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Darzarath sat inside her enormous library in her lair, her humanoid form resting on a large couch gifted to her by a like-minded noble a couple centuries earlier. In her hands, she held a large dusty book, and on a table next to the couch were other similar volumes.

It begun as a simple spur of contemplation, a curiosity she overheard some of her employees talk about.

"If the Gods cared, they would do something about it!" The employee joked.

A simple phrase, but what caught her attention was the mentions of the Gods.

Her parents told her of the coming of the Gods, and how they brought humans with them as faithful fodder to fight the dragons either through war or through attrition of wills.

But curiosity won over her, taking her from a simple sarcastic exclamation by a human to a full research on the subject.

The sarcastic remark actually posed a good question for her to look into.

After the most powerful mages of the dragons raised a dimensional barrier to force the Gods to either stay or flee, the Gods seemingly ceased to act. All of a sudden, the centuries of near constant clash between the dragons and the pawns of the Gods, ceased.

She was now reading a quite old book, wrote by an elf that titled herself as a seer and prophet.

The form of the writing was at times confusing for Darzarath, the dragon's mind being put-off by seemingly random tangents the elf lost herself in mid-paragraph. But the more she read, more she understood.

The elf was one of the last in her bloodline to be able to connect, and interpret, with the deity they choose to worship. The tangents the elf would go on weren't there because the elf wanted to confuse the reader, but they were fragments of their deity's surface thoughts. The writer even points it out half-way through the book, remarking that while distracting there was no real reason to remove them.

Upon reaching the end of the book, Darzarath was able to create a first conclusion. The Gods wouldn't act, because they had no means to.

She continued her research, this time the book was written by a human priest, and it was older than the book she just put away.

The first pages were intriguing for Darzarath. The priest details how his life had been shaped around religion from a very young age, and how even his personal doubts had a religious undertone when spoken out loud. After finally joining his given church's clergy, something in his mind set in motion.

"The nights feel hollow at the monastery. The prayers that used to sooth my anguish in my younger years now seem to just feed it. At every ceremony, the rituals' repetition echo within me a growing dread. How long has it been since the mystics last heard Their words? Why won't They tell us of the greater things? I spoke my fears to the bishop last night. He confessed to me that he shares similar thoughts. Is this why the Gods will not heed the mortals' prayers? Have we become so fearful of silence, and dependent on the divine song, that the Gods punish us with what we dread most?" The priest wrote.

The book continued with the priest's tale, describing how eventually he left the clergy, hoping for a relief from the burdens of faith, only to sink deeper into his fear. Something struck her, however, as the book continued still, but apparently written, and finished, by the priest's brother. It was odd for her, but soon into the chapter the brother explains why. Having fallen to despair, the former priest took his life. A distraught brother now finished the priest's work. He describes how his brother changed from a jovial young man to a cynical hermit, living and speaking like a nihilist.

The book concludes with one brief chapter, apparently written by the bishop the priest referred to earlier.

"A dragon's tongue I was cursed with, and the Gods know it. Jal confided with me, how he feared the Gods' punishment more than he feared death itself. I told him that faith is not an absolute, that the Gods would see wisdom before righteousness unless one acted with evil intent. But it did not soothe him. I trust my words to this paper, so that others may make their own judgment. The Gods are not dead. The Gods are not punishing us. It was the dragons that took from us the light of the Gods. Their foul machinations and unbreakable curses trap the emissaries of the Gods behind a veil of evil, beyond the reach of mortals, and yet so unbearably, painfully close. Those with the blood of the emissaries can still speak to them, but the effort it requires may well kill the mortal brave enough to attempt it. For many eons still we will be denied our judgment by the Gods, but the time of dragons will soon draw to the end. The faithful will be blessed with the power to smite the dragons that plunged our civilization in darkness."

Darzarath closed the book and stared at it.

It seemed logical that the disappearance of the Gods would be linked to the dragon mages' barrier. But if there were still individuals that were capable of connecting to the Gods despite the barrier, why are they not so open on the matter. She stood up, and brought the books with her as she put them back into their places as she looked for more books on the matter.

It took her a while, but deeper into her library, in an older section she rarely visited, she found what she was looking for.

It was an extremely old book, of the first press-printed books of this part of the world, written by one certain human mystic that was only known as Harta.

She returned to her couch and opened the magically preserved book.

Its preface was cryptic, at least for Darzarath.

"By the Tenth Age, six jubilees cerebrated. Herein are scripts of revelation, in glorification of wisdom, and divination of power. Beware the heart of fire, for the devil's nest is too dark for even the purest to descent in to. Let the divine light be the sword that cleaves the dragon's heart. By birthright, the mortals of the world shall be elevated by the divine. In divine wisdom and judgment, the impure will be cleansed, the devil will be slain, the traitor will be hanged."

Darzarath took pause.

She was starting to see a recurring theme, a hate of dragons within most clergies, protracted through the millennia since the creation of the dimensional barrier. But another thing struck her. This is the second mention of some sort of 'retribution' against dragons. She wondered how, when, where, and what.

"Let the divine light be the sword that cleaves the dragon's heart." She repeated out loud.

Something clicked in her mind, as these words reminded her of something very specific.

In relatively recent centuries, the dragon slayers fielded a particular type of weapon. A willing individual undergoes a ritual, where their body is supercharged with latent energy. The ritual also blocks any outlet for this energy, be it magic, emotional or biological. This causes the energy within the individual to build up over time. The longer the individual lives, the greater the charge. The ritual's effects can only be undone with a specific nullification spell, that can only be cast with a specific item trusted to the individual when they are assigned a target. Upon reaching their target, they activate the item. As the ritual is nullified, the energy build up is instantly released. In the best of cases, it is nothing more than a really strong shock wave that would kill anyone within but a few meters from the individual, and the individual themselves. In the worst case, the true and intended use of this attack, the release is perfectly comparable to a tactical nuclear device. All the destruction, with none of the radiation.

Anyone that would not be instantly vaporized by the blast, will be made irreversibly blind by the sheer power released, even though the release lasts for nothing more than a hundredth of a second.

She returned to the book, slowly reading through its pages.

It was no simple task, as the entire book seemed to have been written in some incoherent or coded manner. She was about to give up, when she froze. Her finger was lifting off the next page, until she felt some sort of power emanate from the unveiled page. She stopped her motion, the page only slightly turned as she looked up.

Ahead of her, standing in the middle of the reading space, was the ghostly figure of a human in priestly clothes. She did a quick mental checklist, confirming that the man before her was indeed coherent with the age of the book.

"It is rude to enter one's abode without permission." She said to the man.

"It is rude to assume so when one was invited in." He growled back. "But I suppose one cannot expect differently from a vile fiend such as yourself."

She placed the open book on the table beside her and stood up.

"If I am correct, you must be Harta." Darzarath said as she approached the ghost.

"Yes. And no." The ghost said, taking a step back at her approach prompting her to stop. "I am a contingency, a warning. The original Harta impressed as many copies as he could of that book with an echo of his will and mind. I am him, in mind alone."

"I see, and what kind of contingency would you be? Ghosts can only scare a human so much, let alone a dragon who has witnessed many a thing in their lifetime." She chuckled.

"I am the contingency to ensure that those who would hold the knowledge of that book would use it for its true purpose." The ghost explained, visibly annoyed with a hint of disgust in its voice. "As a dragon, you do not seem to be as wise as your kind's allusions and pretense would want others to believe."

"Well, as it stands, nothing stops me from continuing to read that book." She said, gesturing at the book resting on the table. "Why should I have reason to believe that a mnemonic echo can affect me or anything in this room? In fact, on what principle can you, the mental fragment who has been dead for nearly five hundred years, tell me or any mortal of this age and generation if they are worthy or not?"

The ghost stared at her. Something in what Darzarath just said seemed to have taken him back, his ethereal mouth opening and closing a couple times before he spoke again.

"I have specific criteria that-" It began explaining, suddenly stopping for a brief pause. "You make a valid point, dragon."

"Then what are we going to do?" She said, shrugging. "I cannot physically continue to read that book if my theory is correct, nor can you return to that book until you find validation, true or otherwise."

"Indeed. I cannot allow you to continue read the book, especially as once the seal is activated, the pages will be rendered blank as long as I am not validating the reader." It said. "Erstwhile, I cannot validate you for your nature as a dragon is what activated the seal in the first place. You are far smarter than what I had credited your kind for back in the day."

"Then how can we go past this stalemate?" She asked.

"As it was intended, you cannot do it." The ghost further said. "A mortal, however. Bring a mortal that can vouch for you and the changed times, and that shall suffice for judgment."

The night passed, and first thing in the morning Darzarath brought her trusted assistant, Martifia, down to the library.

"So, let's recap a second." Martifia said just before entering past the library's door. "You were reading an ancient book that was originally written by one certain mystic called Harta that for all intents could be have been part of the ideological line that legitimized dragon slayers, and as you were reading in search for better clues on the actual happening on why the gods 'went silent', this 'ghost' emanation that apparently would belong to the person that made the book you were reading appeared and asked you to bring a mortal to ask if you reading that book is okay."

"That is a correct synthesis of events, yes." Darzarath said.

"Well, I hope that this 'Harta' fellow is going to understand that things change in over five centuries." Martifia said as she pushed the door open and walked in.

The meeting was cordial enough, the ghost Harta showing that courtesy was part of its being.

After a short round of introductions, the questions began.

Martifia held up well, answering politely to the ghost's biased questions and pretentious tone, although it was clear to Darzarath that the spirit's attitude was wearing thin on the woman's patience.

"One last question, Miss Martifia." The ghost said as he paced up and down. "What kind of relationship do you have with the here present Darzarath?"

"Friends, and she's my employer as well." Martifia said, her tone on the edge between pride and spite. "How does this pertain to you?"

"You see, Miss Martifia, dragons have been known for being fickle, arrogant, proud, tyrannical." The ghost explained, causing both Darzarath and Martifia to roll their eyes. "Although you answered honestly to the previous questions, I had to make sure that there was no principle for me to doubt yours or Darzarath's honesty and good will."

"If that is what it was about, why not question her directly as well?" Martifia asked, Darzarath nodding in agreement.

"The baseline on which the spell was made prevents me from using a dragon's answers." The ghost shrugged. "Even if I conducted the questioning with her as thorough as I have with you, Miss Martifia, it would have served naught but to waste time."

"Can I say that I do not envy you for having survived all these millennia surrounded by such paranoid racists?" Martifia said looking at Darzarath.

"Trust me, I sometimes question that myself." Darzarath sighed.