the golden age come and passed

The titan panted as his outburst ended. He felt like an unruly calf that had just had a tantrum and as his unbridled rage faded he settled onto his stomach, one leg poised in front of him should he need to rise. He gave a long sigh as he reflected on the doom of his kind. Some distant part of him hoped that somewhere in the world his kind persisted, and he was simply cursed with the misfortune of missing them. He could die peacefully if his race continued to thrive without him, but to be the last god was a horrifying thought that chilled him to the bone.

Idly he broke a branch from the tree above him and reached back with his trunk to scratch his spine with it. There was a time when the elder beings would have gladly performed this service for him, or gaped in wonder as they watched him browse for leaves. Or, he reflected bitterly, used their magic to kill him and strip him of his scared tusks. He grunted and tossed the branch aside. What if the elderlings had, in their ceaseless conquest, killed all the gods and in doing so killed themselves? They were capable of such horrors, but as he searched his memories he recalled that the elderlings were just as prone to attacking their own kind to protect the god race and aiding them with their wonders. What beautiful creatures they had been; the world seemed all the more cold and empty without them.

speaking you