I am a man of regrets. As one of the greatly stubborn race of minotaurs, how could I be anything different? How can I let go of, forget and ignore the regrets of my past, even if they are more than a 100 years removed from the present? Like others who belong to longer lived races, most of what torments me to my very core happened during that fateful war or can be traced to what happened in it.

I don't hate Teldarion. To me, he was an arrogant and misguided man that fed way too much on his people's darker desires and impulses. I don't hate the Elves that fought for Teldarion. To me, they were poor, misguided fools that chased an illusion of paradise for which they would pay any price. That said, the atrocities that they brought to bear upon the world cannot be forgotten and they cannot be forgiven.

Attending the anniversary of the defeat of Teldarion, to me, is not just an excuse to ponder my regrets and lament that I did not do things different from how I did them. It is also a way to put myself at peace and hope that even if there will be a next Tyrant, perhaps things will not go so far. Perhaps in the next war, there will not be so many people like me, filled with regrets and lingering torment.

It might be quite naive to think that way. Perhaps those that had gone through the reign of Tyrants before Teldarion harbored similar hopes. But I suppose that I might just be weak in that way. If I cannot hope for a better future, then what shall I do? How good of a person could I be then? Could I really look in the eyes of those who are younger than me and firmly say “The future is bright!” if I do not believe in it myself? I am not a man of such moral fortitude that I can stand without the support of a hopeful future. And so I delude myself.

“In this glorious day, 130 years ago, the Grim Collector, first Tyrant of the elven race, Teldarion, the so-called greatest sage, was defeated in the streets of this very city. The very arrogance that marked his reign and atrocities led him to make his last stand, as his forces were being beaten at every turn, in this city of Meliria. 'The lesser races will not set one single filthy foot in the glorious republic of Imaria.' Thore are among his last spoken words. Yes, one of the reasons we hold this festival is to celebrate the deeds of the great heroes, like Gaareul and Aurion, who worked to end the terror of Teldarion. But we must never forget the terror himself...”

Instead of continuing to pay attention to the speaker on stage, who would go on, just like every other time, to speak at length of some of the many atrocities committed by Teldarion, I instead let myself be distracted by the two names he mentioned: Gaareul and Aurion. How could I not? One of them was my very own brother and the other was one of his companions in his journey to make the world a better place and a great friend of mine.

Gaareul. Hero among heroes. Unyielding champion of what is right. Defender of the trampled and weak. These are some of the ways I usually hear him described, especially during festivals such as this one, which commemorate Teldarion's fall. However, the man I know was also insecure, passion-driven, certainly overbearing. I'm sure his son, my nephew, Gauron, would agree with that last remark. He was always better than me, even if I was the older brother. He was stronger, he was faster, he was more charismatic. Although, there was one thing that he never beat me at, which was tactics. I still regret not standing up for him more against father when he first abandoned the tribe. Perhaps, with a more thorough support of the minotaurs under our banner earlier would have hastened the war's end.

I wasn't all that envious of my brother, or at least I'd like to think that. When he first left the tribe to grow stronger and find a way to weaken Teldarion, I did not speak against father, the then tribal chieftain. Perhaps my real regret is having fallen to the temptation of thinking that with Gaareul leaving, I would be the strongest candidate for becoming the next chieftain. It just didn't occur to me at the time, like father, that if Teldarion ultimately triumphed, there wouldn't be a tribe anymore. Perhaps my regret is that I did not stand at my brother's side when he had always stood by mine. Still, this regret is nothing compared to what I go through when I think of Aurion.

Aurion, the Silver Streak, some called him. I met him years after Gaareul had left the tribe. Teldarion had conquered most of the continent and more and more people were learning of the true consequences of being under him. He was a member of the Dragonkin, one of the long lived races of this world and holders of immense power. Usually Dragonkin are extremely isolationist and rarely directly interfere in the affairs of other races, even during the gravest of crises. Aurion, however, had a very good reason for joining Gaareul in his fight against Teldarion: His younger brother had been captured.

At the time, due to my high possition within minotaur society, I had become a general in the army that resisted Teldarion. Whenever Gaareul and his small band of heroes had contact with or cooperated with the army, I was able to have conversations with Aurion. He really helped shatter my preconceived notions about the dragonkin. Aloof, cold, logical, manipulative and greedy. These are among the many unflattering characteristics that are contained within the stereotype many hold of the dragonkin. They could not be any more different. It's not that they are aloof or without emotions, but that they are too passionate and too powerful. A dragonkin that lets their emotions run wild, even holding good intentions, is a walking disaster.

Aurion's mother, Aurelya, the Exalted, was a good example of this, or so he told me. Centuries prior, she had caused a huge disaster while fighting against a Tyrant, an experience which led her to being quite harsh on her own children, so that they would not make the same mistake. As a result, I never saw a more disciplined warrior in my life. Even when he took on his dragon form, so graceful and deadly, it was clear he was measured and careful with every blow, every magic he cast.

Even if everyone else will not blame me, I still regret not being able to lead the army in such a way that Aurion did not lose his life. It was at the end of the war. I was to take the ancient fortress city of Antioch, near the border between the human kingdom of Meridia and the then Republic of Imaria. There, it was certain that Aurion's brother was being held. As the siege extended itself for more than a month, Aurion's patience grew thin. I tried my best to convince him that it couldn't be helped, as we had to slowly chip away at the many powerful wards that protected the fortress. However, I couldn't convince him, and one day, at dawn, Gaareul's entire party was missing from the army camp. Where else could they have gone but the fortress?

In military terms, it was a brilliant coup. They managed to infiltrate the city and weaken its defenses enough that by nightfall the city had fallen. However, this gambit had cost Aurion his life. Surrounded by enemies while my army battled to take control of the city's gates, Aurion gave his life to protect his companions against overwhelming odds. However, his tragic sacrifice would have been in vain: A thorough inspection of the fortress revealed, among other victims, one body that belonged to a dragonkin, probably dead for months. Aurion's brother had been dead even before we had reached Antioch's gates. What if I had been a better commander? What if I had been more competent at collecting intelligence? Some might say I am too hard on myself and that I was a more than adequate general during that war. The other two generals of the army agreed with that statement. But still, the tragedy of it all still pricks my heart.

As with every other festival commemorating the fall of Teldarion, it felt like I spent the majority of the time locked with my own thoughts, not really interacting with the people that came to greet me as one of the heroes from that war. I eat the food and it tastes like dust in my mouth, but it is alright. It is the just punishment I deserve for not being competent enough. Eventually, I settle in one of the many high-class inns of the city, ready to ponder some more on that war.

As I was ready to retire to retire for the night, I hear a huge sound, akin to an explosion. The instincts that I had honed during that war suddenly flare up. Who, what or why doesn't matter: I know that I am under attack. I open the door of my room and am attacked by a crazy-eyed human holding a dagger. He jumps, attempting to stab my neck. I easily stop his attack by grabbing his arm holding the dagger, then without hesitation I swing the human at the gnome nearby, who also held a dagger.

“What is going on? Who are you all?”

Unfortunately, both of my attackers were knocked unconscious by my attack and are unable to respond, but a robed man at the end of the corridor was all too willing to answer.

“The eternally turning wheel must be broken. We serve Him, and through our actions, a new Tyrant to carry out his will may rise.”

The Broken Wheel. I suppress a sigh. I don't really feel like dealing with that cult of apocalypse-seeking madmen right now. It is quite a puzzle why they are so obsessed with Tyrants, as whether Tyrants actually cooperate with them seems something of a crapshoot. One of the few positive things Teldarion did was aggressively persecute and destroy every single member of this cult in the lands he controlled.

“Well, now that's a surprise. The Broken Wheel seems to still be a thing, I thought that at least that bastard Teldarion might have ground you all to dust.”

The man growled and showed some teeth at the mention of Teldarion. He launched into another insane tirade.

“Teldarion! False prophet! False leader! He served nothing but his desires. If it was up to him, the wheel would continue turning for all of eternity. His death was a boon to Her. We must thank you, Grand Tactician Bereul. You were one of the great contributors to his downfall. If you wish for it, I'm sure He would gladly give you a great reward.”

I resist rolling my eyes and gesture at the unconscious human and gnome nearby.

“That's a really strange way of thanking somebody.”

The robed man's smile was quite sinister.

“Peaceful death is a form of reward in itself. But even if you are tormented, you seem to seek something else. Redemption perhaps, for your supposed mistakes? There is none to be found here.”

For some reason, as he spoke of redemption, something triggered inside my mind. A bad feeling spread inside me and I felt a new sense of urgency. I walk towards the man slowly.

“What is going on? Are you just trying to gain time? For what?”

As I slowly gain speed, the man cackles at me.

“You cannot stop the crack now! You will feed it, and in the end, the wheel will break!”

I make no effort to hold back my strength as I swing at the man to get past him. The cracking of bones I hear suggest that he might have lost his life. But it doesn't matter to me. I just know that I need to be somewhere, and I will kill as many cultists as I need to if it gets me any closer to it. As I exit the inn, I realize that there are several fires raging in the city. I cannot help but feel nervous, whatever it is that the Broken Wheel is planning, seems to be in a big scale. Somehow, I know where I must go.

After running for some time, I finally arrive at another quite high-class inn, which had been completely reduced to rubble. The reason for its ruination is pretty apparent: I locate a transformed dragonkin full of wounds, probably nearing the end of his life. The big obsidian eyes regard me, filed with pain and anxiety. His impressive scales shine faintly with a crimson color as he opens his maw and weakly begs me.

“Bereul... You're Bereul, aren't you? The Grand Tactician. Please, save her, my partner. She's pregnant, she can't transform. They intend to sacrifice her to their dark god.”

It was like a stake had pierced my heart. So that's what they were going for. Except... why? All of it just to sacrifice a single pregnant Dragonkin? But wait, who?

“Who's your partner?”

The dying man took on his last beath and, with the last of his life, he expired while speaking the name of his lover.

“Annairelya.”

I froze. It couldn't be. It must not happen. I couldn't let this happen. It mustn't be allowed to happen, under any circumstances. I stampeded through the city in a futile and desperate attempt to find out where she had been taken by the Broken Wheel. I tortured every single cultist I could find, breaking their bones little by little as I shouted at them.

“Where is the dragonkin woman? Where will the sacrifice be conducted?”

Most of them cackled at me, but some were able to give me garbled instructions in between groans of pain. I left none of them alive. As I finally arrive at the small church that most directions given pointed me to, I can't help feeling a chill. Of course the Broken Wheel would desecrate such a place. I wasn't a worshiper of Virtue, yet it still offended me to see one of his churches used for one of the unholy rituals of the Broken Wheel.

The main door's lock had already been broken, so I only had to push it open. What I found was the kind of scenery that one would only expect to see in a nightmare. A few corpses here and there probably belonged to people that had been in the church when the Broken wheel attacked, while the priest of this church had been hanged on one of the chandeliers. This, however, paled in comparison to the grisly picture that could be seen in front of the main altar. A pile of bodies could be seen, many of them wearing the characteristic robes of the Broken wheel, a pool of blood oozed from them. Standing atop that pile I saw her. Aurelya, the Exalted, holding the lifeless body of her last child, Annairelya.

I fall to my knees as I observe that scene of supreme tragedy. Aurelya, her intensely pale skin dirtied by streaks of blood which might have been her daughter's or of her killers. Slightly twisted horns, pointing backwards, as well as the dark scales in her hands and feet, that had talons proved her being one of the dragonkin. The same dark scales covered a moderately long tail that rested on the corpses of cultists of the Broken Wheel. Her long dark hair now seemed to recall the abyss that would take her daughter's soul. I heard enough descriptions of Aurelya to know that the one in front of me couldn't be anyone else.

I failed. Just like with Aurion's little brother, I did not even come close to saving his little sister. How would I ever be able to face him after I passed away. I prostrated myself on the ground, ready to let my wail out, but right as I was about to let my voice out, Aurelya, who didn't seem to have detected my presence, started lamenting.