Ink and paper : The fallen Hero.

Caius Drayke

The silence between us stretches, thick and suffocating. Eloise stands there, the weight of her words hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. She doesn't understand. She can't. Not yet. 

I watch her closely. Her eyes are filled with pity, confusion, and something else—something like regret. She looks so small, so fragile, standing before me. I want to shake her. To make her see the cost of the story she crafted. The consequences of her choices. The life I was forced to live. 

I was never meant to be a hero. Not in the way she wanted. Not in the way the readers expected. 

I was never supposed to be a man of peace, of love. I was forged in vengeance, tempered in rage, and made for the battlefield. My existence was a cycle of pain and loss, a chain I could never break. And Eloise, with all her words, all her ink, couldn't see that. She couldn't see who I really was. 

But she's close. So close. 

"Come with me," I say, my voice rough, desperate. The words feel like a command, but they are a plea. "Come with me to Aeloria. Come with me to the world I was born in." 

Her eyes flicker with hesitation. I take a step closer, my presence towering over her, the space between us filled with all the questions I have no answers to. She doesn't want to, I can tell. She doesn't want to see the darkness of my world. The blood, the fire, the hatred. But I don't need her pity. I don't need her to try and fix me. I need her to understand. 

"To understand *me*," I add, my voice quieter now, more vulnerable. "I need you to see what I've been through. To see the man I truly am. Not the hero you tried to make me, not the tragic figure you turned me into, but the *real* Caius Drayke. The man who fought for every breath. The man who lost everything." 

She says nothing. Her silence grates against me, but I hold my ground. 

"I want you to see the world I lived in," I continue. "You'll see why I became who I am. Why I made the choices I made. And maybe—maybe you'll understand why it's so hard for me to let go of the past. Why my revenge feels like the only thing that matters." 

I move closer still, so close that I can see the flutter of her heartbeat in her throat, her breath shallow. She's afraid. But that fear is not just of me. It's of the world I come from. Of what she might discover when she steps into my shoes. 

"Lady Isolde—she doesn't understand me the way you could. She loves me, yes, but she doesn't know what it means to live with the weight of vengeance. She doesn't understand the pain that has shaped me. You..." I hesitate, searching for the words, "You could. You could understand me in a way that no one else ever has. In a way that I need." 

Her face softens, the pity fading into something more sympathetic. But I don't want sympathy. Not from her. 

"Why would you want that?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

"Because I'm tired of being misunderstood," I growl. "I'm tired of the world seeing me as just a weapon of destruction. I need someone who can see beyond the rage, beyond the vengeance. Someone who can understand the man I used to be. The man I could have been. You *created* me, Eloise. You have the power to rewrite my fate. To make me more than what I was." 

She looks away, her eyes distant. She's thinking. I can see it in the way her lips tremble, her fingers curl at her sides. She wants to refuse me. I can feel it. 

But then, the guilt washes over her, and I know what's coming. 

"I... I don't know if I can do what you're asking," she murmurs, her voice full of uncertainty. 

"I don't want you to *fix* me," I say, my tone hardening again. "I want you to understand me. To see my world the way I see it. To walk in my shoes for a moment and then decide for yourself if I deserve what I've fought for. If I deserve this revenge, or if I'm the man I was meant to be." 

She swallows hard, her throat working as she tries to find her voice. The tension in her is palpable, and I feel a strange satisfaction in knowing she's at war with herself. 

"I can't just *see* your world, Caius," she says, her voice trembling now. "I'd be *in* it. It's not like anything here. I don't know if I could—if I could even survive there." 

"Do you think I've survived by being weak?" I snap, taking another step closer. "Do you think I've lived this long by running from the pain? No. I've embraced it. I've *survived* because I had no choice. And you, Eloise, you've given me a chance to change that. You've given me a chance to be more than what I was." 

Her eyes flicker, something dark and raw flashing in her gaze. I can see the struggle in her face. The guilt. The *desire* to make things right. 

"I didn't know," she says, her voice cracking. "I didn't know that I could change it. I didn't know how much of you was real." 

I take her hand, and she doesn't pull away. It's soft, tentative, but it's enough to make my heart race. 

"I've lived a life of fire and blood, Eloise," I say, my voice low. "And the only way to change it—to change me—is to face it. To make the world see me as I truly am. You've written my past, but you still have the chance to help me write my future." 

She's trembling now, barely holding herself together, but I can see the resolve in her eyes. The same resolve that makes me trust her more than anyone else. 

"Alright," she whispers, finally. "I'll go with you." 

My breath catches in my throat. The words feel like a victory, but not the kind I'm used to. I'm not victorious in battle. I'm victorious in gaining something far more important—someone who might finally understand me. 

I step closer to her, my eyes never leaving hers. "Thank you." 

Her gaze softens. "I'm doing this because I owe you." 

"No," I correct her, my voice quiet but firm. "You're doing this because you understand. And that's more than anyone has ever done for me." 

The room around us seems to vanish, and all I can focus on is Eloise. The weight of everything between us shifts, and in that moment, I know she'll follow me. She'll walk into my world, into the chaos and the destruction, because she's finally realized that she's the one who holds the pen. 

And I'm ready to rewrite my fate.