A mediocre idea continued

In my younger days,  I had power.  Power I wielded like a hammer.  With it I shaped myself and my world.  I helped build a dream.  A shining example brought low by a tide of petty evils.  By the end my friends were dead and our allies scattered to the winds.  So much power,  power enough to shape a world but not enough to keep it.  I was so tired but the fires of creation singing through me would not let me die.  People say that I was tricked into the tree.  In reality it was the only oblivion I could craft for myself.  I slept fitfully, the passing years playing out as a dream.  Something wrent the tree from its mooring and I stumbled out.  Kept strong by its roots deep into the Well.  I blinked and saw sunlight for the first time in more than a thousand years, just as a bright sword stabbed out of the sky with a keaning wail.  The roar was deafening, the howl of metal tearing.  I didn’t think.  I lashed out with my will.  Anything to make the noise stop.  Now they laud me a hero.  When what I am is just a frightened old man.

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