most pitiful among us, Nira.Only after her death did others begin calling us 'the Gods.' Oris never once felt what it meant to be named divine, scarcely knew the fragrance of offerings. When facing the Titan Pantheon, she was fearless beyond measure—had every death in the world been heaped upon her shoulders, she would not have trembled. Yet such a warrior could not withstand the censure of her own kind, nor the slander whispered behind her back. I cannot forget how helpless she looked in that bath, blood flowing relentlessly from her wrists. She appeared so fragile then, so utterly despairing—nothing like the warrior who thundered across battlefields."

  "That time was truly dark. Throughout Illuviλofer, scarcely a soul offered us gratitude. They deemed us brutal, bloodthirsty, devoid of compassion or mercy—Oris most of all. Only after her suicide did the outcry begin to quiet. Yet I doubt their opinion of us ever truly shifted." "The irony is that afterward we were called 'the Gods,' and humans granted us worship. I wonder if it was because we approached immortality, or because we dared take arms against the Titans."

  "Perhaps both," Nira, Goddess of the Forge, said with uncertainty. "In truth, it was our own kin, not humans, who first bestowed the title of 'Gods' upon us—upon those of us who fought the Titan Pantheon during the Rebellion Era. During that senseless, bloody invasion of Illuviλofer in the Era of Greed at dwarf hands, some among our oppressed kin finally remembered us—sinners forgotten by time—remembered the oppression of the Dark Era and the few elves who dared rebel. They named us 'the Gods' and elevated our station to match the Titan Pantheon or the dragons themselves. It was merely fantasy, a vessel for desperate hopes. In reality, save for us 'Gods' and a handful of Anlad Elves, no one rose to meet the dwarven butchery with force. The elven dream burst like seafoam, and later humankind continued the worship of us—'gods' who were anything but." "And now humans have ceased to believe in us. I never imagined faith could fade."

  "No, Celas. Faith never fades; it merely changes masters. Most in Cynthia now worship Goria. Wyrmδenborn needs no explanation—it was, is, and ever shall be a gathering place for devotees of the Ancient Dragons. And the entire south under Godma's influence bows to the Triad of Destiny—amusingly, they are still our kin. In the end, only a meager territory remains to us in the northern realms." Nira looked pleased with her clever wordplay. "We cannot expect offerings, nor demand continued faith. For we have given them nothing—not even hope." Celas shrugged. "We never deserved the title 'Gods.' That false mantle has hung upon our shoulders for thousands of years. All the while, we've hidden, seeking solitude in darkness. Yet strangely, I still hunger for reverence and adoration. Am I... so vain?"

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  Nira smiled at her. "Vanity is the elven nature. We are a people who live for beauty." Celas, Goddess of Moon and Harvest, stroked the blood-seeping bandage, falling silent for a moment. "So—did you kill them all?" "Hmm?" Celas looked up. "Oh, the thugs. Yes. There was no alternative." "It must have been long since you last wielded a sword." "Indeed." She shifted the blade closer. "I never imagined that after the dwarves, this blade would be turned against humans. I won't deceive you—I've always preferred the bow to the blade." "I won't take that as criticism of this straight sword." The Forge Goddess took the weapon from Celas's hand. "Ellivēlla. One of the most perfect weapons I've ever forged." "Oh?" The Moon and Harvest Goddess raised an eyebrow. "What could possibly compare to her?" "Illutasingēr," she replied. "A longsword I crafted not long ago—equal in length to Ellivēlla, but lighter in the hand. I presented it to the Queen of Cynthia." "The Singer of Victory."

  Celas savored the Elvish name on her tongue. "I just realized—we aren't speaking Elvish." "We have forgotten, have we not? Habits smoothed away by time. Fewer speak Elvish in Illuviλofer now than before. After all, it was elves who created the Common Tongue." "May that blade bring the queen good fortune—and songs of victory." Celas shook her head. "Though that may be beyond reach now." "Godma sweeps across the land like a plague," the Forge Goddess sighed. "When Crividsylvan fell, I happened to be in a local dwarven smithy, teaching young craftsmen how to give Steel of Elnya its resilience. There was so much senseless killing—elven bodies in the streets, and half-elves fared even worse. I thought after the dwarves of the Era of Greed, we'd seen the last of such atrocities. I never imagined humans would be even more... vicious."

  "I don't understand," Celas said, straightening her back, her tone earnest and grave. "If faith cannot make one more righteous and kind, cannot fill the heart with love and mercy for all living things—then of what use is this faith? What meaning does it hold?" Nira returned the sword to her companion. "Though your view of faith is noble and generous, the reality may be otherwise. Typically, faith is simply a refuge people continually seek—a crutch for the heart. They sin, and seek forgiveness; they face challenges, and seek blessings. Eventually, should they come to know themselves completely, they discover that faith, temples, religion—none of it truly matters anymore. It will no longer be the mirror that conjures a smiling face for them, no longer be central to their existence.

  For they have grasped the meaning of their own being, pursued that meaning, and ultimately fulfilled it. To reach such enlightenment requires traversing a very long road, one rutted with conflict and bloodshed. Do you know? Godma's war is largely driven by their religion—by the prophecy of the Triad. I do not know what this prophecy entails; the wind did not whisper its secrets to me. But the three goddesses have certainly brought devastation upon the living. Perhaps some grander design lies beneath it all, but I cannot endorse their methods. The war between dragons and Titans; the wars of elves, dwarves, goblins and halflings against the Titans; then elves against dwarves; and finally humans against humans—through centuries, this theme spawns countless tragedies. I cannot say how long it will take to transcend this cycle, but I know that besides war, we possess many other means to resolve our differences." "But war is the most direct, the most convenient solution. It demands less thought than any other way."