When the light faded, Draethar was no more. The dark citadel crumbled, and the forces of darkness that had plagued the land scattered into the wind. Aeron, exhausted and scarred, stood alone in the ruins.
Lira approached, her eyes filled with both sorrow and pride. "You did it. The prophecy is fulfilled."
Aeron looked down at the artifact in his hand, its glow now dim. The power it held was immense, but so too was the price. He had chosen to save the world, but at great cost.
As the echoes of the Ancient Blood faded into the winds, Aeron knew that the world had been changed forever. His destiny was no longer a whisper in the dark, but a story written in the hearts of those who would follow.
And in the silence of the night, he heard the final whisper of the ancient bloodline, fading into memory, leaving behind only the echoes of what had been.