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    Cover of The Tale of Balen
    Poetry

    The Tale of Balen

    by

    Chap­ter IV – The Tale of Balen begins with a sym­bol­ic lens turned toward nature, where every sun­rise is more than light and every sun­set feels like loss. In this poet­ic land­scape, hope is likened to the morn­ing dew—glistening and frag­ile, soon van­ished by time’s unyield­ing heat. Balen’s jour­ney con­tin­ues under skies that seem to mir­ror his own fate, ever caught between glo­ry’s radi­ance and the loom­ing shad­ow of down­fall, where even tri­umph can feel like a pre­lude to sor­row.

    Across the open moor­land, the still­ness is bro­ken by ten­sion. Launce­or, inflamed by pride and jeal­ousy, charges toward Balen, seek­ing to reclaim dig­ni­ty he believes has been lost. Their duel unfolds not with mere force, but with the fury of storms clashing—each strike a shout of defi­ance, each par­ry a moment where fate waits to tip its hand.

    Though Launce­or is brave, he is no match for Balen’s skill. The bat­tle ends with Launceor’s life­less body on the field, the air still trem­bling from the final blow. What lingers, how­ev­er, is not vic­to­ry, but a hush that holds regret, for even jus­ti­fied con­flict leaves behind its own sor­row.

    As the dust set­tles, a maid­en approach­es, her steps slow and eyes filled with unbear­able grief. Her voice trem­bles with anguish as she denounces Balen, not for cru­el­ty, but for the con­se­quence of jus­tice done too swift­ly. With­out anoth­er word, she lifts Launceor’s sword and, in one motion, ends her life beside him—turning a bat­tle­ground into a tomb of love and mourn­ing.

    This moment, stark and unfor­get­table, under­scores the tale’s cau­tion: even right­eous­ness must tread care­ful­ly, for hearts are not healed by val­or alone. The world around Balen feels cold­er, not because of the weath­er, but because tragedy seems to fol­low even his most hon­or­able acts. What was meant as a duel of pride becomes a scene of shared ruin, observed now only by the wind and watch­ing sky.

    Not long after, the sto­ry shifts, offer­ing a brief but warm light in the form of Bal­an, Balen’s broth­er. Their reunion brings comfort—a rare ten­der­ness in a nar­ra­tive thick with blood and warn­ing. They speak not as war­riors, but as kin, shar­ing mem­o­ries, dreams, and the kind of hope only fam­i­ly can still hold.

    This sense of uni­ty brings strength to both, for in each oth­er they see the last famil­iar piece of a life before chaos. Yet, their close­ness, while joy­ful, hints at some­thing deeper—a sor­row that waits just beyond the hori­zon. Even as they plan their path for­ward, the shad­ows in the dis­tance stretch longer with every step.

    Before they depart, they meet a mys­te­ri­ous fig­ure who weeps not just for the dead but for the cycle that has con­sumed them. His words are cryp­tic, yet they sting with truth, forc­ing the broth­ers to ques­tion whether their quests are noble pur­suits or threads in a larg­er web spun by fate. The moment leaves them qui­eter than before, their silence hold­ing more mean­ing than speech.

    The chap­ter paints every choice with con­se­quence, where emo­tion and duty inter­twine like thorn and rose. The tale is not about a sin­gle act but the rip­ples it sends, touch­ing lives far beyond the bat­tle­field. Here, hon­or is test­ed not in com­bat alone, but in the wake of what com­bat leaves behind.

    His­tor­i­cal Arthuri­an sto­ries often car­ry this blend of hero­ism and heart­break, remind­ing us that great­ness is often insep­a­ra­ble from loss. These leg­ends reflect not just medieval val­ues, but human truths—that those who fight for jus­tice must also car­ry its cost. In Balen’s world, no deed is ever iso­lat­ed; every sword drawn is a sto­ry writ­ten, for bet­ter or worse.

    Mod­ern read­ers may find res­o­nance in this por­tray­al of cause and effect, where good inten­tions do not guar­an­tee peace. Balen is not a vil­lain, but a man caught between courage and con­se­quence, his steps for­ward fol­lowed close­ly by echoes of pain. This dual­i­ty keeps his tale alive across cen­turies.

    By the chapter’s end, we under­stand more than Balen’s strength—we see his bur­den. The nar­ra­tive invites us to reflect not only on action, but on after­math. And as the sto­ry con­tin­ues, the ques­tion lingers: can fate be shaped by the heart, or is it always one step ahead, wait­ing to claim even the bravest among us?

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