Your eyes settle on the sword, its polished surface reflecting the flickering light. It isn't for you; it never was. You brush your fingers against the hilt, hesitant to even hold it. "They think this makes me less monstrous," you think bitterly, "but it only serves to remind me of the gap between what they want and what I am." The blade feels heavier than it should—a physical manifestation of their fragile expectations. You adjust it at your side, letting out a quiet sigh as you move forward, burdened by what it represents more than its actual weight.
It isn't long before the current battle ends and your moment arrives.
"What an exhilarating battle! Our warriors are as strong as ever!" the announcer's voice booms from above, its amplified with magic, loud enough to be heard anywhere on the arena. "But now, on to the main event! The Warden of Emberford!"