[written in the evening]
It felt like a large sigh of relief after the claustrophobic and tense wander through the narrow corridors of this maze. The minotaur is dead. A huge slumped figure on the cold stone floor of an already too small room. No longer imposing, but pitiful. And yet, no matter how many times I hear that we’ve saved him from a very cruel fate, all I can think of is the fact that he was the last of his kind. We killed the last of his kind. That is the very definition of genocide… and even as I may not have dealt the final blow it felt very easy to kill when you’re defending yourself. When you think that what you are doing is right. Did the dragonlords sigh with relief as they killed what they thought was the last gygan?
Xander said we needed to ‘stand for what is right’. The oddity of a man dead for 500 years. A ghoul with a raspy voice providing advice for the future, like a bad dream taken out of children’s fairytale books. How strange are these times… and yet, he said the words and I thought I saw Calliope beam like she had found a purpose she had forgotten for the past half a millenium. And reassurance from Braz and all the others. But even as the shaking in my hands subsided, the cold claw gripping at my chest loosened, I failed to be inspired. How can I stand for what is right when I’m not really here for the right reasons, I am only here for a revenge of sorts, I’m here out of spite towards the titans. Should I even be on this quest? I am no hero, I may have aged, but deep down I’m merely more than the young girl frightened by her own power, fueled by the same passions and bitterness. If tomorrow the Fates would give me everything back only to abandon my quest against Lutheria, what would I do: would I let the world burn? Am I the source of corruption that is putting this whole endeavour at risk. Is it people like me that ultimately drove the dragonlords on the wrong path, one of violence and destruction?
[written in the morning]
Calliope disappeared this morning. Or at least I thought she did and for a few minutes I panicked, running out only to find her in her own tomb. Things truly are surreal in the necropolis. I am getting attached and I don’t think it’s just me, I’ve seen how she lent in to protect me as the mimic pulled me into its jaws, how Helikaon, despite his moody disposition, stood by me as the harpies attacked. I’ve not had people care in a while. It’s different, it’s nice. And I’m sure I can return the favour, there must be magic and spells to help them, even if healing seems to be out of my reach. And maybe taking on this quest with the purpose of being there for them, for these newfound friends, the true heroes of the prophecy, might just be the right reason to be here. A ray of light in the darkness of my thoughts.