Zeff stood atop the Dark Lord’s castle, drenched in his own blood, and even more in the enemy’s. Every wound throbbed, but the war was over. Silence stretched across the battlefield as he lifted the Dark Lord’s flag—a signal that he had triumphed.

  The crowds around him didn’t cheer his name. They didn’t run to him. They chanted, yes—but not for Zeff.

  “The hero finally saved us!” “It’s done! We will never know fear again!” “We will forever feel free!” " This is moment for our kingdom glory "

  Zeff’s grin faltered. Relief mixed with confusion. He had wanted to be their hero, their savior—but standing alone while everyone celebrated… it felt empty. What was the point of all that he lost, the days he spent training if non of them knew his name. His eye focused on those that were saved their smiles, their joy, tears that made that came from salvations. It was grand but not enough, he had lost so much how can this be enough.

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  Then, everything changed.

  Without warning, Zeff plummeted from the castle heights, the ground rushing toward him. Panic surged. He had no strength, no power—just the sensation of falling into the void. The battle had left powerless or he didn't want to fight the fall though fate had other options for the falling Hero.

  Something solid broke his descent. A massive dragon. Its wings spread wide, powerful and alive, carrying him away from death—for now. He looked around panicked there was no crowds no castle no smoke of past war endless skies

  But now survival was only the beginning.