I believe I've made a discovery or "connection", which these elves seem to be so fixated upon.
Where I'm from, Gods are not real, nor does the concept of a higher being exist. My people believe in capital and tangible things. What is real is real. It's that simple.
For other "Chosen Ones" I have spoken to, some of their people have concepts of Gods. Where their belief is faith-based, and a corporeal form is not tangible, seen, or interacted with when it comes to these Gods.
On Keceo, which is different than both of these examples, all Gods used to be alive and breathing just like anything else. According to legend, these beings were so obsessed with an idea that they became one with it. They are essentially just like everyone else, but they have somehow managed to obtain a status far above their mortal coil.
Interestingly, all these different races or cultures have vastly different ideas which are essentially the same concept, just painted with different brush strokes.
With all of this being said, I can't help but wonder. What does it take to become a God on Keceo?
Writing from the fifth Chosen One: archived at the Gilded Towers.
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A flash of blue and red flame danced as Whisperer Kindread collapsed with Anndrana in their arms in the center of the Teleportation Sanctuary.
"Somebody, heal her!"
Kindread cried out as scribes were startled away, nearly being fused with the Whisperer as he teleported in an unsanctioned manner.
Kindread would have healed his pupil, but he was far too weak at the moment. He used nearly all his magic, casting different spells to hold the Red Death at bay, but nothing worked, and the Red Death seemed to sap the very life force from him.
He looked down at his favorite pupil, Anndrana. Bloody tears fell from her eyes. Her face, body and clothes were stained with patches of red from the unknown crimson substance that suddenly appeared. He knew she was close to death; he felt her aura fade as her body's temperature increased.
"Anndrana! Fight this! Don't die on me!"
Kindread clutched her close. Dozens of scribes stepped closer. Another Whisperer heard the commotion and then appeared before them, Whisperer Stonefist.
"Move out of the way, you idiots!"
He pushed several scribes who gathered around to the side.
"What's going on?"
Stonefist asked Kindread calmly, who was just as red-stained as Anndrana.
"There is a poisonous red mist," he said calmly, voice shaking. "Heal her, quickly!"
Desperation escaped every gasp of breath.
Stonefist knelt before them and placed both hands on Anndrana; she was hot to the touch. He muttered a healing incantation, but it rebounded and sent a burning, red flame up his arm. He yelped in pain. He furiously waved his arm to put out the fire, and the flames were extinguished.
He rubbed his hands that stung from the kiss of Red Death.
"What the fuck is happening? It turned my healing spell against me!"
Kindread looked mournfully upon Anndrana.
"I don't know."
She then started to convulse, her body shaking violently in his arms. He tried to stabilize her, but she was set aflame in a dark red fire. It was unnatural. Kindread clutched her as long as he could. Pushing himself beyond his limits.
One of the first things casters learned is to never go beyond their limits. Kindread ignored these teachings and muttered simple, but effective incantations he knew to dowse flame, water, ice, reversal, and anti-magic.
Nothing worked.
Her body was now a ball of fire, and he finally dropped her in front of everyone and backed away, his robes singed and his body in agony.
Both scribes and Whisperers gazed on in horror as the body of Anndrana was set aflame with a dark red flame. Tears streamed from Kindread's eyes, which smeared the red that stained his skin.
~
"Void."
"Death."
"Whispers."
"Wind."
A body naked as the day of its birth floated in the abyss. Whispers were spoken from every direction as she weightlessly drifted in the dark.
Wrapped in a cocoon of knowledge, she slept. She felt the fire scorch her skin. The searing agony was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Then a voice whispered in her ears, like a shout amongst distant cries.
"What is your name?"
It spoke, all knowing and somehow clueless.
For a moment, she didn't know. Her skin melted and became sticky like tree sap. Excruciating blisters formed on her fingers as she reached out to touch the voice, but she swung at nothing. But as she turned her disfigured body, she felt something tangible—the way to pronounce her name. Like a physical thing, she had struck it. She had remembered.
"Anndrana Kosmarian."
Words were like barbed wire, leaving her body.
The figure whispered in a hushed tone.
"That is who you were. Who are you now?"
She thought of the pain, the skin bubbling under itself as her organs charred within her. She thought of the deep red flames that engulfed her entire being. Her hair was melting to ash. A burned scalp of black flesh that was unlike anything she ever imagined she would feel.
No name jumped out at her as she drifted.
"Where am I?"
"Beyond. The realm between Gods and mortals."
The abyss known as the Beyond is the closest mortals can be to the Gods. The communication is stringent and limiting. Words spoken only in riddles, vague answers, and puzzles to be uncovered, but then forgotten once the Beyond is behind the captive and its inky webs are but a faint recollection, like a distant dream.
The distant whispers made different suggestions as she drifted. Speaking in all manner of tongues. Combinations of words. Combinations of what was to be. It just had to be found.
"Lifeweaver."
"Charredbeing."
"Dimensionaldrifter."
"Fleshmonster."
Nothing felt right; the suggestions kept coming, one after another in whispers by the millions.
"Who are you?"
Anndrana asked the Beyond after drifting in a place where time was forever and instantaneous.
"The God of Whispers and Wisdom." Hushed words reached her ears. "Be my champion. Discover who you are."
She moved her lips, but the words were silent. She did not know what she would become.
This was the end, wasn't it?
Centuries turned into seconds as she drifted. Every so often, the thing in the void would ask:
"What is your name?"
And she would be silent, she would float on and on as the whispers continued their suggestions.
"Deathmonster."
"Tallwanderer."
"Beautifulfire."
"Devastatingmiss."
Every combination of words ever spoken continued to whisper into the darkness.
But then it struck her, the pain of the flames had faded far from memory. But the suggestions, those beautiful suggestions, each more perfect than the last, reinvigorated her will.
Magic flowed within her once more. She felt it move through every blood vessel, every vein, every organ, every hair follicle. She felt it all. Like the air as the wind carried it across the plains, bringing her back to life.
Just as the fire scorched her to death, it would now bring her back to life. That is how she died, that is how she will now live. She shall own what consumed her, just as every other Whisperer has.
She whispered into the darkness.
"I know my name now."
Through a smiling tone, the distinct disembodied voice said.
"Welcome back, Whisperer."
~
The deep red flames engulfed Anndrana as those around her looked on in horror.
They watched her char and melt into near nothing. Kindread could not hold back his emotions and openly wept before his allies. The memories of spending time with his pupil flooded within him. The day they met as she was just a small elf with big dreams. But all those dreams were extinguished, burnt to ash, just as she was now.
Embers stirred within the ashes. The crackling of flames rose from within the pile of ash that once was Anndrana Kosmarian. Everyone around her corpse backed away. They feared the fire would spread and consume them, just as it did with her.
Whisperer Stonefist was ready to cast anything to keep the fire at bay. But the ashes slowly reformed to what they were before the fire. Before the Red Death.
The embers within the ashes became a blood-red flame, forming in the shape of an elf. Clothes and all, just as they were. But instead of the dark black hair that Anndrana wore, her hair was now deep red curtains that draped past her shoulders.
Emotions overwhelmed Kindread.
He ran up and held his apprentice, who was still hot to the touch. But he didn't care. A Whisperer's birth is an anomaly that does not come often, and he thought his apprentice was far from ready.
He held her close, speaking softly into her ear.
"Who are you now?"
She spoke the only thing she recalled from her interaction, the only thing any of them remembered—their new name, the name of a Whisperer.
"Firedeath…. My name is Firedeath."