Artides' Fourth Trial

In the Hall of the Dragon King sat Zoramok atop a gray throne. Mountains of gold pieces sat behind him, and Artides could see visitors adding to those piles, presenting offerings to the dragon. Upon sight of the Armon, Zoramok gestured for his followers to leave; he’d heard enough about Artides to understand that the gods must have sent him here.
Stopping about ten feet away from Zoramok, Artides knelt. “Apologies for the encroachment, King Zoramok.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong yet, Artides,” Zoramok said reassuringly. “Pick your head up and face me.”
Artides did so.
“Why have you come?” the dragon king asked.
“King Zoramok, I have seen many towns in my journey here,” Artides said, “Many stand tall, proud, and strong, but others have almost nothing left. The land’s scorched and dry—people are stealing from and attacking each other for the few materials they have left—”
“Did I forget to send migrants there…?” The dragon turned his head to the eastern wall, blinking slowly.
“W-What…?” Artides slowly rose to his feet, following the dragon’s gaze with his own eyes.
“No, no, the workers are just slow as usual…” Zoramok turned to the western wall, muttering incoherently.
Artides watched as the dragon spoke with himself in a conversation that seemed to loop over three sentences, never progressing or introducing new thoughts—the same questions were passed about endlessly between Zoramok’s two minds. The Armon took a step closer, squinting his eyes. Zoramok’s gaze met his own, and the conversation immediately changed, a new variable brought to the table.
“Why is the lion here?” said the east mind.
“To remove me from this world, perhaps?” said the west mind.
“How cruel of him… I am not merciless, Artides…”
Artides stuttered. “I-I am simply a messenger, King Zoramok, not an executioner. These are not chess pieces; these are people! They could potentially be your people as well.”
“Mmm… You speak so much about the hearts of people long dead…” Zoramok turned to Artides, and the Armon couldn’t help but feel small in comparison. “Do you want an honest answer, Artides? I don’t care.
“Those people protect an enemy of mine. They are just as likely to rise against me as those dragons did.”
“You can’t possibly know for sure, King Zoramok.” Artides held his arms out. “These are different times. Everyone is afraid of war after what Segoma did. You can reason!” “When the people of Unis waged war against each other, it was for petty reasons. They did not understand the cost of war. They did not understand whose children would scream and burn. They did not know how many lives would be lost. They did not know much blood would spill…” Zoramok laid his head on a pile of gold, closing his eyes. “And after they realized they’d forgotten the reason for their war, they compromised. That agreement was the most rational they had ever been.
“Do you understand why my people are alive, Artides, and why only some towns have nothing left? I understand war. I know who needs to die. If they have any accomplices, I know how many need to die to instill fear. Louistas will not make the same mistakes as Unis.”
“Why not teach your people to compromise?” Artides asked. “Cruelty just begets more cruelty, Zoramok! It doesn’t matter if you’re directing that cruelty at your enemies. They’ll just stew in endless spite and hatred! You can’t honestly expect your people to feel safe outside of these walls!”
“He talks so much…” the east mind complained.
“Deaf… I’m going to go deaf…” the west mind responded.
Artides saw the dragon begin to rise from his throne, with his singular dragon head beginning to split into two at the base of his neck—one black, one white, and both still raising their voices, sounding confused, desperate, and utterly broken. His anger was blatant, and it lashed out like whips that couldn’t quite find their target. Underneath that anger was sadness spurred on by indignation. Artides had to wonder if Zoramok was even aware of his actions half the time he was awake. Only the dragon would know, and Zoramok would likely never tell.
“They’ll all die if they need to.”
“It’s their fault, not mine. I’m so tired of being the one in the wrong…”
A golden gleam overtook the scabbard of Artides’ blade, and the Armon could see it out of the corner of his eye. Curiosity overtook him; did the gods wish for him to draw it at a time like this? Zoramok’s eyes were drawn as well. He leaned forward in silence, his pupils becoming slits.
”That blade of yours…” Zoramok began, “Its name is… Elysades, yes?”
Artides locked his eyes with Zoramok’s. “Yes, King Zoramok, it was given to me by the Gods of the Outer Conference.”
“How peculiar that it could be drawn at a time like this…” Zoramok muttered. “Do you bear me ill-will…?”
Artides gasped. “No, I’d never think of such a thing. I’m perplexed myself.”
“The gods must be displeased with my sense of morals…” Zoramok laid back in his throne. “Very well, I will tell you the sufferings of Fortuna Arcana. You divine twelve, I ask you to listen closely. If you have any sense of regard for the puppet you command, you’ll send him home when I finish speaking.”
When the climax of Segoma’s war fell upon Unis, Fortuna Arcana believed they were ready to end the reign of a god. When you become as strong as we did, nothing seems impossible. We had killed enemies that had threatened entire continents! Surely a god could not be so dangerous. But we were fools, all of us, and we did not understand how she had achieved the power she wielded. Segoma’s divinity gave her reign over wars in all aspects. She could sew seeds of doubt in the hearts of even the most steadfast of heroes; she could bring havens to their knees through paranoia itself; she could cause one to war against themself. Look upon my twin heads and tell me what you see within their eyes, Artides. Do you see the faintest hint of a peaceful man? No, ever since I have been subjected to the horrors of that goddess, my heart has never known peace. That is what poisons this world, Artides: gods who twist the hearts of man. I do not doubt that the seeds of war were sewn even before the First East-West War of Unis began. But, alas, Fortuna Arcana were the ones given the role of cleaning up Unis’ mess like birds in a cage. Yes, each of us was struggling just as the rest of Unis was, but did the gods care about us? No, they left us to die in a petty squabble! That damned Goddess of Second Chances, she was the first to sully my faithful heart! Sarenrae welcomed me with open arms and soon cast me out, and she had the nerve to call it one of her worst mistakes! She left me to suffer for days on end, slowly aging to the end of my life! I will never forgive her for betraying me! A kenku who still lives to this day cannot find rest, for he reigns over time itself. When he was left alone tending to his daughter, that demon struck and divided his willpower from his emotions! I was a blind devotee when we first met, and I abolished his necromancy, blind to its usefulness and sensibility. Evil is subjective, just as good is subjective. You cannot simply call one’s actions evil without understanding the motive behind them. Even then, in their society, is such an action evil? On some planet, far away from here, is evil good and is good evil? I did not care. I did not care until it was too late. And what of Xeithar, a follower of Sarenrae so loyal that it put myself to shame! Right until the end, he was unflinchingly loyal! What he lacked in charisma, he made up for in quick and decisive strategizing. A bright mind such as his was lost to that war, all because Unis could not set aside their gripes! With me, there are none I cannot solve. This war killed a child, Artides, a child that was raised in an abusive household and forced to dance for his captor’s amusement. Are you angry with me? Do not blame me for circumstance, Artides, for this is the price of war. The world will still turn even if a few die, no matter how tragic their death was. Just know this one is dead, and there is no bringing him back. That dwarf, that poor dwarf, he is still suffering. He’s cursed to die a slow and painful death! You worry so much about the people that have nothing left, Artides. What about Gwarvyn Nordrilark, King of the Nordrilark Clan, who has everything but suffers because of it? What about his son, Valdrik, who still searches for a nonexistent cure to his father’s slowly-worsening condition? What about the life they’ll never have together? I can see your will fading with each word. You are not fit to judge someone like myself.
“You’re angry. I can feel the rage burning in your heart,” Zoramok said, smiling. “ You hate me, don’t you? You want me to silence myself. You must think I’m mad somehow, but I assure you, what I speak are not the words of a madman.”
Artides did not respond, for he knew that Zoramok was right. The Armon did not understand why he was angry, but something within him had awakened, and he felt himself grasp the handle of his sword. Zoramok felt an unholy presence sweep over his domain, unable to tell whom it was.
“Vengeance is not justice, King Zoramok,” he said. “You’ve forgotten which is which.”
“Unsheath that blade, Artides!” Zoramok shouted, rising from his throne and pointing at the hero. “You wish to strike at me, so allow me to witness its divine gleam!”
“Very well, Mad King!”
With a pulsing radiance, the sword was drawn from its sheath. The dragon’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Draconic engravings alongside the blade. A golden glow traveled from the pommel to the tip of Elysades, enveloping the sword in pure light. Elysades was not merely a weapon, and Zoramok understood this the moment he saw it in all its glory. Elysades could only be described as an embodiment of Elysium itself. Its glow was the power of pure goodness, channeling its energy through the blade. Witnessing this light meant bearing the weight of one’s sins, judgment cast down by the gods themselves. Artides could see, beyond the gleam of his sword, a single tear from the dragon’s white eyes.
And with that, all the anger Zoramok felt had left him, replaced with curiosity.
“As beautiful as they said…” Zoramok praised, closing his eyes and reminiscing. “It’s hard to imagine that it’s a weapon at all.”
Artides breathed in. “Please don’t misunderstand, I have no hatred. I don’t understand why I reacted so strongly. Even now, I don’t understand why I raise this sword.”
Zoramok chuckled. “You are a puppet, Artides.”
Artides raised his eyebrows. He recalled Zoramok mentioning such before, but what did the dragon mean by that? Artides knew that he was the creation of twelve deities, but—
“The reason you cannot understand your emotions and the reason you cannot lower your blade is that you are not in control of yourself.” Zoramok frowned. “Just as I cannot resist impulses, you cannot help but bend to the will of those that created you. You regurgitate the sickeningly-sweet words of the one that betrayed me, but your actions aren’t truly of your own will. That weapon of yours not only represents your bleeding heart, but it also represents the cage you have been trapped within.”
“Nonsense!” Artides shouted, soon quieting. “I… feel alright. I’m well, I’m sure.”
“When you leave this home of mine, will it be with me in two, or will you take control of yourself and forge your path as I did?” Zoramok smiled. “Regardless of the decision you make, you will learn something about the ugly truth surrounding your birth.”
“Will you lower your sword, or will you kill me?”
Zoramok’s twin heads focused on Artides intensely, scrutinizing every inch of the Armon’s body as though he were an insect under a microscope. The hero felt the blood in his veins run wild with an emotion that he didn’t understand. Why? Why did he hate Zoramok? Artides understood Zoramok’s motives, but he disagreed with the dragon’s methods. There had to be a way to reason. There was always a way to reason! So why was he walking towards Zoramok with such purpose? This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t—
“May you find your peace, Artides. Farewell.”

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Every hundred years of servitude demanded a trial. In 5466 A.A., Artides set out on his fourth trial: humble the dragon king of Louistas. His tasks before this had him slay monsters, so to see a potentially peaceful option brought a deep sense of hope to the Armon. Artides heard that the king was “far gone” and detached from the world he was to protect, but the people within the eleventh sector had only ever told him good things. 
"Oh, the king was so great, wise, and forgiving; oh, the king would show you a righteous path and enlighten you; oh, the king could cut you free of your worldly problems so long as you listened." So that’s what Artides decided to do.