The path to the dragon's lair stretched before him, a winding trek through thick forest. Trees bent in unnatural shapes, twisted and gnarled, their bark slick with some sort of sap. The air was still, heavy, as though even the wind knew better than to breathe too loud here. He had been walking for days, his boots worn, his body tired. His sword, heavy at his side, was the only thing that felt real. The promise of gold, glory, and honor kept him moving, though his soul had long given up on believing in such things.
The dragon's lair was a cavern, its entrance marked by jagged rocks that rose from the earth like teeth. Black smoke curled out from the mouth of the cave, mixing with the overcast sky above. He could smell the sulfur before he saw it, that sickly scent that burned his nostrils and caught in his throat.
His hand gripped his sword tighter, knuckles white. His chest tightened. He hated this feeling. The calm before the storm. The moment right before everything would come crashing down. It wasn't bravery that pushed him forward now; it was habit.
He stepped into the cave.
The inside was cavernous, the air dank and cold. The dragon sat at the far end, its massive body coiled around itself, the tips of its claws digging into the stone floor. Its eyes were slits of burning yellow, staring at him without any sign of recognition. It didn't need to. It knew who he was. Everyone did.
"You are the knight sent to slay me," the dragon's voice rumbled through the cave, deep and heavy like the roar of thunder. It was not a question, but a statement.
He didn't reply, just tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. He had been trained to silence, trained to kill, trained to obey. Nothing more.
The dragon didn't move, but its eyes glowed brighter. It looked down at him with something that could've been amusement—or pity. He couldn't decide which.
"You do not know, do you?" the dragon said, its voice dripping with something close to mockery.
He stood firm, not letting his feet betray him. "I know enough."
The dragon chuckled, a sound that rattled the walls of the cave, echoing deep into the earth. "Do you? Do you really?"
The knight's grip on his sword tightened. He stepped forward, determined to be rid of this creature once and for all. No more talk. No more games. He raised his sword, ready to strike.
But the dragon's voice stopped him. "You are being used."
He froze. The words cut through him like a blade. The dragon didn't move, still coiled on the stone floor, watching him with those unblinking eyes. Its voice was strangely calm, almost gentle.
"You know nothing," the dragon continued. "You think you've come to save the world. You think you're the hero. But you've been lied to. They've all lied to you."
The knight's heart began to beat faster, but his body refused to move. He tried to shake it off. He had heard things like this before. Old men spouting nonsense. Sorcerers with their tricks. This was just another attempt to break his will, to sow doubt.
"Your king?" The dragon's eyes glowed brighter. "He sent you here, didn't he? To kill me. To kill a creature you know nothing about."
The knight's lips tightened. He refused to speak, but the dragon's words wormed into his mind, turning over.
"Do you even know what's beyond these mountains?" the dragon asked. "What's beyond this kingdom? You fight for a throne. A throne built on the backs of the dead. And your king? Your king is nothing but a puppet."
The knight's breath grew shallow. His mind began to swirl, to doubt, but he fought it down. This was madness. He had a mission. He had a purpose. He had—
"You've been sent here to die," the dragon said quietly. "You and every knight who's come before you. All of you."
The words cut through his resolve like a knife through cloth. He took a step back. "No," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
The dragon chuckled again, the sound dark and rich with centuries of knowledge. "Yes. You don't know what you're fighting for. You don't know what you're really up against. You've never even seen the truth."
The knight's mind reeled, and for the first time, he hesitated. His sword wavered in his grip. He looked at the dragon, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
"Why don't you tell me the truth?" the dragon said. It wasn't a demand, but an invitation. Its voice was soft now, almost coaxing.
The knight lowered his sword. The weight of the words pressed down on him. What was he doing here? What had he been doing all these years? The training, the battles, the blood—what was it all for?
The dragon's eyes glowed brighter, the fire within them like the embers of a dying fire. "The king is no king," it said, its voice heavy with finality. "He's a pawn, just like you. Just like the others. His throne was given to him by forces you cannot even comprehend. The world you live in? It's all a lie. A cycle. A game."
The knight's hand fell to his side. He had never been told this. He had never thought to ask. His purpose had always been so clear. Slay the dragon, protect the realm, and serve the king. That was all. But now, the air around him felt wrong, thick, like the ground was pulling at his feet. The walls of the cave seemed to close in.
"Why?" he whispered.
The dragon let out a long, low sigh, almost sad. "Because it's easier to control someone who doesn't know they're being controlled. Your king sits on his throne, thinking himself the ruler of men. But he's nothing. He's part of the system, part of the game. The game that's been played for centuries. And you? You are just one of the pieces."
The knight's mind spun. The walls felt like they were tightening. The ground beneath him trembled. Was this true? Had he been lied to his whole life?
The dragon's eyes softened, just a fraction. "You came here to kill me. But it's not me you should fear. It's everything else. The ones who have made this world what it is."
A cold sweat ran down his neck. He turned away, unable to look the creature in the eye any longer. His thoughts swirled, the fragments of his world crumbling. He had never questioned before. Why hadn't he? The king was a puppet, but who held the strings?
"You came here to slay a beast," the dragon's voice came again, soft and sad. "But there is no slaying what you cannot see."
The knight gripped his sword again. His resolve returned, but it was hollow. This wasn't how he had imagined it. He had never imagined it like this. The world had just become a blur of lies, of games, of power.
The dragon was right.
But it didn't matter. He had been sent here to do one thing.
He raised his sword, and in that moment, he knew it was too late.
The dragon was the last truth he would ever hear. It was too much. And when he swung the sword, aiming to sever the beast's head, he felt nothing. The blade hit the stone floor with a dull thud, shattering in his hands, the splinters embedding deep into his flesh. He fell to his knees, the ground cold and unforgiving beneath him.
The dragon's eyes glowed one last time. Its voice echoed in his ears. "It's not the beast you must slay. It's the truth."
The knight's last thought, as his blood pooled beneath him, was that he had been a fool. The world had never been his to save. It was never anyone's.