He stood upon a stump beneath the dawn and declared that though life had never been kind to him, though betrayal had always found him, though wounds seen and unseen made every step a trial, he would nevertheless endure for the good of all.
It was quite moving, if one did not notice he was wearing the newest cloak, carrying the lightest pack, and borrowing every bit of courage in sight.
At last they came to Caer Hollow.
The dragon slept beneath a broken tower, its breath rolling from its nostrils like smoke from the vents of the underworld. Its scales were iron-dark. Its claws had scored the courtyard stones. The very air trembled with the truth of it.
This was the place where a hero would have stepped forward.
This was the chapter in all proper tales where fear becomes purpose, where trembling hands steady, where a person learns the shape of their own soul in firelight.
Edric looked upon the dragon, and for one glorious moment the world held its breath.
For he could have done it.
That was the bitterest thing.
He had the strength in him.
He had the voice to rally, the body to move,
He stood upon a stump beneath the dawn and declared that though life had never been kind to him, though betrayal had always found him, though wounds seen and unseen made every step a trial, he would nevertheless endure for the good of all.
It was quite moving, if one did not notice he was wearing the newest cloak, carrying the lightest pack, and borrowing every bit of courage in sight.
He was not hollow by nature. He had simply spent his life kneeling before the altar of avoidance until he mistook it for a throne.
So while the others stared at the beast, weighing terror against necessity, Edric did what he had always done.
He began to speak.
