The Dark Sorcerer, weakened but not defeated, began to reveal his past. His voice echoed through the throne room, his story unraveling the mystery behind his words.
"Long ago, I was like you, Benjo," he began. "I was chosen by Lumina, bestowed with powers and a prophecy to fulfill. I was a hero, just like you."
But his journey had taken a dark turn. He had faced challenges, losses, and betrayals. The constant battles, the weight of the prophecy, had slowly started to change him.
"I was tired of fighting, of losing," he continued. "I sought power, a way to end my struggles. And in my desperation, I turned to the darkness."
His quest for power had led him to the Dark Arts, corrupting him and turning him into the Dark Sorcerer. He had become the very thing he was chosen to fight against.
"So, you see, we are the same," he said, his voice filled with regret. "We were both chosen, both burdened with a prophecy. The only difference is the path we chose."
Benjo listened, his mind reeling from the Sorcerer's story. It was like looking into a dark mirror, seeing a reflection of what he could become if he let despair and power consume him.
But Benjo knew he was different. He had faced challenges, yes, but he had also found friendship, hope, and courage. He had chosen to fight, not for power, but for Lumina and his friends.
"I am not you," Benjo declared, his voice echoing through the room. "And I will never become you."