“How did we die?” the boy asked inquisitively.
“What do you mean, Randall?”
This was said with a playful smirk. The question was, quite possibly, the oddest one Silus Rook had ever been asked.
“I mean us, our people. How did we die?”
It took a moment but the meaning eventually sank into Silus’ aging mind.
“The human race, you mean? Yes, well... it is my belief that man’s descent began when we stopped believing in fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales?”
“Impossible stories of things seemingly uncanny. The thing is, fairy tales were often seeped through some form of truth. The last truth to become fairy tale was God Himself. When the last of our kind deserted God, He kindly removed himself from the Earth so that we could experience the fullness of freewill. Without God's guidance mankind’s moral code deteriorated until nothing mattered save power and greed, and family to some small extent. War became the proper course of debate. Many died.”
Randall Whitaker listened eagerly; he had always been an attentive child, so full of questions. Silus watched Randall as his words fell into place within the young boy's mind. Then Randall's brow furrowed as he considered some new, uncertain thought.
“So, if God is a fairy tale, then why do you still read that old book?”
Silus lowered his eyes to the book resting in his lap. Its pages were torn and dirty, but for the most part complete. Its leather cover, however, was so scuffed that the title was hardly legible, and the back cover was missing entirely. In fact, if one were to simply glance at the book they might miss the title altogether, but a flip through the first several pages revealed the name of its story.
“We read this Holy Bible to remember the fairy tales. Remember, the decline of man began after they deserted their gods. Recovered texts show this to be a rapidly growing theory in the final days of man... before the elves came. And so, we read to never forget.”
“But you believe in God.”
The man smiled as he ran his withered fingers over the leather.
“I do. It's amazing what works of the old world can do by simply reading them. This book, there aren't many like it left, but it gives me hope.”
“Like we give others hope?”
Silus laughed and pat Randall on the head.
“Very good, my boy. This world may hate humanity for our part in its near-destruction, but there is forgiveness to be found in the race of man, those of us who are left. It was for this reason, and for the words in this ancient text, that I formed Refuge. My hope is that, in time, this community will become a home for all races, no longer separated by fear or pride; one race and one people.”
“Even the elves?”
“Yes, even the elves.” Silus sighed and put an arm around his youngest student. “Especially the elves. They will stop hunting us in time and they will listen. I have faith.”
Refuge was razed exactly one year following this conversation. The elves leveled the small community and slaughtered its residents so that their ancient views would die with them. Silus Rook came to a painful end. The books were burned. Few survived.