Her voice carries across Haven's walls. "Knight?"

Strange how a single word can hold such weight. These borrowed bones - no, chosen bones now - remember Emmy's fearless questions from before. The same voice, older but unchanged in its certainty.

I incline my skull slightly, the gesture familiar despite this titanic frame. My new form towers over Haven's walls, but purpose remains the same. Protect. Defend. Stand guard.

Commander Ikert studies my frame from the battlements, her hand still near her sword. Three years have weathered her armor, added new scars to old steel. She remembers too - I see it in how she holds herself, how her fingers trace Haven's mark on her shield.

The same mark I once bore, before the Duke's flames forced evolution.

I remain motionless, hands raised in ancient gesture. Let them look. Let them see. This frame may have changed, but duty burns eternal in these hollow sockets.

"Lower your weapons," Emmy calls to the other guards. "Don't you remember? He protected us before!"

Some bows lower. Others remain drawn. Three years of siege have taught Haven's defenders caution.

I could speak now, scratch words in earth with Aeternus's massive blade. But actions carry more truth than borrowed words. Instead, I slowly kneel, bringing my skull level with the battlements. Close enough for them to see the same blue-white flames that once lit smaller sockets.

Emmy steps forward, ignoring restraining hands. "I kept watch," she says. "Every morning. The others said you fell, but I knew. I knew you'd return."

The toy soldier at her belt catches morning light. The same one she carried when these bones were smaller, when we fled the horror's lair. Such a small thing to hold such faith.

Commander Ikert moves closer to the wall's edge. Her voice carries the weight of three years defending these stones. "If you're truly our guardian returned, prove it."

I turn my massive skeletal palms outward, mirroring the same gesture made years before beneath these walls. Though bigger now than previous form, the meaning remains unchanged, an ancient signal of peace, bones empty of weapons or ill intent

Commander Ikert's eyes narrow, recognition flickering across her weathered features. She witnessed this same motion before, when these bones were smaller. Now my titanic skull rises level with the battlements, yet I maintain the posture of supplication.

My palms stay raised, patient. Let them study how the Field of Broken Banners reshaped this form. Though my height matches siege engines and my new frame could breach the walls, I hold the gesture steady.

Some of Haven's defenders lower their bows further, whispering among themselves. They remember a smaller skeleton who threw supplies over their walls, who cleared corruption from their foundations.

Emmy steps closer still, her young face showing no trace of doubt. She sees past the titanic bones to the guardian who once led her from darkness.

Recognition spreads across Captain Ikert's face. "It really came came," she mutters.

Then louder: "Stand down! Open the gates!"

"Commander?" The old guard beside her tightens his grip on his spear. "Are you certain?"

"I gave him Haven's shield myself, three years ago." She straightens. "And now he's back, changed but unchanged."

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The gates groan open beneath me. I rise from my kneel, careful not to let my shadow fall too heavy across defenders who still eye this titanic frame with uncertainty.

The gates seem small now against this titanic frame. What once was entrance becomes narrow passage. Strange how perspective shifts with borrowed dragon bone and titan frame. The walls I defended before reach only to my chest where I stand.

Commander Ikert recognizes the problem. "The outer courtyard," she calls. "Let's give our guardian proper space."

Metal hinges groan as the gates spread wide, but I remain. This new form belongs outside, where threats gather. My skull lowers, bringing hollow sockets level with the wall walk.

Better to kneel here in the killing field than risk damage to what I protect. These chosen bones understand their place, between Haven and horror, not within, not sheltered by its walls.

Emmy steps closer to the wall's edge, unafraid massive form. An old toy soldier she holds up, its worn paint still showing traces of a warrior's colors.

"I kept this," she says, "To remember. The others forgot."

The memory surfaces like bones rising through dark soil - the Duke's flames stripping borrowed frame to ash, my scattered pieces refusing to yield while survivors fled.

The memories of that battle will never fade.. Dragon-reinforced bones remember simpler shapes, rabbit skulls and deer ribs cobbled together, fighting even as demon fire rendered them to dust.

The memories fade like ash in wind. Dead things do not linger on dead battles, purpose drives these bones forward, not backward.

Aeternus's tip scratches in the earth before Haven's walls, each letter massive but precise.

THREE YEARS LOST. TELL ME OF THREATS.

Commander Ikert reads the words from the wall. "The corruption spreads differently now. The Dark Heart's destruction changed things. Instead of simple shadows, we face grander horrors."

THE DUKE WHO BURNED THESE BONES?

"One of five demon dukes," she explains. Her voice carries the weight of countless battles. "But they're not our greatest threat. They serve greater powers - the realm lords who reshape entire kingdoms to their will."

TELL ME OF THESE LORDS.

Commander Ikert studies the massive letters from the wall. "The corruption spreads differently now. The Dark Heart's destruction changed things. The realm lords grow bolder. The Briar Queen's Rot creeps closer each season. The Abyssal Prince tests our eastern defenses. Others are more dormant."

BORROWED BONES WERE NOT ENOUGH. CHOSEN BONES MUST BECOME MORE.

Emmy leans forward. "Is that why you're different now? Why you grew so large?"

The question deserves truth. Aeternus cuts deep.

FIRST STEP ONLY. THE MONSTER'S PATH DEMANDS MORE. A DUKE REDUCED THESE BONES TO ASH. CANNOT FAIL AGAIN.

DUKES SERVE LORDS. LORDS SERVE KING. WHAT BROKE BORROWED BONES WAS MERELY FIRST TIER OF POWER.

My blade etches final words:

TO FACE WHAT HUNTS YOU, MUST BECOME MONSTER WORTH FEARING.

A great ruin of letters remains in front of me.

Commander Ikert's face hardens into the neutral mask of someone who has seen too many promises turn hollow. "And if you do?" Her voice carries three years of endless siege. "If you become a monster strong enough to kill the Demon King? What then? Replace him?"

Her hand tightens on her sword hilt. "Come back for us to finish what he started?"

PURPOSE WILL NO LONGER DRIVE THESE BONES. WILL REST.

The simple words hang in morning air. Emmy's sharp intake of breath breaks the silence. She understands first - not a promise of power, but a warrior's acceptance of final peace. These chosen bones seek not to rule, but to earn their end.

Ikert reads the words again, her grip on her sword loosening. She recognizes truth there, duty that asks everything, including its own cessation. Not the answer of a monster seeking power, but a guardian marking the cost of protection.

Silence holds as Haven's defenders read simple words carved in earth. Ikert's hand falls from her sword hilt, shoulders easing from battle-ready tension. She studies this titanic frame with new understanding - not another horror seeking ascension, but duty given monstrous form.

"You'd just, stop?" Emmy's voice catches. "After becoming strong enough to kill a god?"

My skull inclines slightly. Aeternus carves new truth:

WHEN PURPOSE ENDS, SO TOO MUST THESE BONES.

"But that's not fair!" The words burst from Emmy with childish certainty that survived three years of siege. "You protect us! You shouldn't have to-"

Commander Ikert's hand on her shoulder stops the outburst. The older warrior understands what the young archer cannot - that true guardians seek not eternal watch, but final rest once duty ends.

I scratch another message, lighter this time:

PROTECTION REQUIRES COST. THESE BONES PAY WILLINGLY.

Haven's walls fall quiet as morning sun catches dragon scale and ancient bone. They see now what this frame truly is - not another monster seeking power, but necessity given form. The price of facing demon lords is becoming something terrible enough to break them.

A young guard whispers what others think: "Three years to return, just to promise death once duty ends?"

My answer cuts deep in dark soil.

DEATH IS NOT ENEMY. REST IS REWARD.