The Weight's of Power

The battlefield was eerily silent.

The flames from scattered torches flickered in the night, casting long shadows over the ruins of Cedric's stronghold. The once-thundering roars of battle had faded, replaced only by the heavy breathing of those who had survived. Bodies—both of warriors and monsters—littered the sand, the scent of blood thick in the air.

It was over.

Cedric was dead.

Ezekeil remained where he stood, sword still gripped in his hand, his golden eyes locked on the spot where his father had fallen. He could still feel the raw energy of Cedric's core coursing through him, burning through his veins like molten fire.

Yet, despite their victory, something inside him felt hollow.

The warriors who had once served Cedric knelt before Ezekeil, their expressions wary yet resigned. These were the ones who had survived the battle, those who had not fled into the desert shadows when their leader fell.

"You are Cedric's heir," one of them spoke, a hardened soldier with years of battle scars. "The South Desert belongs to you now."

The words rang heavy in the air, but Ezekeil said nothing.

He never wanted this.

But what choice did he have?

The South Desert would collapse without leadership, and if he abandoned it now, his father's twisted legacy would only rise again in some other form.

Finally, he exhaled. His voice was steady when he spoke.

"I am not my father." A pause. Then, firmer, "But I will lead. My way."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the gathered warriors, but no one argued. They had seen what Ezekeil was capable of. They had seen him strike down Cedric himself.

They bowed their heads in acceptance.

Jack, watching from the side, let out a dry chuckle. "Guess that makes you Lord Ezekeil now."

Ezekeil shot him a sharp look, but Jack only smirked.

The tension in the air remained thick, but for now, the battle was done.

As the night stretched on, the warriors tended to the wounded, and the elves ensured that the battlefield was truly secured. The remains of Cedric's monstrous creatures had turned to dust, and his stronghold, once an unshakable fortress, stood crumbling.

Mekeala sat by a dying fire, watching Ezekeil from a distance. He was standing at the edge of the battlefield, his gaze locked on the distant horizon, his body still tense as if the fight hadn't ended.

She could feel it—his magic was unstable.

The energy of Cedric's core still pulsed around him, faint ripples of power flickering in the air.

She stood and walked toward him.

"You don't have to do this alone, you know," she said softly.

Ezekeil didn't respond at first. He remained still, staring into the darkness.

"It's not that simple," he finally muttered.

"You're afraid of what his power will do to you."

At that, he finally turned to her. His golden eyes burned, but they weren't filled with rage. They were filled with something deeper.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Mekeala reached for his hand.

Ezekeil stiffened slightly at the touch, but he didn't pull away.

"Then don't fight it alone," she said again, firmer this time.

Ezekeil looked down at their joined hands before exhaling slowly. He didn't say anything.

But he didn't let go, either.

By morning, the group had made their decision.

Elrond, despite his injuries, insisted on returning to the Enchanted Forest with Lady Arween and the surviving elven warriors. They needed to regroup, to prepare for what came next.

Mekeala and Maya agreed to go with them—Mekeala needed to see Esme.

And, to everyone's surprise, Ezekeil decided to go with them.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Thought you had a desert to rule now?"

Ezekeil's expression remained unreadable. "It can wait."

No one questioned it.

They all knew the real reason why he was going.

He wasn't ready to let Mekeala go just yet.

As they set off across the sand, the ruins of Cedric's empire fading behind them, the weight of everything that had happened settled into place.

The war against Cedric was over.

But the real battle was still ahead.

Ezekeil clenched his fists, feeling the power of his father's core burning beneath his skin.

He had won.

But deep inside, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had lost something, too.