Version 2

Vekir, Guardian of Lamos, felt an eerie shift,
This hero, no longer the noble spirit he once 
knew.
Kneeling, she raised an ancient blade with a 
sinister lift,
A blade obtained through sacrifice, 
darkness imbued.

Her head lifted, revealing a visage stained 
with red,
Tears of sorrow mingled with blood upon her 
chin.
Vekir's voice filled with dread,
"You've changed," he whispered, "What 
have you done?"

But before his eyes, her resolve took form,
The hero, consumed by a darkness 
unknown.
As Vekir reached for the blade, a deadly 
storm,
She stood tall, offering herself as a
sacrifice, all alone.

The room trembled with a dreadful hush,
As she willingly embraced the blade's 
consuming maw.
Her essence consumed, her spirit turned to 
dust,
From the depths of Lamos, a demon did 
draw.

El sacrificio de los ecos, she emerged,
A demon born of sacrifice and pain.
Her eyes glowed with a malevolent urge,
A haunting echo of the hero that once did 
remain.

Vekir, gripped by a twisted desire,
Witnessed the transformation, his heart 
filled with dread.
As the demon before him burned like a 
funeral pyre,
The hero lost, consumed by the blade's 
dread.

In the realm of Lamos, darkness reigned 
supreme,
El sacrificio de los ecos, a demon born from 
tragedy.
Vekir's quest for power, a wretched dream,
For now, he faced a twisted manifestation of 
his apathy.