The fire had burned low, casting soft, flickering shadows across the ground where Kaelen sat. The village, now quiet, seemed like it had settled into a momentary peace, but he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that the calm was just temporary. A fleeting lull before the storm.
His fingers absently traced the edge of his worn blade, the hilt rough against his calloused palm. But his mind was far from the steel. It wandered back to a time long ago, to the innocent days of youth, when the world seemed simpler, when everything could be solved with a sword and a good heart.
He remembered his father's laugh, booming in the grand hall of their home, the sound so rich it almost made the stone walls vibrate. Kaelen, a child no older than six, had charged into the room wearing a makeshift cape a tablecloth he'd snatched from the dining table, billowing behind him as he ran.
"I'm going to be the strongest hero in the world!" he'd declared, arms outstretched like he was already soaring through the sky.
His father had chuckled, looking down at him with a smile that was both affectionate and knowing. "Ah, Kaelen. You'll be strong, yes. But strength is more than just swinging a sword. It's about what you fight for, who you protect, and-"
Kaelen had tuned him out then, as children did. All those lessons he thought were boring. He'd just wanted to play, to pretend. His father's words were just noise, meant for older, wiser people.
But now, those very words echoed in his mind. Each one, heavy with meaning. "Strength is more than swinging a sword." The strength he once thought was all he needed had proved useless in the face of the real battle. The one against corruption. The one against the system.
He smiled bitterly. How foolish he had been. How innocent.
The monsters weren't the ones who roamed the wilds or lurked in the shadows. No, the real monsters were those in power. The ones who wore crowns and robes and sat in ivory towers, far removed from the suffering they caused. They were the ones who orchestrated the wars, who built the walls, who planted the seeds of destruction. They were the ones who held the power to change the world, and yet, they only used it to keep the rest of the world in chains.
"Heroes don't just swing swords," he murmured to himself, as if trying to convince the boy he used to be. "They make choices. Hard ones."
A cold wind swept through the trees, snapping Kaelen out of his thoughts. He stood up, wiping the dirt from his pants, and gazed into the night. The village slumbered peacefully, unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon.
But Kaelen knew. He knew what needed to be done. It was no longer just about defeating a king or destroying an enemy. It was about setting the world right removing the true monsters. The ones who had never known what it meant to sacrifice, to suffer, to lose everything.
They were the ones who needed to be brought to justice.
He turned, heading back to the fire. The warmth felt distant now. He had a path to follow, one that was colder and darker. But it was the only one he could walk.
And perhaps, just perhaps, he could still be the hero he'd dreamed of being all those years ago.