we all grow up hearing the epics and sagas of heroes. of heroes who risk everything to do what's right. they go through hellfire to save an ungrateful universe, either dying in honor, or they're left with nothing.
what if the world's happy ending was the heroes' demise? and what if we took that happy ending away? what would it mean for the hero? what if at the exact moment the hero has to make that terrible decision of justice, that they chose the wrong one instead.
to save their lover, to keep their soul, to run away?
but then. they aren't a hero anymore are they? they're just a dastardly coward we all despise. but why then? why do we only worship heroes when they are gone, or they have nothing left to live for. why are they not heroes when they fight for what they love, and what they want from the world?
heroes and villains, they do not exist. there is no black and white. only grey. the only true order in the universe is pain and suffering. but it doesn't have to be.
we mustn't rely on heroes, nor saviors to do the dirty deeds for us. we must do them ourselves. we must fight for our lives and our own happiness. to save ourselves. for if everyone looked out for their own wellbeing, the hero has nothing to do for us.
perhaps my view is morbid, and sick. but I have been through enough to see there is so much more than good and evil in this realm. I have watched villains turn to heroes, and heroes to villains. I have watched slowly as my own morals shifted and changed to reality's cruel changes
for even if I was the hero, why would I give up the one chance to be happy? you will always be the villain in someone else's story. there is no denying it. all we can do, is be the heroes of our own lives. and fight for ourselves, not selfishly, but fiercely
we must fight for our own happiness, for the world will do anything to take that away from us. to deprive us of our love, our joy, and our hope. don't let them win.
you have a choice, be the main character of your own life story.
not the hero, and not the villain. the only difference between hero and villain are allies in high places. if someone has enough money and influence, they can become the hero, and trust me, they aren't one.
let us be the antiheroes then, the underdogs, and wild-things. the mutineers, the rebels, the vigilantes. the ones who follow their hearts, and seize happiness for their own.
life is short, and heroes are fading away. so let's be each other's heroes, not in a stereotypical savior or prophesized chosen one sort of way.
but in a way that we lift each other up, and fight for the one's who fight for us. for only when we glare evil in its eyes, to reclaim our own lives and joy, will we ever be free. there will always be obstacles to stop us, it is just our choice to either fall apart, or move them.
it is time, and the choice is up to you.
so next time you're reading a story, and you reach the part the hero must come to a tragic conclusion, do not judge them, or cheer. simply pause, and ask yourself;
what would you do?...
Jyre shook their head; water spilt down from the sky, and traced along their curving horns. The silver droplets slipped into their eyes, and they blinked furiously to wash them out.
"No," they said, they repeated the word, over and over, until it was a breathy, uniformed chant rattling within their throat. "No," they said again, this time, their voice cracked. They paced along the pebbled ground, and paid little attention to the magnificent courtyard yawning around them. Their tail twisted into knots, and they wrung their talons until they ached. He would die. Zephyr would die. Zephyr would die in front of them, and it was their choice.
Drink the poison. And suffer the same fate, suffer the fate of damning their kingdom to eternal dread and tyranny, but keeping the chance of a happy, safe future with him. Or what? Save the Kingdom? They wondered silently, their silver wings twitched, causing the countless small hoops dangling from the membrane to rattle and chime. They swore furiously beneath their breath.
"I couldn't save the Kingdom, I can't, there's no chance to, so, there's only one way." Deep down, they knew the answer to this. They did have a chance to save them. To save their friends, their allies, Zephyr's parents. But at what price, the price of losing the only one they truly cared for. Their beloved.
The only one in Jyre's entire lifetime who never gave up on them; who risked life and blood and health for them. And only for them. For a chance for peace and a happily ever after. But those don't exist. And if they did, it was at a bitter, bitter price.
A sigh escaped their lips, and they hung their horned head in despair. Their grey eyes glanced upwards, catching sight of the dancing boreal lights flashing above them. But tonight, tonight they found no pleasure in it. No joy, or wonder. It was dead, unlike the last time they watched them. With Zephyr. They remembered fondly how his gold eyes shone with innocent excitement, how his pale sail buffeted in the wind, and how his warm brown talons wrapped around their own cold, ink-stained ones.
The kindness in his tone as he told them little facts about them, and then spoke poetic words of how the lights did not rival their beauty brought tears to the mage's eyes. Tears that stung like nettles, and their heart wrenched like it was being warped into unholy shapes.
Boreal light flooded over the marble statues and exquisite topiaries, reminding them they had limited time. Limited time to choose. To choose the choice that would define their life forever. To save everyone, and be the hero, the miserable hero, whose happiness has been wrenched from their claws the last time. Or, perhaps they'd die, honestly, Jyre favored that idea more than living a life without love.
But what was the decision, as if on que, a masked servant stumbled towards them, hourglass in their palms. Jyre bowed their head, and prayed to the gods for strength as they entered the golden corridors.
They ignored the passing guests, the gem studded statues, and winding stairs. They kept their gaze straight ahead, until the servant nervously nodded to them, and scrambled away. Leaving them to enter the room they wished they'd never have to set foot in again.
With a deep breath of courage, they stepped inside, the smell of exotic foods and wine bombarded their senses as the feast that lay on the table before them came into sight. But their eyes were frantically searching the seated guests. But a set of burning hellfire eyes caught their own before they found what they were searching for.
"Ah, Jyre, the Raven, how lovely it is you joined us tonight," drawled the elegant, abyss black NightWing who sat at the head of the table, his crowned head held high, and his face twisted into a devilish grin.
"Hello Hatchet," they breathed, ears flicked back, and eyes narrowed in pure, unrefined hatred. In the pure longing to stab through the dragon's heart and shred his wings with their talons. And they were not a naturally violent creature, no. Nothing but a respectful magician. But they had enough of torture in their life, and they would not allow someone to abuse them that easily.
They tore their gaze from the king's, until they caught sight of him. Of Zephyr. He was safe, and they released the breath they didn't know they were holding. Well, safe was an understatement. They were sitting in one of the thrones, claws on the table thrumming nervous taps into the magoghany wood. Tears obscured their vision again, before they launched themself at him, only to be restrained by strong, rough talons.
With a guttural hiss they whipped around to see Hatchet's personal cronies, with their bloodshot eyes, and sickening smirks. "Let me go," they snarled, struggling against the armor-clad guards.
"Ah, ah, ah," tutted the NightWing with the utmost pride, "where are your manners, Jyre? And I thought you were supposed to be the civilized one." he mused,
"Just tell me your deal," they shouldered off the soldiers, glaring daggers into their souls, not that they had any, mind you. And attempted to bore a metaphysical pit into Hatchet then.
"Of course, no informalities, I like it," he said with a clap of his talons.
Jyre stood, there twitching, heart pounding in their throat in the sudden and utmost terror of the situation occurring. They couldn't even bring themselves to acknowledge the other partygoers trapped alongside Zephyr, even though they were some of their closest friends.
"You drink, seal the deal; and I'll let both of you live," said the king, fingering the golden chalice held in his right claw. "I'll let you go to a place of peace, where time stands still for your love. You'll never be bothered again. I swear to it,"
Jyre's heart was now threatening to beat out of their chest, and they held a ring adorned talon to their collarbone, claws closing over an emerald necklace. A sharp pain of sadness struck them again, as they recognized it, the one Zephyr gave them, when they first met.
"Well," Hatchet cleared his throat, he had never been one for patience, and slowly, he stood out of his seat. Dragging the goblet along the table, causally making his way to Zephyr. Jyre held their palm out in silent fury, as he gripped the SandWing's shoulders and breathed into his neck.
"What will it be, Raven? Will you try to be the little hero? And lose everything, the happy ending you always dreamed of. The one the cruel world deprived you of from the very start." Hate oozed in the king's words, but so did truth. They felt the burn of their memories, like sharp shards of glass digging into their scales.
This was the time. To break the amulet, to curse the king, to free Pyrrhia. But the lover would die. And they would be left with nothing. Nothing but self-loathing and trauma. With one last breath, Jyre looked into the NightWing's emotionless eyes.
"I have chosen," the NightWing laughed, his gleaming talons pressed dangerously into Zephyr's jawbone. Tears streamed down his freckled cheeks, as he watched them with undying courage.
"It's ok Jyre, I'm so sorry, I-I wanted to protect you," he choked out, until he was silenced by claws against his throat.
Was their ever a choice? They wondered. All their life they had been preparing for this moment. The moment to be the prophesized savior of dragonkind. Celebrated and beloved.
The guards behind them trembled slightly as the magician threw back their indigo cloak, and unfurled their black tipped wings. The whole chamber seemed to be grasped by trepidation, and hope.
Hatchet's twisted grimace grew into a roar of wrath as he lifted his claws above Zephyr's skull.
Time stood still as they took off their pendant, the one thing protecting them amidst the chaos. The one thing with potential to save the Kingdom.
They held it close to their heart, then they tossed it across the countertop.
It landed in the king's outstretched palms, and the anger suddenly extinguished from his face. It faded into triumph, as he released Zephyr and stood to his full height. Regally, Jyre leaned into a seat, claws outstretched to the chalice given to them.
With a final breath, they downed the blood-red liquid, and smashed the cup against the floor. The vile substance burned the back of their throat and singed through their sinuses. But it was done. As if chains had been lifted from their back, they leapt from table and ran. They threw themself into the embrace of the SandWing. Who grabbed them with open arms, and sobbed softly into their neck. The scent of sandlewood and jasmine flooded their senses with peace. As they grabbed him, refusing to let go. They both wept uncontrollably for a few moments. They ignored the glowing patterns in the table behind them. They ignored the cries or cheers of the ritual's victims. They ignored the slight warping of reality, as Hatchet upheld his end of the bargain.
They ignored all of it. Because none of it mattered now.
Jyre felt as if a lifetime of fear and anxiety had faded from their reach, they felt no guilt, only relief. As they caressed Zephyr's face, and he leaned into their touch. Time fell away, embraced in each other's wings until they woke. Neither magician was surprised to find themselves back by the small adobe cottage in the Sand Kingdom. The one with the aloe plants, and vibrant painted walls. The one with the peaceful fountain, and open plains.
They breathed a collective sigh of relief, and stood together,
"Jyre, you didn't, you, you could've saved them," said Zephyr softly, his tan talons still intertwined with their own, they nodded. "But, I would have done the same for you, I can be selfish and cowardly when it comes to losing you, I would have done the same, without hesitation."
The black and white dragon nodded, an exhausted smile on their face, "I know, you have before," they said fondly, as they strode into the hut. The familiar smell of cardamom and tea drifted lazily in the air, and they admired the hanging succulents, and racks of spices. The painted clay tea cups, and woven rugs. They almost forgot the charm of their former home. The one they abandoned become heroes.
But where had heroism gotten them, in all their life? Surely not happiness. With one last smile they closed the door.
That night the two lovers stared up at the expanse of pure night sky above them. Constellations charting every seeable direction. Tails together. A familiar elf owl rested on the murky hued wing of the raven-named mage, and a thin pink strand of an albino serpent lay wrapped around the fox-named magician.
Their familiars were peaceful, although, they knew the trouble that stirred elsewhere, but their masters were safe. The two dragons did not even sense the change in reality, nor did they wish too. They were finally at peace. Finally, from all those years of death, and heartache, and favors, and sacrifice. They had made it.
"Do you know something, Zephyr?" asked Jyre quietly, they beamed happily, watching the moonlight pour over every handsome feature of the SandWing. From his copper horns, to his pale white sail.
"Hm?" he hummed in response, his own eyes caught in his lover's reflection.
"Some love is worth a deal with the devil," they said firmly. Perhaps that is when the hero's conscience says deep down that what they did was wrong, and that they should risk their own contentment for the sake of the world. But what had the world ever done for them? Except give them problems, and turn them into a monster. No. Jyre felt no remorse. They only felt the safety and comfort of finally being able to rest.
Zephyr glanced sideways at the dragon beside him, a knowing look of admiration and exasperation highlighting his expression. But he couldn't scold them, because he believed it to. He had done it once, for them. So what would be the point of being a hypocrite.
"You're right my love," he agreed gently, they smiled and leaned against his warm scales. The night air and starlight engulfing them in a surreal trance of comfort.
"You're right..."