The day passed quickly, the sun barely shifting in the endless twilight. Eren and Jace sat with the rebels in what was once a thriving market square, now reduced to rubble and overgrown with weeds. The air was thick with the scent of decay and the distant hum of the dying gods' hunger, a constant reminder of the world's fragility.
The old man, who had introduced himself as Aelar, sat across from them, his face as hard as the stone beneath them. Around him, the other rebels gathered, listening intently. Their faces were weathered, hardened by years of struggle, but their eyes still burned with the will to resist.
Aelar's voice broke the silence. "You wish to understand what happened here, don't you? Why we are as we are, and why the gods are no more."
Eren nodded, his eyes flickering to Jace, who had grown more distant as they walked through the ruins of Elarion. The faint echo of divine energy still lingered in his form, a reminder of his own ties to the Crucible.
"Please," Eren said, his voice steady. "Tell us. We need to know. This place, these people… it's all so different from anything we've seen."
Aelar leaned back against a crumbling pillar, his gaze lost in the distance. "Elarion was once a realm of balance. The gods ruled here, yes, but they did not do so alone. They worked with mortals—great cities were built, magic flowed freely, and the realm thrived under their rule. But then… then came the Crucible."
The word hung in the air like a dark omen, its weight pulling the attention of everyone present. Even the other rebels leaned in, as though the mention of the Crucible had awakened something deep within them.
"The Crucible is a test," Aelar continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "It is a battle, a trial where gods and mortals alike fight for power, for control. Every hundred years, the strongest of us are summoned to fight in that arena, to prove their worth. The victor… they ascend. They become a god. But the cost—oh, the cost is unimaginable."
Jace stiffened at the mention of the Crucible, the memories of his past as a vessel creeping back into his mind. He had fought in the Crucible, not as a contestant, but as a vessel for a god. The gods used the Crucible to choose new vessels, powerful mortals who would carry their essence, becoming something more than human. It was a twisted system designed to ensure that the gods would never truly die, that they would always find new hosts to carry their will.
"But what does the Crucible have to do with this?" Eren asked, his brow furrowing. "How did it lead to all of this?"
Aelar's eyes darkened. "When the Crucible was corrupted, when the gods' hunger for power grew insatiable, everything began to fall apart. The gods who ruled Elarion were no longer the wise beings they once were. They became desperate, consumed by their need to remain in control. They turned on each other, feeding on their own kind, draining the land and the people of all they had."
"The fracture," Jace murmured, as if to himself. His voice was low, a faraway look in his eyes. "That's what they called it. The moment the gods lost their power…"
"Yes," Aelar said, nodding gravely. "The fracture severed the gods from the Crucible. The connection was lost. Those who remained tried to feed on whatever they could find—souls, divine energy, even the land itself. But the power they stole was never enough. The gods grew weaker, and Elarion—well, Elarion became this."
The old man gestured to the desolate landscape, the ruins of once-grand cities now buried in dust and shadows. "What you see around you, this decay, this silence—it's the result of the Crucible's corruption. The gods lost their connection to the Crucible, and with it, their true power. Some of them fought to regain it, while others were cast out. The ones who were cast out? We are their remnants. We are the ones left behind when the Crucible consumed them."
Eren's gaze hardened, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "So the gods who remain… they're feeding on this land, on these people, just to survive?"
Aelar nodded, his face grim. "Yes. They feed on the weak, the broken. They drain whatever they can to regain their former strength. But it's never enough. They are hollow—nothing more than shadows of their former selves, clinging to life."
"And the Crucible?" Jace asked, his voice carrying a deep, unsettling understanding. "What does it want now? Who's controlling it?"
Aelar paused, his gaze shifting toward the horizon. "The Crucible no longer has a single controller. It is a broken thing, twisted by the gods' failures. The last true gods of Elarion—the ones who once ruled this place—are gone. But the Crucible itself, its influence… it lingers. The gods who remain, they fight over the scraps of power they can salvage. And we? We fight for survival."
Jace looked at Eren, a silent understanding passing between them. The Crucible was not just a test for the strongest—it was a battlefield, a war between gods and mortals, all vying for control. Elarion had been caught in its wake, left to rot under the weight of divine hunger.
"We need to end this," Eren said, his voice resolute. "We have to free Elarion from their grip. They can't be allowed to feed on the land, on the people, any longer."
Aelar regarded them both for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. "You are not the first to think that. Many have tried. But the gods are not so easily defeated. They will do whatever it takes to reclaim their power. And when they do… it will be the end of us all."
"We'll take that risk," Eren replied, his jaw clenched. "This world—this realm—can't keep dying. We'll stop the gods, or we'll die trying."
The rebellion in Elarion had already begun. And now, it would grow, fueled by the determination of those who refused to be consumed by the gods' endless hunger.
The air in the crumbling market square grew heavy with the weight of Eren's words. The resolve in his voice sparked something in the rebels, a glimmer of hope that had long since been extinguished by the gods' relentless oppression. Aelar's weathered eyes flickered with a mix of caution and curiosity. Eren and Jace, despite being outsiders in this broken world, had an undeniable fire within them—a fire that could change the course of their struggle.
Aelar slowly rose from his sitting position, his hands brushing off the dust of ages as he looked around at the gathered rebels. "The road you're asking for will be treacherous. But... I see something in you. Something the gods are too blind to see anymore. We will help you."
The rebels around them murmured, exchanging uncertain glances, but they didn't speak. They didn't need to. The offer was clear, and their desire to fight had been rekindled. They were tired of hiding, of running from gods who were little more than predators.
Aelar turned and motioned for Eren and Jace to follow him. "Come," he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority despite his age. "We'll need to meet with the others. Those who have been organizing against the gods. They may not trust you yet, but they'll listen to what you have to say."
As they walked deeper into the ruined city, the rebels fell into line behind them. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of wind through overgrown vines. Aelar spoke as they moved.
"You'll need to know more about the other factions, the groups who have been working against the gods. We can't do this alone, not anymore."
Eren nodded, his mind already working through their options. "Who are these other groups? How many can we count on?"
Aelar glanced back at them, a faint shadow crossing his face. "There are three major factions in the rebellion. The Ashen Legion, a group of hardened warriors who have been fighting for decades. They're fierce, but they are distrustful of outsiders. They don't believe in fighting the gods directly—they prefer guerilla tactics, hit-and-run strikes."
"The Silver Dawn," he continued, "are more focused on restoring the old ways. They've studied the ancient texts, searching for a way to reclaim the gods' power without becoming like them. They're scholars, mystics, and mages—powerful, but not warriors. They believe that the gods can be defeated by understanding their magic, by taking back what was once theirs."
"And the third?" Jace asked, his curiosity piqued.
Aelar's expression darkened. "The Crimson Hand. They are the most dangerous. They believe the only way to end the gods' rule is to become gods themselves. They're ruthless, using whatever means they can—dark magic, blood rituals, whatever it takes to gain the strength needed to overthrow the gods. Their methods are extreme, but they're effective."
As they reached a large, crumbled building—once a grand hall of some sort—the group stopped. Aelar motioned for them to follow him inside. The room beyond was dimly lit, the walls covered in faded tapestries and scattered maps. It was clear this had once been a place of great importance, but now, it was just another hiding place, a haven for those who still resisted.
At the center of the room, around a large table cluttered with weapons and scrolls, sat several individuals, each bearing the marks of their struggles. The leader of the Ashen Legion was a tall, muscular woman with a jagged scar running down the side of her face. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, glinted as she sized up Eren and Jace. Beside her sat a wizened old man with a long, white beard, his face wrinkled with age but still possessing an unbreakable will. The others were scattered around the room, each one representing a different faction.
Aelar stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension in the air. "These are the leaders of the rebellion. We've come to ask for your help. These two—Eren and Jace—are prepared to fight the gods. They understand the stakes."
The woman with the scar narrowed her eyes. "You're asking us to join forces with outsiders? To trust them to lead us against the gods?"
Eren stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "We're not asking to lead. We're asking for your trust. The gods have torn this world apart, and we all have the same goal—to end their reign. We need to fight them together, or we'll all be swallowed up by their hunger."
The old man, the leader of the Silver Dawn, spoke up. His voice was soft but carried the weight of years of study. "The Crucible... It is not just a battlefield. It is a force in itself. If the gods are allowed to continue feeding on this world, they will only grow stronger. The very land itself is tainted by their presence. If we do not act soon, this world will be lost entirely."
The leader of the Crimson Hand, a tall man with a cruel smile, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "The gods can be defeated, yes. But only if we become like them. Power is the only language they understand. If we have the strength, we can take everything from them—consume them before they consume us."
Aelar raised a hand to silence the room. "The Crimson Hand seeks to become gods themselves. They risk becoming no different than the gods they fight. If we are to succeed, we must fight them on our terms, not theirs. We must defeat the gods without becoming them."
The rebels fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. The tension in the room was palpable, but Eren could feel a shift—a growing understanding that the gods could not be allowed to continue. They needed to be destroyed, and the factions could not afford to remain divided.
After a long pause, the woman with the scar spoke again, her voice steady. "I'll trust you—for now. But know this, outsider: We don't follow easily. Prove that you can help us end this, and you'll have our support."
Jace nodded, his eyes meeting Eren's. "We'll prove it."
The plan was set into motion. The factions would unite, if only temporarily, to take down the gods once and for all. The rebels began to prepare for the long war ahead—gathering weapons, researching the gods' weaknesses, and fortifying their positions.
Eren and Jace, now at the center of this new alliance, had no illusions about the challenges ahead. They knew that the road would be perilous, and the gods would not fall easily. But with each passing moment, their resolve grew stronger. Elarion had fallen under the gods' rule, but it would rise again—freed from their hunger, their tyranny.
And they would be the ones to lead it to freedom.