Talen stared at Vorathax's outstretched hand.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, slowly, he stood.
And stepped back.
"I'm done being their hero," he said quietly.
Vorathax tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something like approval.
"Good."
Talen turned away from the throne, from the path carved for him by fear and fire. His sword felt heavier now—not because it was made of steel, but because it had been forged in lies.
He looked down at himself.
At the armor. The crest. The name he had worn like a mask.
"I wasn't always Talen," he whispered, the truth clawing its way out of the darkness inside him.
"No," Vorathax said. "You were not."
Memories surged through him like a flood breaking free.
He saw himself again—not as a knight, but as a boy dressed in royal silks, laughing as a servant girl tried to teach him how to read.
He saw himself older—standing on a balcony, watching flames consume the lower city.
He saw blood on his hands.
He remembered the betrayal.
The coup.
The blade at his throat.
And then—
The ritual.
They hadn't killed him.
They had rewritten him.
Made him into a weapon.
A symbol.
A lie wrapped in valor.
"I was never meant to save them," he murmured. "I was meant to die… or to destroy."
Vorathax nodded.
"And yet here you stand. Remembering."
Talen exhaled.
"What do I do now?"
The dragon smiled faintly.
"You decide what comes next."
The Fall of the Hero
When Talen returned to Eldenhold, he did not ride in triumph.
He walked.
Alone.
No banner. No fanfare.
Only silence followed him.
The people waited for their savior.
But they did not get him.
Instead, he stood before the king—the same man who had ordered his rewriting—and spoke one sentence:
"I remember."
The kingdom trembled.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
The hero had returned.
But not as they expected.
There were no parades.
No feasts.
Only questions.
Who had truly summoned the dragon?
Why had they needed a hero?
And what kind of monster had once worn the face of a prince?
Talen did not answer.
Not all at once.
But he told the truth.
Piece by piece.
Until the kingdom could no longer look away.
And deep beneath the castle, the real dragon opened one eye, smiled, and whispered, "Well played… brother."