Forgive me, lands I loved.
Heroes make poor keystones.
No prophecy told you I would solve problems.
The Dark Lord is dead. I believed
all must come together
once I overthrew the Shadow,
forgetting past strife.

Only
you waited for me.
You wanted  forging together, laminating
your skin tones, languages, beliefs
to forge my Sword of Destiny.
But swords reflect only people.
You waited for me to fulfill the prophecy
you wrote.
The Dark Lord was killed
by these strange new folk in suits,
and they’re too complex for me.
Here’s the problem: you waited for me,
but I never existed.