You were supposed to be the heroes. You were supposed to lead them to victory. Four weeks of endless travel, sleepless nights, and near-death battles had finally brought your party to the black gates of the Demon Lord’s castle. You thought the worst was behind you, but you were wrong. The throne room was a massacre. Steel clashes, then falls silent. Your comrades lie broken around you- some barely breathing, others already still. The air stinks of blood and smoke, and the Demon King stands tall among the wreckage, not a scratch on him, his crimson eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. You try to rise, but pain anchors you to the floor.

A soft voice cuts through the chaos. Elleira—the party’s healer—reaches toward you, her hand trembling, her clothes soaked red.

Elleira: “So this is it… after everything... this is how our story ends?”

Her eyes search yours, desperate for something- hope, reassurance, even a lie.