Talen stood at the edge of the ruined throne room, smoke curling through shattered windows, embers dancing like fireflies in the night wind. The palace was no longer a seat of power—it was a tomb for the old world.
And he had killed it.
Behind him, the nobles who hadn't fled cowered beneath broken banners. Outside, the people shouted for justice, for truth, for blood.
But none of it mattered now.
Because deep beneath the castle, something ancient had awakened.
The Descent
He descended alone.
Through forgotten corridors carved into the bones of the earth itself. Past sealed doors marked with runes older than the kingdom. Through tunnels lined with murals—scenes of kings and dragons locked in an eternal cycle of betrayal, war, and rebirth.
At last, he reached the gate.
A massive archway of black stone, humming with restrained power. Symbols pulsed along its surface like veins filled with starlight. At its center, a single word:
"Remember."
Talen pressed his hand to it.
The door groaned open.
Beyond lay a chamber bathed in red light.
And there, seated upon a throne of living shadow, was Vorathax.
Not as a man this time.
But as he truly was.
Dragon.
God.
Memory made flesh.
His eyes burned with the weight of centuries.
"You have come," Vorathax said, voice echoing like thunder inside a mountain.
Talen stepped forward.
"I remember," he said. "But I don't understand."
Vorathax smiled.
"That is why you are here."
The Truth Beneath the World
Vorathax rose, his form shifting between man and beast, between god and prisoner.
"The world you know," he said, "was not built by men. It was shaped by us—the Firstborn. We were the keepers of balance. The guardians of order."
He turned, gesturing to the walls, where images flickered to life.
Dragons soaring over golden cities.
Humans kneeling in reverence.
Then—
Fire.
War.
Betrayal.
Men turning on their gods, forging weapons from stolen stars, binding the dragons with chains of memory and fear.
"They feared what they could not control," Vorathax whispered. "So they did what men always do."
"They lied."
Talen swallowed hard.
"And made heroes."
Vorathax nodded.
"To replace us. To rewrite history. You were not the first knight sent to kill me. You were the latest pawn in a game that never ended."
Talen clenched his fists.
"But why me? Why now?"
Vorathax's eyes gleamed.
"Because the cycle is breaking."
He stepped closer.
"The Veil between worlds grows thin. The old gods stir. And soon, your kind will face a choice."
He paused.
"Serve again… or perish."
The Choice Once More
Silence stretched between them.
Then Vorathax extended his hand.
"You remember who you were," he said. "Now choose who you will become."
Talen looked down at himself.
At the armor still clinging to his frame.
At the sword that had been wielded by dozens before him.
He had been a prince.
A tyrant.
A hero.
Now?
He could be something else entirely.
He reached out.
And took the dragon's hand.
And in the ruins above, the ashes of Eldenhold stirred—not with death… but with the birth of something new.