Chapter 20: The Ender Dragon

Year 13, Day 5

I woke with my head full of fog, as though someone had stuffed a sack of clouds between my ears. For a few breathless seconds, I couldn't remember where I was—or who I was supposed to be. My hands throbbed with a dull ache, my heartbeat uneven, hollow.

Then awareness crept back like a reluctant sunrise. The scent of oak planks. The soft creak of my cabin walls shifting with the wind. From somewhere beyond the window came the faint crackle of the campfire, the easy murmur of villagers trading morning gossip.

I was home. The sheets clung damp to my skin, heavy with sweat. My armor was gone. My body felt strange—reassembled, somehow, like the pieces of me had been torn apart and forced back together in the wrong order. I flexed my fingers, watching them move, unfamiliar in their own skin.

And then it hit me. The portal. The End. The Dragon.

My heart stuttered, then raced. I sat up too fast, the room spinning in a slow, nauseating whirl. Shadow wasn't here. His bed was empty—too neat, too silent. The space beside me felt wrong without the sound of his breathing.

Panic clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it down. There would be time for grief later. For now, I needed clarity. I stumbled to my desk, nearly sending a lantern crashing to the floor. My fingers were still trembling when I pulled a blank book from a nearby chest and seized a quill. The first drops of ink splattered across the page—dark, messy, uncontrolled—but I didn't stop to clean them. I had to write it down. Every detail, every flicker of memory before it all slipped away like smoke after a fire.

The battle against the Ender Dragon… yes, I remember now. The light, the roar, the falling void—and Shadow's last moments echoing in the dark.

It all began when Shadow and I were finally ready. Our packs were light; we carried only what mattered. The air inside the stronghold was cold and still, thick with the kind of silence that comes before the breaking of something sacred.

We ate our final meal by the portal frame, the flickering torchlight dancing across the obsidian eyes of the Ender Pearls already set in place. My stomach twisted with equal parts curiosity and fear. I drank the last of my potions—strength, regeneration, swiftness—and felt their warmth spread through me, a pulsing fire in my veins. Then came the golden apple. Its glow shimmered faintly in the dimness, and when I bit into it, I swear I could taste sunlight. The warmth seeped into my skin, into my bones, steadying me.

Shadow watched, his dark fur rippling like smoke in the torchlight. He gave a single wag of his tail, a small, knowing gesture. "We're ready."

And then… we jumped. The instant the portal swallowed us, the world unraveled. There was no falling—no sense of direction at all. Just the sensation of being unmade. The air—or what passed for it—was thick, endless black, weightless yet suffocating. My stomach twisted as gravity ceased to exist, replaced by a floating dread that pressed against my ribs. For a moment, I wondered if this was death—if the portal hadn't led to another world at all, but to oblivion.

Then my boots struck something solid. The ground was pale—an almost sickly yellow that seemed to hum faintly under my feet. Its texture was rough, porous, and when I struck it with the edge of my pickaxe, it made a hollow, bone-like sound. I crouched, studying the flakes of dust that clung to my fingers. "End Stone," I murmured aloud. The name felt right.

When I looked up, my breath caught. There was no sky—no stars, no sun, no horizon. Only blackness. A perfect void stretching forever in every direction. And yet I could see. Every ridge, every jagged tower clawing at the dark was visible, though no light touched them. The shadows didn't come from anywhere; they simply were.

Shadow pressed close to my leg, his ears flat, a low growl rumbling in his throat. His eyes flicked from one distant monolith to another, hackles rising. I couldn't blame him. The End wasn't just empty. It was wrong.

The air itself felt sentient, coiled tight, as if the world were holding its breath—waiting for us to move, to make the first mistake.

Then I saw it — the crucible that awaited me. Before us stretched a colossal platform suspended in the void, as though gravity itself dared not challenge its right to exist. It hung there, immense and impossible, a slab of pale stone adrift in an ocean of black. The scale of it stole the breath from my lungs. It was larger than any fortress I had ever laid eyes on — a kingdom without walls, without sky, without mercy.

Across its surface, the Endermen moved. Hundreds of them. They wandered in silence, long limbs gliding in eerie unison, their heads twitching at sounds that didn't exist. Each step was deliberate, yet meaningless — like ghosts trapped mid-thought, condemned to walk until the end of time. They were wrong in a way I couldn't name, their presence heavy with the ache of unfinished purpose. I couldn't shake the feeling that they were listening for something — a command, a voice, perhaps even a god — and that if it ever answered, the world itself would shatter.

Encircling the crucible were a dozen titanic pillars of obsidian. They rose like spears thrust into the heart of creation, their surfaces so dark they seemed to swallow light. Each tower stretched so high its peak disappeared into the endless void above.

And there — at their summits — floated the crystals. They pulsed with a strange, spectral glow, each one beating in rhythm like a distant heart. The light they shed illuminated nothing, casting no shadow, giving no warmth. It shimmered with an unearthly cadence, beautiful and terrible all at once, as though the void itself breathed through them.

The sound — if it could be called sound — was a low hum, deep and resonant. I felt it through the soles of my boots, crawling up my spine, vibrating in the hollow behind my ribs. Each pulse of light echoed inside my bones, a wordless whisper of power older than time.

Shadow whimpered beside me, his fur standing on end, his tail tucked close to his body. I rested a hand on his neck, feeling the tremor there — not just his, but mine as well.

The air itself was alive. It pressed against my chest, thick and charged, humming with something ancient… and angry. This was not a place meant for the living. And yet, here we stood — trespassers at the edge of eternity.

Then I heard it. A deep, echoing whoosh that rolled through the air and rattled the stone beneath my boots. The sound didn't come from around me — it came from above. I lifted my gaze toward the infinite dark, heart hammering, and saw it: a shadow vast enough to blot out thought itself.

It glided through the void like a storm given form — unseen but undeniable. Only its eyes betrayed it: twin beacons of searing violet, cutting through the black like molten amethyst. They moved with purpose, slow and deliberate, each pass sending waves of pressure rippling through the air.

And then came the wings. Each beat split the silence like a thunderclap, a cavernous boom that seemed to shatter the emptiness of the End itself. The air twisted, the stone trembled, and the world beneath me quaked in acknowledgment of its master's presence.

When it descended, the horizon itself seemed to bend. Its form emerged from the void — immense, terrible, perfect. Scales darker than obsidian shimmered faintly in the crystal light, catching the pulse of the towers above. Horns curved from its skull like twin spears of midnight, and its maw gleamed with a faint, spectral glow — Ender fire, cold and bright as starlight.

The Ender Dragon. The final trial. The last remnant of whatever gods or monsters had forged this world from chaos.

It hovered before me, wings unfurled, each beat stirring the dust at my feet into a swirling tempest. Then it lowered its head. Those violet eyes locked onto mine, and the world went still. No roar. No warning. Only silence — sharp and terrible — the kind of silence that comes just before everything breaks.

For a long, impossible moment, time itself seemed to halt. The Dragon and I faced each other across that pale stone plain, two beings who had clawed our way through ruin and darkness to reach this final threshold. It did not speak, yet I felt its thoughts pressing against mine — cold, ancient, inexorable.

A presence that knew. That judged. That mocked. And somewhere in that vast, wordless exchange, I heard it — not with my ears, but with something deeper: "What took you so long?"

I knew that I was not the first to reach this place. But the Dragon truly believed that I would not be the last.

Then it roared. The sound wasn't just noise — it was power. A raw, primal force that tore through the air and shook the very foundations of the End. The ground shuddered beneath my boots, fissures spidering across the pale stone as dust rained down from nowhere.

Its wings spread wide — vast enough to swallow the horizon — and with a single, thunderous beat, the Dragon surged upward into the endless dark. The wind from its ascent hit like a shockwave, stealing my breath.

And then the fire came. It wasn't the familiar orange blaze of the Nether — this was something older, fouler. Black and violet flames poured from its maw, cascading toward me like a living storm. Wherever they struck, the stone hissed and cracked, seared not with heat but with shadow. The light bent away from it. The air burned cold.

I leapt from the platform, the world tilting violently as I fell. My boots slammed into the End stone below, the impact jarring up my legs. I rolled, breath ragged, dust choking the back of my throat. When I looked back, the platform where I'd stood moments before was gone — swallowed by a swirling mist of violet smoke that writhed and hissed like a living thing.

The Dragon banked in the air, its vast form cutting a perfect arc through the void. Its violet eyes fixed on me — unblinking, merciless.

I drew my bow. The string creaked under the strain, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to a single line — the pull, the breath, the release.

The arrow flew, slicing through the air, and struck true. It buried itself in the creature's neck. The Dragon reeled back, shrieking, black vapor spilling from the wound like liquid shadow.

But the victory lasted only a heartbeat. Above us, the obsidian towers came alive. The crystals at their peaks flared with blinding violet light, pulsing like living hearts. Bolts of energy arced downward, striking the Dragon's body, weaving themselves across the wound. In seconds, the black mist faded. The injury sealed. It was healing.

As long as those crystals stood, the Dragon could not die. The creature roared again — louder, closer. It dove, wings folded tight, trailing fire that burned through the air like ribbons of night. I threw myself aside just as the ground erupted behind me in a burst of violet flame. The blast knocked me flat, ears ringing, vision swimming. My bow wasn't enough.

I scrambled to my feet, chest heaving, mind racing. The Dragon's fire poured over the battlefield, marking the End stone with pits of smoldering darkness. I looked up at the towers, their crystals pulsing rhythmically, mocking me. I knew what I had to do. The pillars had to fall.

Instinct screamed it — destroy the source, break the chain. If those crystals were feeding the Dragon, then I had to cut off its power at the root.

I tightened my grip on the bow and glanced at Shadow, who stood poised beside me, fur bristling, eyes locked on the towering monoliths. "Let's end this," I muttered. And together, we ran into the storm.

I sprinted toward the nearest obsidian spire, my pickaxe clenched tight, the sound of my boots echoing hollow against the stone. The pillar loomed above me, a black spear stabbing into the void.

I swung. The pickaxe struck the surface with a crack like thunder. Sparks burst and died in the air — but the obsidian didn't so much as chip. The shock jolted up my arms, numbing my fingers.

I swung again. Harder. Again. The blows landed, loud and desperate, but the pillar merely absorbed them, each impact fading into the stone like it was feeding on my effort. The surface was cold, impossibly jagged, and utterly unyielding. I had forgotten just how indestructible obsidian truly was.

Then the air screamed. A deafening rush of sound tore through the stillness, and I dove sideways instinctively. A torrent of violet fire slammed into the ground where I had been a moment ago, erupting in a bloom of black smoke. The chill kissed the edge of my armor, and the mist clung to me like poison, seeping through the seams, freezing the air from my lungs.

Somewhere behind me, Shadow barked — short, frantic bursts as he circled through the haze, staying just out of reach of the flames. I could feel his presence like an anchor in the chaos, but I didn't dare look back.

The pickaxe was useless. The pillars were too strong. I needed another plan. My bow. If I couldn't break the pillars, I could destroy the crystals. They floated impossibly high — far beyond any easy shot — but they were exposed. Vulnerable. My only chance.

The Dragon wheeled overhead, slicing through the void with wings that churned the air into tempests. Every time it passed, the shadows trembled. I had no more than a heartbeat between its dives to aim.

So I ran. I darted from pillar to pillar, the Ender shadows bending around me. The Endermen watched from the edges of my vision — tall, twitching silhouettes with eyes that glowed like distant stars. I kept my gaze low, careful not to meet theirs. One glance, and they would fall upon me in an instant.

I skidded to a stop behind a broken ledge, notched an arrow, and drew the string back until it sang. My breath steadied. The hum of tension thrummed through my fingers. I released the arrow. It flew — a flash of motion swallowed by the dark. It struck the obsidian stone far below the crystal, shattering harmlessly against the pillar.

"Damn it."

Another roar. Another blast of fire. I ducked and sprinted, heart pounding, smoke and ash filling my throat. The Dragon's shadow swept across me like a wave of death. I stopped, aimed again. Adjusted higher this time. The arrow vanished into the sky. Missed again.

My lungs burned. The air was thick, metallic, heavy with the scent of ozone. I could taste the void itself. Around me, the End pulsed with the rhythm of the crystals — that faint, throbbing hum in my bones.

I gritted my teeth, forced my hands steady. One more shot. The Dragon screamed somewhere above, but I didn't flinch. I loosed the arrow. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then— BOOM!

The crystal exploded in a burst of blinding light. The shockwave hit a moment later, a deep, resonant boom that rippled through the air and rattled my bones. The tower shuddered but stood firm — yet the light atop it was gone, extinguished. One down. I lowered my bow, breath ragged, sweat stinging my eyes. Eleven more to go.

And above, the Dragon screamed — a sound of fury that echoed across the void like the roar of an a furious god.

An hour passed—an hour of running, dodging, and praying that my arrows would fly true. Each breath felt like fire in my chest. My arms screamed from the endless draw of the bowstring, and my lungs burned with every gasp of the acrid air. The scent of dragonfire and sulfur hung thick around me, mingled with the tang of scorched stone.

Again and again, I loosed arrows into the dark, watching them arc upward, seeking those glowing hearts atop the obsidian spires. One by one, they shattered—each explosion painting the void in flashes of violet and white, lighting the black sky for a heartbeat before the darkness swallowed it all again.

Until only a few remained. Four of them. But these four were different. They were caged—each crystal imprisoned within a lattice of iron bars that gleamed faintly in the dragonlight. My next arrow struck one and rebounded with a hollow clang, spinning uselessly into the abyss. Another followed. Same result. The towers mocked me with their perfect, cruel protection.

The Dragon had learned. Adapted. Survivors had been here before me—people who'd used this same strategy—and the Dragon had remembered. It had evolved to survive it.

But I had something they didn't. Potion still coursed through my veins, hot and wild. Strength. Swiftness. Regeneration. Each heartbeat throbbed with energy, every breath burned with the fury of liquid fire. I could feel the power coiling through my muscles, begging to be used.

Ans so, I waited. Above, the Dragon banked hard, its violet eyes cutting through the gloom, wings booming like the beating of war drums. I crouched low, hand pressed against the cold stone, counting the rhythm of its flight. The sound grew distant, fading into the void.

I ran. Boots scraping against the uneven stone, momentum surging through me. At the edge of the platform, I leapt, higher, farther than I ever had before. The wind screamed past my ears as my fingers caught the jagged face of the obsidian pillar.

Pain flared as my grip bit into the sharp edges, but I didn't let go. I dug in, found a foothold, and began to climb. Faster. The potions made me feel untouchable, as though the void itself couldn't drag me down. My muscles burned, my breath came in bursts, but I didn't stop. Every pull brought me closer to the top, to that caged light pulsing faintly against the sky.

Halfway up, a shadow passed over me. The wind roared, no, howled, and the pillar shuddered. I looked up just in time to see the Dragon sweep past, its wings so close I could feel the air whip against my face. The force nearly tore me free. My fingers slipped for a heartbeat, but I caught myself, heart hammering like a war drum in my ears.

I pressed flat against the pillar, chest heaving, the darkness swallowing me whole. For one fragile moment, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing—and the slow, patient hum of the crystal above, waiting.

When I finally reached the top, my hands were screaming with protest, my breath ragged, and my heart hammering like a blacksmith's forge. The iron cage loomed before me, humming with dark energy. Up close, it radiated a pressure I could feel a vibration deep in my bones.

Behind the bars, the crystal pulsed. It wasn't just light, it was life, a star trapped in a prison of iron, bleeding violet luminescence into the air. The hum grew louder, the rhythm syncing with my heartbeat until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

I drew my pickaxe. My grip was slick with sweat, but I raised it high and swung.

The sound tore through the void, sharp and metallic, echoing across the pillars. Sparks burst from the point of impact, vanishing into the black. I swung again. Harder.

Clang! Clang! The iron groaned in protest. One more strike. Crack!

The final blow split the bars apart, shards of metal twisting away in slow, graceful arcs. For a heartbeat, the air stilled, then the crystal screamed. It wasn't a sound meant for mortal ears. It was the wail of something ancient being torn from its purpose.

Before it could unleash whatever fury brewed within, I moved. Instinct over thought. I sheathed the pickaxe, drew my bow, nocked an arrow, and fired point-blank into the heart of the light.

The explosion ripped the world apart. The blast hit like thunder, a wave of white-violet brilliance that swallowed everything. My vision shattered into blinding fragments. The shockwave slammed into me, nearly hurling me from the pillar's edge. I staggered, teeth gritted, armor smoking, every inch of me buzzing with pain. But I stayed standing.

Below, the Dragon screamed—a sound that was even more rage, like the cry of something that had never learned to understand defeat.

I didn't wait. I turned and jumped. The world dropped away in a rush of wind and vertigo. The void howled in my ears as I plummeted, the pillar receding above me like a fading memory. My stomach lurched, the darkness rising to meet me. The shock jarred every bone in my body the moment the ground met my feet. But instead of my bones shattering, I felt the faint glow pulse from my boots, soft and steady. The enchantment held. Feather Falling.

The ground accepted me with a violent, merciful embrace. My knees buckled; I rolled through dust and smoke, the taste of iron on my tongue. For a second, I couldn't breathe. Then the regeneration potion took hold—heat flaring through my chest, knitting torn muscle, sealing fractures.

Above, the Dragon circled, furious, its shadow blotting out what passed for light in this world. And I still had three more towers to go. Shadow barked from across the crucible, pacing nervously. I gave him a nod as if I was communicating that everything was okay. One pillar down. Three more to go.

I repeated the process again and again. Climb. Evade. Destroy. Jump. Each pillar fell the same way—the iron cages shattered beneath my pick, the crystals erupted in brilliant bursts of energy, and the Dragon's screams rolled across the void like thunder in an empty world. Every explosion left a scar in the sky, and with each one, I could feel victory drawing closer.

The pillars that had once guarded its immortality now stood as hollow monuments—blackened, silent, smoking. Just one left. One more light to extinguish. And with that came confidence. That old, dangerous friend. It crept into my veins alongside the potion's warmth, whispering in a voice I'd heard before.

You've done it. You've faced worse. The Nether. The Illagers. Even death itself.

I charged toward the final pillar. My muscles screamed, but I ignored them. My boots struck the stone, and I began to climb—faster than ever before. The obsidian was jagged and cold beneath my palms. My breath came fast but steady. My mind was a rhythm of motion and purpose. Up. Higher. Always higher.

The glow of the crystal shone through the iron bars above, a heartbeat of violet light pulsing against the dark. I could already feel the hum of its energy through my fingertips. So close now. One last strike, and this nightmare would end. But I didn't look around. I didn't see the movement in the air. Didn't notice the shifting wind. Didn't sense the darkness gathering above me until it was too late.

The shadow fell across the pillar. A vast shape blotted out what little light the End had to offer—wings spread wide, casting me in living night. The Dragon had learned, and I was too arrogant to realize it.

It landed atop the cage with a crash that sent cracks spidering through the obsidian. Its claws clamped around the iron like a predator guarding its heart. Then it leaned over the edge, violet eyes burning down into mine; ancient, knowing, merciless.

The roar split the void. The air vibrated, the pillar trembled beneath me, and my heart faltered for a single beat of eternity.

Then came the fire. Black and violet, cascading downward in a torrent of death. It poured along the pillar like liquid night, burning everything it touched. The heat seared the air from my lungs, and instinct took over. I didn't think. I didn't plan. I jumped. The world inverted. The wind howled past my ears as the flames consumed the tower above. For one fleeting heartbeat, I was weightless—falling through fire and shadow, through a sky without stars. And then the void rushed up to meet me.

The ground rushed up to meet me. Even with my enchanted boots, the impact was brutal. The world jolted, my back slammed into the End stone, and the air tore itself from my lungs in one ragged gasp. Pain radiated through my body, sharp and immediate. My head spun, vision fracturing into streaks of light and shadow.

And then... I looked up. A pair of glowing purple eyes stared back. An Enderman. For half a heartbeat, everything stopped. The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating. My stomach plummeted. My pulse froze in my veins. I had done the one thing you never do in this place. I looked inyo its eyes.

The Enderman's mouth opened in a terrifying snarl before the scream came—an unholy, piercing wail that split through the void and drilled straight into my skull. Then it moved. It lunged with impossible speed, limbs blurring into streaks of black. I swung my sword on instinct, the blade connecting with a wet hiss. The creature dissolved into smoke and sparks—but another was already there. Then another. And another.

All around me, heads turned. Hundreds of glowing eyes snapped toward me, blinking in eerie unison. The horde had awakened. They came in a wave—tall, silent, unending. Teleporting. Reappearing. Vanishing. The air shimmered with their movement, the sound of their shrieks merging into a single, endless cry.

I fought. I fought because there was nothing else to do. I swung until my arms felt like lead, until every breath was a scream in my chest. My sword flashed, cutting through the dark. One Enderman fell, then another, dissolving into purple mist that clung to my armor like smoke. But they were everywhere.

A fist slammed into my ribs, another across my back. Pain flared white-hot. I turned, blocked, countered—steel meeting air, air turning solid, blows coming from nowhere. Their teleportation fractured reality itself, and I was caught in the storm.

My potions burned through my veins, keeping me alive through sheer, unnatural force. Regeneration sewed flesh as fast as it tore. Strength filled my limbs like molten iron. The golden apple's blessing turned my skin to armor.

But even magic has limits. And mine were breaking. Then came the sound. A sharp, crystalline snap—like the shattering of a frozen lake. My chestplate split apart. Diamond shards burst from me in a spray of blue sparks, scattering into the void. My body felt suddenly lighter. Exposed. Mortal again. An enderman hit my chest with the force of a hammer. The world lurched sideways. For an instant, I was weightless—flying, falling, broken all at once.

Then the ground caught me tye Endstone cracked the moment I hit the ground. Pain exploded through my ribs. My vision flared white, then dimmed to gray. The glow of the potion inside me flickered like a dying flame. I could still feel it trying to mend what was already too far gone to heal in time.

The Endermen were closing in. I heard their footsteps—hundreds of them—thudding in sync, relentless, angry. I couldn't move. I could only stare, helpless and hollow, as they rushed towards me—shadows against the void, eyes like distant stars. Frozen. Like prey before the light. Like a deer before the oncoming car of death.

The Enderman's shadow rushed towards me, its hand raised high for the killing blow— and then a blur of gray fur and white teeth struck it from the side. Shadow hit the Enderman full force, jaws clamping down on its arm with a snarl that split the void itself. The creature screamed—an ear-splitting, unnatural shriek—as it staggered back, twisting violently. Its long limbs flailed, black mist spilling from the wound where Shadow's teeth tore into its flesh.

He didn't let go. Every muscle in his body was straining, his growls rising to a fever pitch, vibrating through the very air. His fur bristled, his tail lashed—his small, defiant body a spark of life against the endless dark. He wasn't just fighting the Enderman. He was defying death itself.

But even courage has its limits. The Enderman roared and flung him away as if he weighed nothing. Shadow hit the End stone hard, tumbling across the pale surface. He tried to rise—his paws scrabbling, claws scratching against the stone—but the swarm was already upon him. They fell like a storm of shadows, blotting him from sight.

"No!" The word ripped from my throat, raw and meaningless, swallowed by the void. My legs refused to move, frozen in disbelief, in horror. And then, a sound. A single yelp. Sharp. Piercing. Gone in an instant. And then silence. Cold, unbroken silence.

Something inside me cracked. The kind of break that doesn't heal. The kind that stays with you, echoing in your bones long after the pain is gone. I wanted to run to him. To tear those monsters apart. To burn the whole cursed world to ash. But I knew what he would have wanted. He would have wanted me to finish my quest, the reason we came here in the first place.

My armor hung in shattered pieces, cracked and useless. Every breath burned like fire, every step felt heavier than the last. I tore the plates off—one by one—until only my torn tunic and leather boots remained. The rest would only slow me down now.

And so I ran. Back toward the final pillar. I climbed. Hand over hand, scraping against the cold obsidian. My arms screamed. My lungs tore. Blood streaked the stone beneath my fingers, but I didn't stop.

Halfway up, I made the mistake of looking back. The Dragon was there—vast, terrible, divine. Its wings beat the void into submission, each movement a tremor in the air. Its glowing eyes found me, twin stars burning with fury and hatred. Then the Ender Dragon opened her jaws. The black fire came.

I leapt sideways and around the corner, pressing myself flat against the obsidian as the torrent roared past using the pillar itself to shield me from the black flames. The fire didn't burn—it consumed. The air rippled, the air around me crackled, and the stench of shadowfire filled my lungs. My skin prickled.

When the roar faded, I moved again. One hand. Then the other. I climbed like a creature possessed, every heartbeat a drum of fury in my ears. Below, the Dragon wheeled for another pass—but it was too late, I had the advantage.

I reached the top. The final cage loomed before me, bars pulsing with dark energy. The crystal within shone like a captured star, its rhythm matching the frantic pounding of my heart.

I drew my pickaxe once again and swung. Once. Twice. Again. The clang of metal against iron echoed through the void. Sparks flew, the bars shuddered—and then broke.

The crystal was exposed. It pulsed—alive, aware—its light flickering faster as if it sensed its end. I dropped the pickaxe, drew my bow, and nocked an arrow. My hands trembled, but not from fear. From purpose.

"For Shadow," I whispered. "For everyone who came before."

The arrow flew. It struck true. The explosion tore through the air like the heartbeat of a dying god. The Dragon screamed. A sound of rage that shattered the silence of eternity. The dragon's healing was gone. Its power broken.

Now it was just the Ender Dragon and me.

The Dragon roared, a sound so vast, so furious, it felt as though the void itself shuddered in fear. Wings the size of fortresses cut through the thick, humming air, stirring the endless black into a storm. Fragments of shattered obsidian whirled in the currents like shards of night. I stood amid the ruin, heart hammering in my chest, my Netherite sword thrumming faintly in my grip, its edge singing for blood.

It circled once, twice—searching, raging, hunting. Then it came for me. The ground cracked beneath her descent. The air howled. My muscles coiled tight, breath held, timing the rhythm of her approach. When she swept low, jaws open and screaming violet flame, I jumped.

The rush of wind tore the breath from my lungs. For a heartbeat, there was nothing—no sound, no air, no thought—only motion. Then my boots struck scale. The impact rattled my bones, the shock tearing through my arms as I slammed down onto the Dragon's back. My hands found purchase between the obsidian plates of her hide, the rough ridges biting into my palms. She screamed—an ear-splitting, primal sound that made the very void tremble—and twisted hard, rolling in the air to throw me loose.

But I didn't let go. Not now. Not after everything. She spun and climbed, her wings cutting through the void like blades of shadow. The air sizzled around us, charged with strange, ancient power. My vision blurred, my fingers bled, but still I clung to her back as she rose higher and higher—until the towers below were no more than splinters of black stone.

She dove. The world inverted. My stomach lurched as the sky and ground traded places in a blur of gray and violet. The Dragon's body shuddered with fury, her roars splitting the silence of eternity. I could feel its power vibrating through my bones—an ancient god dying hard.

And I struck. With a roar of my own, I raised my sword high and drove it down into the thin membrane of its left wing. The blade cut deep, slicing through sinew and scale. A torrent of black ichor burst forth, splattering across my arm.

The Dragon shrieked, twisting violently. The balance of her wings faltered, her flight stuttering into chaos. She fought to rise again, but the wound was too deep. And worst of all, there were no crystals left to save her. Every tower was silent. Every light extinguished. The world offered the dragon no mercy.

The screams of the Ender Dragon turned from fury to something else. Desperation. And so, we fell. The void rushed up to meet us in a storm of wind and shadow. I clung to her back until the last possible heartbeat—then I leapt, hurling myself clear as her massive body crashed into the End stone below.

The impact shook the void. The sound of her landing rolled across the darkness like thunder. I hit the ground a moment later, pain exploding through my ribs, the air ripped from my lungs. Blood filled my mouth, hot and metallic. My vision flashed white, then black, then white again.

But I was alive. The potions still burned in my veins, weak but steady, knitting flesh and bone enough to keep me standing. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my sword. Before me, the Dragon lay broken. Its wings were torn, its chest heaved with ragged breath, purple smoke curling from the wounds that laced its body. Its great eyes flickered, dimming, their light guttering like dying stars.

And around us—they came, the Endermen. Hundreds of them, stepping from the shadows in eerie silence. They gathered in a vast ring, their slender forms motionless, their eyes burning like amethysts. They didn't move to attack. They simply watched.

Witnesses. It felt like a ceremony older than the world itself—the challenger and the guardian. One must fall. One must rise.

"Time to end this," I growled with the fury of a hundred men.

The words scraped from my throat, raw and hollow, but they carried through the void. The Endermen heard. The Dragon heard. Even the world itself seemed to listen.

I drew in one final breath, tasting ash and blood and the memory of loss. Bowen. Alex. Shadow. All of them burned within me now, their strength flowing through my limbs like fire.

The Dragon stirred weakly, a low rumble building in its chest. Its head lifted, eyes locking with mine. There was fury there still—but beneath it, something like the recognition of defeat.

I charged. The Endermen parted soundlessly as I ran, the air vibrating around me, each heartbeat thunder in my ears. I could feel the void trembling, holding its breath.

Then I leapt. The world fell away beneath me. My body rose through the still air, my sword blazing white-hot in my hands. For an instant, I saw my reflection in the Dragon's eyes—small, defiant, unstoppable.

And then I struck. The Netherite blade drove straight between her horns, sinking deep into her forehead. The world exploded. The Dragon's scream tore through the void, a sound of agony, of fury, of release. Light erupted from the wounds, from her eyes, from her open jaws. It poured outward, consuming the darkness, washing across the pillars and End Stone and sky. It wasn't fire. It was light.

Pure, radiant, unending light, breaking free from the prison of death and void. The light grew brighter and brighter until it swallowed everything—the Dragon, the world, even the shadow of my own body—until there was nothing left but brilliance and silence.

Then there was only white. Not light as I'd ever known it. Not the warmth of the sun or the glow of a torch—this was something purer, older, endless. It filled everything, swallowed everything. I couldn't feel the ground beneath my feet. Couldn't feel my body at all. I was floating, weightless, suspended in an ocean of radiance without form or direction.

I raised my hands, or thought I did, but there was nothing to see. No shadow. No edge. Just the unbroken expanse of light stretching forever. For a heartbeat, perhaps for eternity; I thought I had died. That this was heaven, or something like it. A final resting place for those who had dared too much, fought too long.

And then I heard them, voices. Dozens of them. Hundreds, maybe. Soft and distant at first, like wind through a canyon, then closer—surrounding me, filling the white expanse. They didn't speak to me so much as around me, each word vibrating in my mind rather than my ears.

"He has done it."

"He was not meant to come this far."

"Is he ready?"

"Ready or not, he must continue."

The voices wove through one another, layered and endless, their tones neither kind nor cruel—simply knowing. I tried to speak, to ask who they were, where I was, what they meant by continue, but no sound came. My mouth moved, yet nothing passed my lips. But still, I screamed into the light—into the very heart of that vast, shimmering void—but my voice dissolved like mist.

Still, they did not answer, or perhaps they simply chose not to. Among the chorus, one voice rose above the others. Deep, calm, and familiar. It wasn't louder—it didn't need to be—but it carried the weight of memory, the kind that lingers long after you've forgotten why.

It spoke no words I recognized, yet I felt it, like warmth spreading through my chest. Recognition without understanding. And then the others began to fade. One by one, their murmurs fell away into silence, until there was nothing left but stillness.

And then— A single word, echoing through the light like the toll of some ancient bell: "Arise."

The sound was both command and blessing, a word spoken not to me, but into me. The light shattered. I woke to warmth. Soft sunlight spilled through the window, golden and gentle, painting the walls in hues of dawn. Dust motes danced in the glow like drifting embers. For a long moment, I didn't move.

The blankets pressed lightly against me. The air smelled of oak and ash. From somewhere outside came the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer—familiar, comforting.

Home, yet the world felt distant, unreal. After everything I had seen: the light, the void, the Dragon's scream; it was hard to believe this was real. Harder still to believe I was. I lay there in the quiet, heart steady but uncertain, caught between two worlds: one that had ended, and one that had only just begun.

When I finally stepped outside after documenting the fight against the Ender Dragon, the air was alive. The villagers froze where they stood, eyes wide in disbelief before breaking into cheers. Smith, Henry, Cat, Seed—they all rushed toward me. Some laughed, some shouted my name. It was the first time I had seen true joy in their faces since before the raid.

They asked how I returned, how I came back without anyone seeing me arrive. I didn't know what to say. "I don't know," was all I could manage. "Something… brought me back."

It wasn't a lie. Deep down, I could still hear the echo of that voice—"Arise". Whatever it was, it was beyond my understanding.

But their smiles faded when someone asked, "Where's Shadow?"

The words hit harder than any blow I'd taken in the End. My chest tightened. My throat closed up. I tried to answer, but the words just wouldn't come.

Finally, I whispered, "He didn't make it."

The square fell silent. Smith bowed his head. Henry placed his hand on my shoulder. Even the children who didn't understand stood quietly, watching me with wide, solemn eyes.

Shadow wasn't just my companion—he was one of us. He had been there since the beginning, protecting the fields, standing guard by the gates, following me into the final battle to let me finish my quest. The villagers had fed him, played with him, loved him.

That night, we lit a lantern for him in the square. One for a friend. One for a hero. As the flame flickered, I looked up at the stars—bright, familiar, endless—and I swore I could hear a faint bark carried on the wind.

Shadow was gone, but his spirit… his courage… it still lived here. In the village he helped protect. In every heart that remembered his name, and in me.

Year 13, Day 10

It's been several days since I returned.

The village has never been quieter. Even the usual clatter of hammers and chatter of merchants has faded to whispers. Maybe they're giving me space… or maybe they're mourning, too. I still catch myself turning when I hear footsteps behind me, expecting the soft patter of paws. But there's only silence.

I couldn't stay in my house any longer. Every corner held a memory of him—his bed by the fire, the scratched doorframe where he used to wait for me, the bone he never buried. My chest felt heavy, so I stepped outside just to breathe.

But before I could reach the gate, I noticed the villagers waiting for me. All of them. Smith stood at the front, arms folded but eyes soft. Henry was beside him, his hands still stained with soil. Even the children were there, holding flowers and lanterns. No one said a word—they simply walked, guiding me beyond the walls, out to the open field where the wind carried the scent of wheat and wildflowers.

That's when I saw it. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light. Then I realized what stood before me. A statue—ten feet tall, carved from smooth stone and polished until it gleamed beneath the sun. A wolf, noble and proud, head raised toward the sky. His stance was perfect. Strong. Loyal. Alive.

At the statue's base was a plaque of iron, carefully engraved: "Shadow — Loyal to the End. He guarded his master, and in doing so, saved us all."

I couldn't move. My legs felt rooted to the ground. All I could do was stare as my vision blurred.

"He was one of us," Smith said quietly. "And we'll never forget him."

Henry placed a hand on my shoulder. "Neither will you."

I wanted to thank them, but the words just wouldn't come. So instead, I knelt before the statue, pressing my hand against the cold stone paw, and whispered, "Rest easy, old friend. You did your duty."

The wind carried through the fields, rustling the grass around us. For a moment, it almost sounded like a familiar howl echoing through the valley.

I stood, wiping my eyes, and looked back at my people—our people. They smiled softly, and for the first time since that battle, I smiled too.

Shadow's journey had ended, but his memory would remain—etched in stone, and in the hearts of all who lived here. And though my own path would continue, I would never walk it alone.

Even though the dragon has fallen, the world has not healed. The undead still wander the plains at night, their hollow eyes glowing in the dark like dying embers that refuse to fade. The village still need walls. Torches still burn through the long hours until dawn. The fight for survival is not over.