But power is never owned, only borrowed.

One evening, Selene stood beside him in the throne room. She looked at him not with love—but pity.

"You have ruled longer than any mortal should," she said softly.

Aradon’s eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"

She exhaled, as if releasing a burden she had carried for centuries. "Your time is ending, my king. You were never meant to keep this power forever."

And then, he felt it—his strength fading.

The creatures, his creatures, turned their hollow eyes toward him. They did not bow.

For the first time, they hesitated.

And in that moment, Aradon understood.

Selene had prepared him—not to rule forever, but to be replaced.

She stepped closer, brushing her fingers along his jaw. "I have given you more years than any man deserves."

He clenched his fists. "You used me."

Selene’s lips curled into a small smile. "No, Aradon. I loved you."

Then, she whispered in his ear, her voice like the wind before a storm:

"Live on in legend, my king."

And when the sun rose the next day, Aradon the Dark was gone.