The crimson tide lapped at the base of Elion Lysandros' throne, mirroring the carnage that had consumed his palace. Imperial guards, once pillars of strength, lay scattered like broken dolls across the blood-soaked marble floor. Fear, a chilling serpent, coiled around the throats of the survivors, their eyes wide with terror as they awaited their inevitable doom.
Then, with the force of a thunderclap, the palace gates splintered. A phalanx of heroes, their forms radiating divine light, stormed into the chamber. They encircled the tyrant king, a living cage of shimmering energy crackling between them.
Elion Lysandros, the Tyrant King, let out a chilling laugh, his voice echoing through the blood-soaked chamber. "Foolish heros," he sneered, his eyes gleaming with a cruel amusement. "Do you truly believe you can contain a king chosen by the gods themselves?"
One of the heroes, his face etched with righteous anger, stepped forward. "Silence, usurper!" he roared. "You, the anointed king, bound by a sacred oath to protect this realm... you have betrayed it! You slaughtered those gifted with divine power, claiming their strength for your own wicked ambition.You, who even murdered your own mother, the Eternal Matriarch! The gods have forsaken you, Elion Lysandros. Your soul, fragmented and corrupted, is but a flickering ember."
Elion's laughter died in his throat. His eyes, once blazing with tyrannical power, dimmed, replaced by a flicker of something akin to… pity. "Chosen?" he rasped, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. "Do you know the curse that binds this crown? The price of immortality?"
The heroes exchanged uneasy glances. This was not the narrative they had been fed.
Ignoring their bewilderment, Elion continued, his voice low and menacing. "Open your eyes, heroes," he pleaded, a flicker of genuine sorrow momentarily softening his harsh features. "See the world not through the lens of righteous indignation, but through the prism of truth. One day, you too will face impossible choices, and the weight of those decisions will crush you."
Another hero, his voice laced with righteous fury, interrupted him. "Enough!" he roared. "Your divine core crumbles. Your reign of terror is over!"
Elion coughed, a crimson stain blooming on his lips. "Terror?" he scoffed, his voice growing weaker. "You call this terror? Look around you, heroes. This is but a symptom of a far greater disease that festers at the heart of this world."
Each word was a dagger, piercing through the heroes' carefully constructed narratives. Doubt, a venomous serpent, began to slither into their minds.
A pained smile touched Elion's lips. "Fools," he whispered, his voice fading. "You are all puppets, dancing to the strings of a cruel master. One day, the scales will fall from your eyes, and you will see the truth, just as I did. But then… it will be too late."
With a final, shuddering breath, Elion.fell from the throne, the weight of his demise pulling him down, and his crown tumbled from his head, rolling across the blood-soaked floor. As he gazed at the heroes who surrounded him, a deep, sorrowful thought consumed him.
A thousand years ago, he mused, I spoke those same words to the last king of Ardathion. If only I had been wise enough to understand what he meant... Perhaps I could have saved my mother, and my immortal comrades...and...
He remembered the king's eyes—those eyes that met his as he struck him down. There had been no fear, only a quiet resignation, as if the king had been waiting for this moment. Waiting for me to bring him death, Elion thought bitterly. For another hero to rise and take his life... After all, a hero can kill another hero.
His bright silver hair began to fade, darkening as though the light of life was being extinguished. His once-shining eyes dulled to a shadowed void.
Elion closed his eyes, a deep sense of peace washing over him in his final moments. 'Such a beautiful death,' he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he embraced the end.
His body began to shimmer, fragmenting into a thousand iridescent butterflies that fluttered through the air before dissolving into nothingness.
Silence, heavy and oppressive, descended upon the chamber.
The heroes stood frozen, their convictions shattered. Tears welled up in the eyes of the hero who had first confronted Elion.
"Goodbye, Master," he whispered, his voice thick with grief.
---
I closed the book, my heart heavy with a grief that mirrored the despair of the heroes. Tears streamed down my face as I stared at the pages. I never anticipated such an ending. The book, titled "The Eternal Curse," was my sister's masterpiece, a testament to her love for the story, for the tragic figure of Elion Lysandros.
If only I hadn't been so selfish. If only I hadn't abandoned her, she would have known how much her book meant to the world—how many hearts it had touched. But now, how could I ever tell her how deeply I regretted my actions? How could I explain that, if I had another chance, I would have done everything to protect her? She had poured all her love into Elion Lysandros, a character who meant the world to her. And yet… I wasn't there when she needed me most.
In the end, as Elion Lysandros faced his tragic demise, she, too, left this world—alone, without forgiving anyone. Her heart carried the weight of betrayal and sorrow, a pain that reflected the fate of her cherished creation.
I lay down on my bed, the weight of my grief crushing me. It was late, the hours bleeding into the early morning. Why do I feel so… tired?
Suddenly, the earth began to tremble.
An earthquake!
I tried to scramble to my feet, but my body felt heavy, unresponsive. The building groaned, the walls beginning to crumble around me. I have to escape!
But my limbs refused to obey. My vision blurred, the world tilting precariously. Was this it? Was this how I would die?
Yes, I dead.
But… why am i alive? Where am I?