"We'll go with you. First, we'll try talking—offer food, make our apologies, and see if that works.
If it doesn't, we'll ask if just one person is enough. If she agrees, you'll go. While you're with her, speak kindly, ease her guard. We'll have people lying in wait nearby.
If one person isn't enough, hold her attention while we pretend to retreat and find a second volunteer. The others will remain in ambush, ready to act at the first chance.
Remember, we won't abandon anyone—and you mustn't abandon yourself either. We'll all come back safe, and give your mother a surprise!"
Hearing the village chief's words, the boy nodded heavily.
Four young men went with him, carrying baskets filled with the finest food and produce. Another dozen, armed with weapons, prepared to move quietly into position.
Elliot and Morax also took up weapons given by the villagers, joining the group readying themselves to strike the god.
...
In this short span, Morax's view of humanity had shifted greatly.
Long ago, while they observed humans, Elliot had asked him:
"What do you think is most important to humans?"
"Life, I suppose. Not just for humans, but for all creatures. Without life, nothing else matters," Morax had answered.
"No," Elliot said firmly. "There are things more important than life."
"Impossible. What could be more important than life? Without it, what use is anything else?"
"You'll understand someday."
Elliot hadn't explained further back then. But today, Morax finally understood.
He never imagined someone would willingly offer up their life for another.
And that someone was a child.
An eight-year-old child, choosing death to repay a debt of gratitude.
In Morax's eyes, eight years was barely a blink. Out of those years, humans spent their earliest learning to speak and walk—time that wasn't even truly their own. Which meant this boy hadn't even begun to live, and already he was ready to march toward death.
In all his long existence, there were few people Morax truly admired. Elliot was one. Now, this boy was another.
He respected him deeply—in every sense of the word.
...
When everything was ready, they set off for the mountain.
After a long trek, they finally arrived at the immortal's dwelling.
She was a woman, her body blazing with fiery light, her fur resembling that of a fire fox. Beside her lay Qing'er, still unconscious.
"Too long," she said coldly, her tone thick with displeasure.
"Forgive us, Divine One," the village chief said quickly. "I am this village's chief. I now understand what happened. It was wrong of us to disturb you. When we return, I will punish them severely. Please, I beg your mercy. Forgive the ignorance of my people."
He admitted fault immediately, wasting no words. Then, the four villagers carefully carried forward the baskets of food and fruit.
"These are tokens of our sincerity. We hope you will not despise them. One as beautiful as you must surely have a kind heart as well. Please forgive our offense."
With that, the men and the chief dropped to their knees, kowtowing deeply.
"We were wrong. Please forgive us."
The chief's decisiveness shone through. He praised, he apologized, he offered gifts—sincerely and completely.
Any god with even a shred of humanity should have relented at this point.
To kneel and bow for the sake of one's people was no shame—especially when facing a true god.
"Do you truly think I need such offerings?"
Her words fell like thunder, shaking them all.
The worst had happened—she wasn't swayed at all.
"You kept me waiting all this time, and think you can appease me with this?"
"No, Divine One, I—"
"I had considered asking for two more children. But since you've shown such sincerity, I'll settle for the original two."
The chief froze mid-sentence as her voice flowed on, calm and unhurried.
Around him, villagers lowered their heads, fists clenched, teeth grinding audibly.
Slowly, the chief lifted his hand and placed it on the boy's shoulder. Then, with him, he stepped forward.
"Divine One, we truly—"
"Old fool. Are you mocking me?"
The moment she saw only the boy, the god's power erupted, oppressive and overwhelming.
The air itself grew scorching. Heat rippled outward, warping the very space around them.
"No, no, we—"
"I've waited this long, and you bring me only one? Do you think my words mean nothing!?"
As her voice fell, flames roared across her body, threatening to consume everything nearby.