The elven warrior had retreated, standing calmly near the entrance in a defensive stance. His supporting companions maintained a circular motion around the temple, and Thswoner was prepared to defend them should Kharvathar target them. The temple measured roughly forty meters on each side, with an additional hundred meters extending northward from the elf.
*I will end this quickly. Despite the restrictions, I can still kill him,* Thswoner thought.
But he did not move. Kharvathar had risen to a more human posture, calmer now—as though the menacing aura was slowly dissipating.
"I have killed many of your ancestors, I presume," Kharvathar spoke perfectly. "I was created for that. I remember the wars and the destruction."
Thswoner narrowed his eyes. What he witnessed was an abomination beyond measure. This thing spoke flawlessly. He maintained his composure and glanced toward Neftraya, who watched quietly from the altar, fearful.
"She did this to you?" the elf asked, still holding the black sword raised before him. He exchanged glances with his distant companions.
"I was already thinking even before being transformed into this form through her intervention."
Thswoner relaxed his stance slightly. The desert wind blowing through the open gate cooled his body and mind. If Kharvathar was telling the truth, then someone had awakened the creature. A name flashed through the elf's mind—but he knew it was impossible; that one was dead.
Thswoner tightened his grip on the sword. His first decision resurfaced in his thoughts: it did not matter. Killing the creature would resolve everything—and afterward, he would kill the human woman as well, even if it violated his people's vows.
At that moment, on the far side of the temple, Ishara and Uras'Diptsur entered. Ishara had lagged behind—her father had forbidden her from coming—but the pharaoh, wary of the main entrance yet driven by curiosity about what was happening inside, knew he had to act. This was his empire, his domain. Together, they spotted Neftraya and approached her.
At the temple's main entrance, the elf stared at the creature—who gazed back without blinking—and spoke:
"If you think, then allow me to propose an elevated thought to you." Kharvathar nodded, willing to listen.
"Consciousness is granted only to beings created by the good will and light of the One. Beings born of Chaos cannot, must not, and are incapable of possessing this gift." Thswoner raised his sword and pointed it at Kharvathar. "Yet here you stand before me, speaking and thinking."
Kharvathar said nothing; he shared that very doubt. He had hoped the elf would explain how it happened—but Thswoner sought something different.
"If you can comprehend this unforgivable profanation, then accept death willingly and the end of your impious soul."
The elf widened his eyes, raising his voice. "In this way, you will prove that the undeserved gift you received has a purpose: to terminate your existence." In a sense, it echoed what Uras had once said to him. Thswoner had assumed the creature's newly awakened mind might be swayed by such reasoning. Kharvathar narrowed his eyes, pondering the words.
Uras reached Neftraya at the same instant Kharvathar questioned his own existence—nearly ninety meters away, yet still visible to him.
"How could you allow this, Uras? I was so close…" The priestess lifted her gaze to the pharaoh.
"I do not know what you did to convince him. I demand to know." He ascended the polished marble steps.
"She wishes to continue her disrespectful profanation," Ishara interjected. Her furious red eyes gleamed beneath the hood. "I should kill her here and now for what you have done."
Neftraya smiled at the elf and replied: "You do not know what you speak of. You accuse me of what you cannot comprehend."
"How arrogant—to think you understand more than an elf simply because you have read a few books and learned sorcery?" Ishara mocked. "You are condemning us all."
Neftraya furrowed her brow.
"Then try to kill me—and prolong your exile for the rest of your life," the priestess challenged with a smile. Uras'Diptsur interrupted:
"No one will die—not yet." He glanced toward the distant standoff and wondered why both figures remained still, but he seized the moment.
"Tell me now, Neftraya."
"He will ally with us, Majesty. I know it—I have spoken with him. I can bring him to our side."
"What madness!" Ishara protested vehemently. "Do you even hear yourself? Are you insane?"
Uras'Diptsur stared at the priestess. Ally with that thing? The one that had destroyed part of his city, nearly killed his son and himself.
"And why would I accept this? Let the elves kill him. That was why we summoned him, Neftraya. That was our agreement: to bring him here to be slain." Uras reminded his friend. "We could not do it ourselves. But we know the elves can. I see no reason to have him on our side. No. He is an abomination."
Neftraya sighed, her eyes grave.
"Think for a moment, Pharaoh. The elves see consciousness as a divine finger; I see it as a natural evolution of our powerful existence." She explained, meeting his gaze. "He can abandon his nature if he allies with us. Think of the power your empire would gain. Think of the freedom from the elves."
"I have heard enough." Ishara drew a dagger from her waist. Consequences be damned—she would kill this woman.
Neftraya ignored the elf's rage and placed her hands on Uras' shoulders.
"Order the elves to leave!" she urged.