Elias's mind raced as he stood in the center of the village square, staring down at the ancient sigil carved into the earth. The mark of the gods. His blood ran cold as he realized what it meant—the gods weren't merely watching him from afar; they had already begun to reclaim the world in their name. His own actions, his pursuit of the orb, had led them here. And now, there would be no escape.
The soldiers moved cautiously around him, hesitant to approach the sigil. Rhea stepped forward, her face pale as she studied the symbol with a mixture of awe and dread.
"This…" Rhea whispered, her voice trembling, "This is the mark of the Old Ones. The gods that are older than the world itself. They've never left their traces so openly before. This is a message."
Elias clenched his jaw. He had always believed that the gods were distant entities, mere stories told by the old and forgotten. But now, standing in the heart of this silent village, he understood the full weight of their power. They were not stories. They were real. And they had already begun to shape the world in their image.
"A message," Elias repeated, his voice tight. "What kind of message?"
Rhea's gaze shifted from the sigil to Elias, her expression conflicted. "That you have chosen poorly, Master."
The words stung more than Elias was willing to admit. He had always prided himself on his decisions, on his ability to bend the world to his will. But this—this was a force beyond his comprehension. The gods had long been relegated to myth, their power whispered about in the darkest corners of the world. But they were here now, and they were no longer content with mere whispers.
"What do we do now?" Merek, one of the soldiers, asked, his voice betraying his fear. "We can't fight them. We can't fight this."
Elias turned his gaze to Merek, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. "We can't fight them directly—not yet. But we can learn. We can find out what they want and how to stop them."
Rhea's gaze hardened. "And if we can't stop them? What then? You saw what happened here. The villagers are gone, erased from existence. This isn't just a warning—it's a declaration."
Elias didn't respond immediately. He had to think, to strategize. His mind spun with possibilities—ways to break the gods' hold over him, ways to use their own power against them. But each path he considered seemed more dangerous than the last. The gods were old, ancient beings that had lived far beyond the mortal span. They had no need for subtlety or mercy. They would erase him, just as they had erased this village, without a second thought.
"We need to find out what they're after," Elias said finally, his voice quiet but resolute. "I won't let them destroy everything we've worked for."
Rhea nodded reluctantly. "And how do you propose we do that? The gods don't give answers. They give commands."
Elias turned away from the sigil, his mind working through the next steps. "I'll find the answers," he said, his voice low with determination. "I've already come this far. I won't let them control me. Not now. Not ever."
---
The journey back to the estate was tense, the weight of the village's disappearance pressing heavily on their shoulders. The once-familiar road now seemed ominous, the air thick with a sense of impending doom. Elias rode ahead, his mind focused on the task at hand. He needed to uncover the truth, to understand what the gods wanted from him, and why they had chosen him in the first place.
By the time they returned to the estate, the sun had begun to set, casting long shadows across the grounds. Elias dismissed the soldiers, instructing them to remain on alert, but to stay out of his way. He needed to think, to plan, and he couldn't do that with others watching him.
Inside his study, Elias poured over the texts once more, his eyes skimming the ancient passages, searching for anything that could give him insight into the gods' motives. But every page seemed to slip through his fingers, like sand through an open hand. The more he read, the more he realized that the gods had left no trace of themselves in the mortal world. No written record, no prophecy, no clue as to their true desires.
Hours passed, and still, Elias found nothing.
Frustration mounted in his chest, but he refused to give in to it. He had faced impossible odds before and overcome them. He would do so again.
Suddenly, a chill ran through the air. Elias paused, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn't the wind or the changing of the seasons. This was something else—something more.
A whisper echoed in the back of his mind, soft at first, then growing louder, more insistent.
"You will serve."
The voice was familiar, a low murmur, like the hum of a thousand voices speaking in unison. It was the gods. They were reaching for him again, pulling at the threads of his will. Elias's heart pounded in his chest as the whispers grew louder, more demanding.
"You will serve."
The command reverberated through his skull, each word like a hammer striking his mind. His vision blurred, the air growing heavy around him as if the very walls of the study were closing in. He tried to push the whispers out, to focus on the task at hand, but it was no use. The gods had taken hold.
"No," he muttered through gritted teeth, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge of the desk. "I will not serve."
The air in the room thickened, swirling around him like a storm, and for a brief moment, Elias could feel the weight of an unseen presence pressing down on him. The gods were there, just beyond the veil, watching him, waiting for him to break.
"You will serve," the voice repeated, stronger now, more insistent. "You cannot escape."
Elias's eyes burned with the intensity of the magic swirling around him. The gods had pushed him to his limits. But he wasn't ready to surrender. Not yet.
With a surge of will, Elias forced himself to his feet. His fingers twitched as he reached for the ancient texts on his desk, scanning the pages for anything that might give him a clue. His hand fell on a page that seemed different from the others—an old ritual, one that spoke of binding and breaking divine wills. It was dangerous, a last resort, but it was the only option he had left.
He began to chant the incantation under his breath, his voice shaking but growing stronger with each word. The power surged through him, an almost unbearable heat radiating from his chest as the magic began to build. But just as he felt the first stirrings of success, the voice of the gods came again, louder and more forceful than ever before.
"You cannot defy us."
The room seemed to crackle with energy, the air thick with the pressure of the gods' fury. The sigil they had left behind in the village, the mark of the Old Ones—it was their sign, their power, their claim on him.
But Elias refused to yield. "I will not serve."