A Hero Born and Died

So, since I haven't really had a song idea (Though I have one coming), I just thought I'd post this. A little short story I wrote. I'm thinking of changing the end a bit, I don't quite like the dialogue. Anyways, I'd love for you guys to read this and tell me what you think

A Hero Born and Died

The dew of last nights rain reflected red light from the sunrise. The village lay silent, the only noise being a door creak, or a cat hiss at a bird. Occasionally pigeons would shoot out of a house, for apparently no reason. In the distance, a silhouette blocked part of the sun's rays. As it neared closer, the light shined brighter as a young boy was walking towards what was once his home. His eyes flickered around him, paranoid of what could be there. The farms were burned, the animals dead. The houses were pillaged, and black smoke filled the sky with dark clouds. As his footsteps grew shakier and slower, they became clumsier and more unsure of where they were going. The boy looked around for a few more seconds, then broke for a run at one of the pillaged homes. His feet slipped on a puddle, and he fell over backwards. He rubbed his hand against his head, and found to his horror that it was wet. He looked closer at his fingers and saw blood. He shakily stood up, and tried to dust himself off. By doing so he looked at the ground, and saw it. The blood flowed across the street like a river, unceasing. It had no end, it had no beginning. The boy realised the blood was not his own, but the blood of his family, his kinsfolk, his home. He kept walking.

Once he arrived at what could have been a home, he stopped. His eyes looked slowly at the windows, the doors. His hands went over the smooth wooden walls. Tears welled in his eyes, and fell like the tears of the god's, never ending, almost never beginning. He opened the door shakily, and walked inside. He hoped to find something, perhaps a small pet, or a younger sibling pulling at his clothes for attention. He found nothing. It was abandoned and deserted. He straightened up and walked head high to one of the rooms. Inside was a wooden box. "Thanks the gods it hasn't been opened," He thought. He slowly raised the lid, and lifted something heavy out. It was a sword. He pulled it out of its sheath. Its long silver blade rand out like a battle cry. The gold coated handle shone like a beacon, calling all to its cause. He held it high, raising it to the sky.

"I will avenge you!"

The boy was now a man. He had walked for miles, searching for the cave. The cave of the enemy, the monster, the murderer. He found it after many nights of hard travel. His feet ached and his body felt as lead, weighing him down. Yet he continued unceasingly. As he entered the cave, he heard the breath of the dragon.

"What is this? Has food walked willingly into my home?"

The voice thundered out of the darkness. The man clutched his head until the echoes died down.

"I come from the village of Draktha! You killed my family! I must avenge them!"

The man's cry rang out deep, almost more empowering than that of the dragon's. From out of the still black cave shone two eyes. They were curious.

"You came to take revenge out on me? You are just a boy with nothing than that of a sword. You have no chance of destroying me!"

The man's response was unfaltering, unfailing.

"I have no chance. But what else is there to do, than die for the cause of my family? Have you ever had a family? Did you love them? If you did, you would now how much honor it would be to die in their name. For their name. That is why I have come here."

"You foolish, naive child. Were this one of you human's fairy tales, you might be able to win. You might have died for a noble cause. But a sword does not make a hero. A sword makes a fool."

With those final words, the dragon raised an arm idly, and slowly crushed the man.