Awakening in The World of Gods

[In the Distant Elven Kingdom]

Nestled within the heart of an ancient forest, an elvish kingdom thrived in perfect harmony with nature. Towering silver trees stretched toward the heavens, their luminous leaves catching the gentle rays of dawn. The air was alive with magic; glowing spirits floated serenely among the branches, and fireflies flickered like tiny stars, creating a scene so tranquil it seemed untouched by time.

At the center of this mystical land stood a modest hut, crafted from luminous wood that glimmered faintly in the pre-dawn light. In the hut's cozy interior, an elderly elf sat reclined on a carved wooden chair. A steaming cup of herbal tea rested in his hands, the earthy aroma filling the room. His silver hair cascaded down his back, shimmering like moonlight, and his deep emerald eyes reflected the serenity of the world outside.

He took a slow sip, savoring the peaceful moment. "What a beautiful morning," he murmured to himself, a faint smile gracing his lips. "If only every day could start this way."

He closed his eyes, letting the calm envelop him. But the fleeting tranquility was shattered by a frantic pounding at the door.

Bang, bang, bang!

"Grandpa! Grandpa! We have an emergency!" a young voice cried out.

The elder sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as his moment of peace evaporated. "There goes my quiet morning," he muttered. With a groan, he set his cup down and rose from the chair, his joints cracking softly as he stretched. He shuffled toward the door, muttering all the while, "What is it now? Why the noise so early? Is someone on their deathbed?"

He opened the door to find a young elf—his grandson—standing on the threshold, panting heavily. His chest rose and fell as though he had sprinted all the way there. The boy's usually bright expression was clouded with fear, and his hands clutched a scroll so tightly his knuckles were pale.

"Grandpa, it's urgent!" the young elf blurted, thrusting the scroll forward. "A message from the High Council!"

The elder's eyebrows rose slightly, his casual demeanor replaced by a sudden seriousness. "The High Council doesn't send messages lightly." He accepted the scroll, his hands moving with practiced precision as he broke the ornate seal and unrolled the parchment.

His eyes scanned the document swiftly, his expression darkening with every line he read. His grip on the scroll tightened, the faint crinkle of paper breaking the tense silence.

After a moment, he sighed and rolled the scroll back up. Handing it back to his grandson, he said, "Summon the council. Immediately."

The boy hesitated, his fear evident in his wide eyes. "Grandpa… the message said something about the corrupted. Is it true? Have they returned?"

The elder placed a reassuring hand on his grandson's trembling shoulder. His voice was gentle but firm. "It seems so. The darkness we worked so hard to banish has found its way back. But don't worry," he added with a faint smile. "We've faced worse and come out stronger every time."

He stepped back into the hut, his movements steady and purposeful. From a corner of the room, he retrieved a finely crafted staff. Its wood, polished to a radiant sheen, glowed faintly with ancient runes that pulsed as if alive. The moment he grasped it, the air around him seemed to shift, carrying an unspoken promise of power.

"Haa… why does the conflict never end?" he murmured, a trace of weariness in his tone.

Despite his complaint, his voice grew firm, carrying the weight of centuries of wisdom and resilience. "The forest will not fall to the shadow," he declared. "Not while I still draw breath."

The young elf gave a hurried nod and dashed off to carry out the elder's orders. The elder watched him go, his sharp gaze following the boy's retreating figure until it vanished into the distance.

For a moment, the elder stood alone on the threshold of his hut, his staff planted firmly by his side. The soft glow of dawn had lost its luster, and the hum of the spirits seemed more subdued. The air, once serene, now carried a faint, foreboding chill.

He looked to the sky, where the last stars of the night still lingered. Their faint light reminded him of the long battles he had fought in his youth—the days when he had stood as a protector of the realm, his name whispered in reverence. Now, even as the years had softened his body, his spirit remained unyielding.

"So much for a quiet life," he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching in a wry smile. "It seems even in old age, a warrior's work is never done."

The elder turned and strode toward the village's central gathering hall, his staff glowing faintly in the growing light. Though his steps were slow, they carried an unshakable resolve. The elvish kingdom might be on the cusp of another dark era, but he would not let it fall without a fight.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, as if awaiting the storm that was sure to come.

[The Council Room of the Elven Elders]

Within the grand chamber of the ancient Elvish council, five elders sat around a circular stone table hewn from a single massive slab of enchanted granite. The room's walls shimmered faintly with protective runes, their soft glow pulsating like a heartbeat in the dim light. Despite the chamber's grandeur, the air was thick with tension, an oppressive silence holding the gathered elders in its grip.

The eldest among them, a venerable elf with flowing silver hair and piercing emerald eyes, sat at the head of the table. His serene visage carried the weight of centuries, yet his eyes burned with sharp focus. At last, he broke the silence, his deep, resonant voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"As you all know," he began, his tone grave, "we are once again facing Tiara, the Corrupted Supreme Guardian."

A ripple of unease passed through the council. Faces that had weathered millennia now bore shadows of doubt.

One elder, a grizzled figure known for his blunt demeanor, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His sharp blue eyes glinted in the dim light. "I said it 400 years ago, and I'll say it again now. If we had formed an alliance with the other realms back then, we could've wiped out that

...….

accursed #%\$"Noxarath"%%\$\$# completely"

"DON'T!" The eldest elder's voice snapped through the room like a whip, stopping the blunt elder mid-sentence

Before he could say more, a sudden, chilling sensation swept through the room. The very walls seemed to groan under the weight of an unseen force. Frost crept across the stone table, and the candles flickered violently before dimming. All the elders froze in place, their breaths visible in the frigid air. The eldest narrowed his eyes and spoke in a cold, measured tone. "Are you a fool? To speak that name so freely? You know full well that even uttering it is a curse upon us. Refer to him only as the Dark God." His voice dropped, carrying an almost reverent fear

The blunt elder stiffened, his normally confident demeanor faltering. "I—"

The eldest continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "that even speaking that name brings his shadow closer to us. "He is the one who slaughtered the Goddess of Nature. His power surpasses even that of most deities, rivaling the Guardian Deities themselves."

The blunt elder swallowed hard, the chill in the room doing little to hide the sheen of sweat on his brow. "Fine," he muttered. "The Dark God. But the point remains—we should've taken him out centuries ago!"

The eldest exhaled slowly, the frost retreating as his temper cooled. "Perhaps," he admitted. "But unlike Tiara, the Dark God has no desire to destroy or dominate this world. His goals remain… incomprehensible. As long as he does not act against us, we are better off leaving him undisturbed."

A heavy silence followed, the weight of his words pressing on everyone present.

Finally, a third elder broke the stillness. His scarred face bore the marks of countless battles, and his deep voice carried the steadiness of a seasoned warrior. "We cannot afford distractions. Tiara is our immediate concern. If anyone has a strategy, now is the time to speak."

The second elder, a fiery-tempered elf, slammed his hand on the table. "And what do you propose, Kael? We've faced her before, and you know damn well we barely survived."

Kael's gaze remained steady. "I propose we seek out Aeloria the Starbloom."

The room erupted in chaos.

"What?!" the second elder spat, slamming his hand on the table. "That's absurd! How could you even suggest such a thing? That witch is more trouble than she's worth."

"She's treacherous!" another elder hissed, fists clenched. "Have you forgotten the lives she cost us the last time we trusted her?"

A quieter voice chimed in—an elder known for his cautious and measured demeanor. "And yet," he said slowly, "she is powerful. Far more so than anyone here."

"She's untrustworthy!" snapped the fiery elder, his face red with indignation. "I'd sooner fight Tiara myself than turn to her for help."

The eldest elder, who had been silent during the argument, suddenly cleared his throat, drawing all eyes back to him. His expression was sheepish, almost guilty. "Ah… about that," he began hesitantly. "I may have already sent her a message."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Then, with a screech of wood against stone, the fiery elder shot to his feet, his face a mix of rage and disbelief. "You WHAT?! You reckless old fool! Have you lost your mind?"

The eldest raised his hands in a placating gesture, forcing a nervous smile. "Now, now, let's not overreact. Desperate times call for desperate measures, don't they?"

"Overreact?!" the fiery elder bellowed, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You've done it again! This is just like the time you summoned that cursed storm dragon! Do you ever think before you act?"

The other elders groaned, some burying their faces in their hands. The grizzled blunt elder muttered, "I knew it. I knew he'd pull something like this."

The eldest sighed, his smile fading as his tone grew serious. "I understand your frustrations. But whether we like it or not, Aeloria is our best chance at surviving this. If we are to face Tiara, we cannot afford to let old grudges hold us back. Prepare yourselves—because the witch will be here soon."

Another heavy silence descended on the room. This time, it was filled not with anger, but with reluctant acceptance.

The fiery elder sank back into his chair, scowling. "If this backfires, don't expect me to clean up the mess."

Kael nodded solemnly. "Let's just hope we're making the right choice."

The eldest elder turned his gaze toward the chamber's high, arched windows, where the light of dawn was beginning to filter through. The tranquil glow seemed at odds with the storm brewing in their hearts.

"The right choice or not," he murmured, more to himself than to the others, "we will soon find out."