Hero's Darkness

Azeron stumbled out of the center of a ring of corpses. The empty field before him was charred black, and a distant town was alight with golden dragon fire that consumed everything it touched. It would remain that way for days to come, but Azeron couldn’t let himself think about that. Not about the innocents left in the fire. And not about what he had done to the men who had captured his squadron.

Allowing his mind to go numb, Azeron reached for the remnants of the power of the Second Dragon. Even after death, her power was eager to respond to Azeron’s call as it took the form of resplendent, silvery armor that appeared around his body and clicked into place. The last piece to form was a decorated long sword that fell into his waiting, gauntletted hand. The gleam of the armaments shone like a light in darkness among the miasma and smoke that blanketed the landscape.

He had just transformed back into his human form, and his body itched to stretch wings that were no longer there. To dig claws into dirt and break stones with the strength of his limbs alone. As time passed, the urge to remain in his dragon form was getting harder to ignore and brushing off the awkwardness of a human body harder to accomplish. How long had it been since the urges had started?

Azeron couldn’t answer that question, but he remembered a time when the transformations had been seamless. A time when the First Dragon had been directly connected to his mind. A time when the dragon would have spoken to him regularly. That hadn’t happened in a very long time. Not since-

The darkness from the edges of his mind pressed in against Azeron’s vision, causing him to stumble once more. He clutched at his throat, gasping, and fell to his knees, sending a puff of ash into the air.

He remained there, unaware of time passing and stared at the ground struggling to gain purchase of his mind. The world outside remained silent with the sounds of death and destruction, but the world within screamed. What was it he had been doing? What was it he was there for?

Hands shaking, he wrenched his eyes up and searched the barren field until he found a dark mound that could have passed for a flat rock to anyone else’s eyes. It was the wheezing body of Uxten the Manipulator hidden under a thick layer of ash.

That was right. Azeron needed to kill him. With his death, Azeron could finally bring peace to the continent and fulfill his role as its hero. A dream he was so close to making reality.

With new found strength and a direction that pulled him to his feet, Azeron haltingly took steps forward until a vision of the past invaded his broken mind.

He sat upon his mother’s lap as a small boy just after asking how he could become a hero. A hero much like the stories she had often told him before bed. Her response had been a distant, saddened look and somber words. “If you want to be a hero, Az, live with honor and care for the people in front of you. Find things that will leave you fulfilled and won't allow you to throw your life away.”

How he wished he had followed that advice. Taking another step towards Uxten, a new vision of the past took its place. As if from the very darkness itself.

He was on a small boat. On a river that eagerly wished to pull the boat down the river’s path. Fleeing villagers surrounded him and he held onto his younger sister as they watched their mother pushing the craft off the river bank with four other adults. As the boat caught in the water, arrows rained down. His mother fell, and he screamed. But despite his desires, the boat gained speed and he was helpless to stop it.

The next step was agonizing to take, and yet again, a new memory appeared.

This time he stood in front of the First and Second Dragons in a cave between worlds. Of all the knights, they had chosen him to receive the First Dragon’s blessing. A blessing that granted him the ability to become a dragon himself. With an oath, he promised to live with honor and to care for the people of the continent. It was the first major step that allowed him to become a hero. And in exchange? He left his sister behind. To travel the world alone.

Why? Oh, why had he left his sister behind? That one decision had been the greatest, and worst decision of his life. He tried to speed up his steps, but it did not stop the mental onslaught.

Now, he charged down a corridor of a foreign castle with the First Dragon’s voice as his guide. An army of his men followed at his heels. Through twists and turns they ran until they found Uxten standing with a red sword held aloft – a sword that the Second Dragon had blessed him with – grinning a grin that sent chills down Azeron’s spine. At Uxten’s feet lay the corpse of the second dragon in her human form. The resulting fury of the First Dragon blurred the rest of the battle as Azeron and his friends fought. In the end, a castle was destroyed, Uxten escaped, every soldier died, and Azeron made a vow. A vow to never take soldiers onto a battlefield with him again.

Tears ran down Azeron’s face as he choked back a sob. Solitude had been better hadn’t it? His men had known the price they had to pay, hadn’t they? He wobbled on his feet and fell to the ground as the next vision started.

In his arms, he clutched the body of his younger sister. Agonizing sobs racked his body as he cried over her death. Years spent as a captain in Azeron’s armies had not been kind to her appearance and now he struggled to recognize her. Gone was the angular beauty of her features. In its place was hardened skin and scars that crisscrossed her face from too many years spent on the front lines. That had been her choice of course, but still he cried. In the back of his mind the raw fragments of his mental connection to the First Dragon hung limp. Azeron had broken his oaths of honor to the good people of the continent by abandoning them to find his sister after hearing that she needed help. A decision that now caused Azeron to mourn two losses. Time passed in a haze, and he did not know how long he spent in that quiet forest. Only after he returned to the capital with his sister in his arms did he learn that Uxten had decimated one of their precariously held fortresses in the south. Those three losses; his sister, his mental bond, and the city, opened the path to harsher battles, deadlier conflicts, and a distance from a dragon that no longer wished to speak to Azeron directly.

Managing to push himself to his feet through his tears, the following steps, and the subsequent visions came faster.

A city burned with dragon flame after the demands of a desperate king. There had been no time to remove the innocent women and children from within.

Step.

Azeron stood alone on a packed battlefield in the form of a large elegant silver dragon. Men screamed under his claws, and the world burned upon touching his breath.

Step.

Burning. More burning.

Step.

Celebrations of his achievements. Celebrations he did not deserve.

Step.

A world made silent.

Azeron blinked and found himself above the fallen form of Uxten. The man lay coughing up blood and limply clutching his sword. A sword as red as the blood of those he had killed. He did not move. He did not speak. He did not grin. Instead, he watched behind a mask of pain as Azeron raised his sword up into the air with its point directed towards Uxten’s chest. Azeron still cried, and the final vision emerged.

He crashed to the ground in dragon form, sending up a wave of dirt and rock in all directions. In front of him, enemy soldiers held swords to his men’s throats. The remnants of the squadron had been taken prisoners of war during the last battle while Azeron had dealt with an attack on another front. Thank the dragon’s blessing it hadn’t taken Azeron much work to track the kidnappers to a remote town in the east. A town that now burned behind him. As he stepped towards the line of soldiers, Uxten moved from behind the line. A grin plastered his face and he demanded for Azeron’s surrender. When he refused, Azeron watched in horror as his men were slain. The roar that followed was more instinctual than an actual decision on Azeron’s part as he let the dragon side take control. With a swipe of a powerful paw, Azeron sent Uxten tumbling across the field. And when he turned back, Uxten’s men did not receive any measure of kindness. Azeron bellowed his rage, tore the ones nearest him apart, and melted those who tried to run. Upon finishing, he stood in a circle of carnage.

Azeron returned from the show of his recent actions, and felt sick. He’d been cruel, far too cruel. His stomach turned and threatened to release its contents as he looked down at Uxten’s broken body. The man was still watching him. Emotionless.

Swallowing the bile, Azeron steadied his shaking hands and slammed them down. With surprising ease, the sword gripped within, tore through the man’s chestplate and pierced into the ground underneath. There was a cough, a wheeze, and then Uxten the Manipulator – the man who had dragged the entire continent into despair – died. His blood red sword puffed away into nonexistence, and Azeron stumbled backwards before falling to the ground. His own silver sword puffing away.

He’d done it. Despite all odds, Azeron had done it! Now he could return to the capital! Now he could-

Now he could do what? With despair he realized what the visions had been telling him all along. Azeron the great and honorable hero had nothing. To even think himself honorable was just as much of a lie as everything else.

Shaking, he curled up on himself and his sobs restarted. He’d sacrificed and lost everything just to reach that moment in time, and now it felt as if it were for nothing. How had he been so foolish?

Azeron coughed as his breath hitched and he had a realization. Maybe, just maybe he could reforge his connection to the First Dragon. He still had his blessing, evident by his ability to transform, and so the dragon hadn’t completely abandoned him!

It was then, as if in response, that the welcome voice of the First dragon came back into Azeron’s mind. “Child of destruction." The First Dragon said. “It seems I have made a mistake.”

“No, no. It was I.” Azeron choked. “Please lead me once more, Honored One. I need… I need your guidance.”

“I cannot.”

“But why, Honored One?”

“Because too much harm has been done, and too many oaths broken. I should have done this long ago. Then maybe so much pain would not exist upon my land.” The dragon began to pull from Azeron’s consciousness once more. Leaving confusion in his wake. “Goodbye, my child. I fear what I’ve shielded you from in your mind. Take care to not let it break you.

I’m sorry.”

Azeron screamed in response as a ripping sensation tore through not just his mind, but also his body as the First Dragon completely vanished. Blessing and all. And without that lingering protection of the dragon, the darkness rushed from the edges of Azeron’s thoughts and filled every orifice of his mental plain.

You are weak, the darkness whispered. It’s because of you that your sister is dead. It’s because of you that this world suffers. You rained fire, when you should have saved.

“No.” He wheezed out loud. “Without the guidance of the First Dragon, I had no choice but to follow the commands of the king. He’s the one who was too weak to find a better path.”

In response, the darkness laughed. You are a fool, Azeron. You chose the easy path. You are the one that killed all those innocents. You are the reason everyone is dead.

Monster.

You should not have existed. It is all. Your. Fault.

Azeron moaned and clutched at his head. In flashes, faces of the dead appeared and cursed his name. Men who had been friends, but died right in front of him.

Traitor

A mother that had died trying to protect him.

It should have been you.

A sister who had longed to spend time with him, but Azeron had refused for the sake of his oaths. She fought and perished alone without receiving the necessary aid she had deserved.

I needed you.

Each phantom accusation screamed its truth in his head and he felt his spirit be drawn taut, and then break. Like a damaged bow string unable to withstand the weight of its bow.

Withering on the ground, Azeron clawed at his flesh. He didn’t feel that pain. He felt the pain of the truth as the phantoms drew around him and laughed at his agony.

He shrieked at the smoke filled sky; for there was nothing nearby to hear him.

The darkness was right. Oh how it was right! Everything was his fault. To destroy one evil, he had become the greater evil, and now he had to pay for it. It was his turn. He would do the last heroic act required.

Reaching out for the Second Dragon’s power, he grabbed hold of the sword he’d let disappear, raised it to his neck, and-

It disappeared from his hand again, along with his armor. Sending Azeron into the scorched, ash strewn earth.

The phantoms’ laughter grew in volume, and they spoke as one, Even a dead dragon does not want you. You pathetic creature. You traitor. Murderer.

Azeron screamed louder trying to drown them out as he dragged his body towards a glint of light in the distance. They were right. Oh how they were right.

Reaching it, he grabbed the hilt of a half melted, broken sword. The edge was dull, but it still had a jagged point. Raising it, he said with an incredibly unfathomable remorse. “Please forgive me, everyone. I have sinned against all of you, and many, many more.”

With one last breath, and as much strength as he could muster, Azeron rammed the broken sword down into his own chest. There was no pain as his vision blurred and he fell to the ground, dead.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Azeron’s body would later be found and returned to the capital and buried in a sepulcher reserved for only the greatest of heroes. His fame was spread throughout the continent and the day he died went down in history as the day the world was freed from Uxten the Manipulator’s wrath.

Broken and alone was Azeron’s sad life, but his glorious legacy remained strong. In time, his story was written and retold by many. Even centuries later, mothers were heard recounting the tale to their children. A tale of strength, perseverance, and honor. Despite everything, Azeron the Conqueror had fulfilled his greatest dream. And as with many heroic stories, few ever knew just how much Azeron had lost in accomplishing that dream.