My name is Gortagh, of the Grethor Clan of Garthon. I have been known by many titles, in my unnaturally extended life. Elderbane. Grand Admiral of the Garthon Jihad. Clan Elder. But I’m also known as Gortagh the Atoner, The Weeping Scorpion, Gortagh the Endless, The Eldertouched, Gortagh the Mourner.

As part of my penance, I give you this story. For I have Sinned against God, and I am damned. For my crimes, I am, perhaps forever, banned from the afterlife. This is the story of The Last Elder, and how he died.

Many Garthon lifetimes ago, we encountered the Elders, a species that lived so much longer than any other sapient race that it was said they were immortal. And in our arrogance, we blasphemed against God, castigating these Elders for the very thing that set them apart. Their longevity.

We had glassed their homeworld, thinking that this would kill the Elders in one fell swoop, but they were far craftier than we first imagined. By the time we realized that some small few had escaped, they were scattered to the four arms of the galaxy, but in the end, it availed them nought.

Over three lifetimes, about fifteen standard Terran years, we systematically hunted them down, one by one. Finally, we had slaughtered all but one.

As my warship established a missile lock on his small ship, I confess, to my shame, that I felt elation. The satisfaction of a job nearly completed, of a task nearing completion. It was in this exultance of accomplishment that I became distracted, and when I launched my missile salvo, I found I had been blindsided by the Arathin dreadnought hiding behind a nearby moon. Both my ship and the Elder craft were sent crashing to the moons surface.

When I finally pulled my broken and shattered body from the wreckage of my ship, I came face to face with the very Elder I had been chasing for so long.

In truth, he was almost horrid to look at. Four limbs, covered in a soft, squishy integument wrapped around a sort of internal shell, a small patch of fur on the top of the head. Only two eyes. A bizarre, wound like mouth filled with bony outcroppings. Truly these Elders were monstrous, at least to Garthon sensibilities.

I readied myself for my inevitable death, thinking that the Elder would seek to destroy me in order to prolong its life. I was wrong. The Elder was clearly dying, leaking it’s foreign red blood onto the cold dirt of the moon. Yet still, his first action was to attempt to render aid.

“Why?”

“Why what, young one?”

“Why do you help me? Why help an enemy?”

“An enemy is just a friend you haven’t made yet. Why wouldn’t I help you?” I was astounded. These words were included in our own holy books!

“How do you know these words? How do you know the words of the Prophet Arghon?”

He laughed.

“We are not so different, you and I. My race thought those words up once too, long ago. We too worship the creator god. Or we did.”

I marveled. We had never considered that they would have a god of their own. Our own council leaders told us that they thought themselves gods.

“Hmmmm.” He said. “I can heal you, but I won’t survive if I do.”

I coughed up blood, trying to laugh. “And you seriously expect me to believe you are actually considering such a thing?”

“Well, yes. I am.”

“Wh-why?”

A look of deep sorrow crossed his alien face.

“I am the last. Even if I survive, my race is finished. I am also old, even among my kind. I would not live much longer anyway. My life is nearing its end in any case, yours is still ahead of you. You are young.” He shrugged. “What more reason is there?”

I considered this for a long moment.

“H-how is it done?”

“I contain within my blood, an army of tiny machines. They repair damage to my body, regulate my health. Even fight off disease and some of the effects of age. They are linked to me, if I tell them to, they will abandon me and enter you, healing you from the inside out.”

“And you’re sure?”

In response, he merely smiled. He stood over me, clenching a bloody fist as drops of crimson blood fell into my open wounds. A line of glittering silver extended from his wounds to mine, and I felt my carapace begin to knit itself together.

As my body slowly healed, his equally slowly deteriorated. He was dying as I was being born anew.

We sat and talked as equals while we waited for the end. And of that, I am proud. He taught me of his culture, his people. He showed me the soul of humanity.

It was just as I was calling this new being a friend that he slowly wore down to a stop, his last breath rattling out of his lungs. As he achieved the peace of death, I saw only beauty in his alien visage.

After my rescue, I forswore all warfare, dedicating myself to the monks of Arghon. I lived a lifetime with the monks, but still I remained. God had punished me for exterminating one of His creations.

Now, I travel the galaxy, searching, hoping, that we missed some of them. Desperately scouring the universe for the Elder. Maybe, if I can find them, protect them, maybe God will forgive me.