The Protector
Fenya scrambled to her feet and rushed to retrieve her weapons from under the rubble. Her shield was too heavy. Her sword, dented past the ability to do harm. She suddenly realised it was over. There was nothing left to fight.
The clang of the shield echoed across the crumbling chamber. She sat amongst the broken masonry, looking intently at the blinding light in front of her. The fiend was slain, and would remain that way for a long time. She hoped that others would answer the call as they did. That others would sacrifice their lives as Enric, Brom, Sarda and Alanor did. As she did.
Fenya cursed herself, knowing only too well that, even if peace was to come, even if she would see the end of her days without having to wield steel again, shadows would always loom on the horizon. This could not be left to fate.
She stood, gripping the battered blade once sought all over Erillia. She ran. Her roar resonated throughout the broken palace. She threw herself into the shining tear in the fabric of reality.
The light died off.
Fenya was gone.
The Protector was born.