Elias stood paralyzed, every muscle trembling under the weight of the presence before him. The being on the throne was no mere creature—it was a god, its form radiating a force both awe-inspiring and terrifying. The throne itself seemed carved from stone older than time, etched with cracks that pulsed faintly with emerald light, as though the rock remembered every age it had endured.
The pressure in the air was suffocating. His chest tightened, his breath came in short bursts, and his thoughts spiraled between wonder and fear. Would it harm him? Would it even need to move a finger to do so? The god's sheer existence seemed enough to unmake him if it willed.
Then, the being spoke.
"Mortal," the deep, resonant voice thundered. It rolled through the chamber like the strike of a great bell, echoing endlessly in the vastness. "Rejoice. You have been chosen to represent me as my champion. I know your mind is clouded with questions, but listen. Let me tell you who I am."
The colossal figure leaned forward. His golden eyes gleamed like molten suns, and when he spoke again, the air itself seemed to vibrate with the weight of ages.
"I am Thoth, the great scribe of the gods. My knowledge shaped civilizations, my wisdom guided humanity for countless generations. I am the keeper of balance, the recorder of truth, the god of writing, magic, and wisdom. It was I who taught your ancestors the art of knowledge, the secrets of the hieroglyphs, and the delicate harmony between chaos and order."
Elias's pulse quickened as those golden eyes pierced through him, reading him like an open book.
Thoth continued, his tone heavy with memory. "Long ago, we gods walked among mortals. We ruled in an age when divinity itself shaped life and death. But reigns are never eternal. As your world changed, we withdrew, no longer bound to Earth. We departed to a hidden plane beyond mortal reach—a realm where gods of many pantheons gathered as one. It is here that I dwell now. A place where knowledge burns brighter than the stars, and where the old gods wait in silence."
Elias's gaze darted around, taking in the throne room anew. The chamber was impossibly vast, built on a scale no mortal architecture could contain. Its very stones radiated a presence, as though each one was alive with whispers of forgotten history. The air pressed down on him, heavy with ages of wisdom and power. Before this god, he felt smaller than dust.
Then Thoth's expression darkened.
"After a thousand centuries of peace," the god intoned, his voice echoing like distant thunder, "a shadow rose from the edge of creation. A being of darkness—the great serpent, Apophis. Born from the void, he gathered rebels to his cause, gods who turned against the divine order. War erupted across the realms. We fought, gods and demigods alike, to preserve existence itself. The battle raged until the kings of each pantheon gave their lives to wound the serpent and halt his rebellion."
The chamber trembled faintly as if the memory of that war still echoed through time.
"But the threat did not end," Thoth's eyes flared. "Apophis yet lives. His malice lingers, waiting in the shadows of the cosmos. Sooner or later, he will rise again, sending his warriors to strike. And this time, we are weakened. Too many demigods perished in that war. We cannot endure another onslaught alone."
Elias swallowed hard, his throat dry as stone. His mind reeled. The weight of the revelations threatened to crush him, but somehow his voice broke through, trembling.
"So… you want us—humans—to fight alongside you? Against him?"
"Yes," Thoth said, his voice firm and unyielding. The glowing eyes did not blink, did not falter. "We already brought humans into our ranks centuries ago, warriors who have aided us before. You will not be the first."
Elias hesitated, his chest tightening further. "But… why us? Surely there are other races, beings stronger than humans, more suited for this war."
For a moment, the god's sternness softened. His gaze was still sharp, but his tone carried something almost like patience.
"Indeed, we have chosen warriors from many races. But your kind has always held a special place. In ancient times, we descended to your world and guided your growth. Even now, I have never severed my ties with humanity. That is why Earth still stands. The Martians, your forefathers, destroyed themselves in their pride and wars. Without our intervention, your planet would have followed the same fate. Humanity lives because we willed it so. And now, Elias, you are proof of that guidance. Serving in this war is not only your duty—it is your debt."
The words struck deep, their weight heavier than the chamber walls themselves. Elias could not deny the evidence before his eyes: this being was no illusion. Yet fear still gnawed at him. To accept meant stepping into a war that defied his understanding. To refuse—he dared not imagine the consequences.
Gathering what little courage he had left, he whispered, "If… if we win this battle, what will happen to me?"
Thoth leaned back upon his throne, the sound of the movement like mountains shifting. His voice thundered with finality.
"If victory is ours, you will be granted whatever your heart desires—wealth, longevity, even godhood itself. But your reward will match your deeds. The greater your sacrifice, the greater your prize."
Elias's breath hitched. The promise of reward glimmered like a jewel, dazzling yet dangerous. But alongside it lay the shadow of a war that could consume entire worlds.
The choice pressed down on him. A mortal, standing at the crossroads of gods and eternity.