The clearing was silent now. The fire had burned low, and the shadows of his fallen companions stretched long across the moss. He stood alone, his chest heaving, not from the battle, but from the weight of the question that had haunted him longer than any blade or curse. "Now that I’ve got your attention… and all your friends are gone," he whispered to the darkness, "there is something I wanted to ask you." The trees leaned in, listening. The night itself seemed to pause. "I’ve spent most of my life fighting—angry, furious, clawing at the world. But for what? What has all this been building toward? What if I am not angry anymore?" The words cracked like thunder inside him. He felt the rage that had always been his armor slipping away, leaving something raw, something unknown