The living legend stood. And the myriad others, of their many types, appearances, abilities, powers - they looked to him. For he was a light, a shining star - hope given form, yet still a living being, still a Legendary. And within that character, within his story there was a promise. If one Legend could be everything good incarnate, everything that was looked upon as purity of spirit, mind and soul then so could any other being - every other. Darkrai was one such other who had looked to his promise. So many he had sheltered from his own brethren, stopping them from antagonising one another, breaking apart their petty fights, ensuring everyone - anyone - had their due respect, as that was all he wished for.
And that was his purpose for being. And he was happy.
When he spoke on any matter, the others listened, they remembered. In his wake friendships and comradeships spread. But the Legend had a fear. His thoughts were distressed. Thoughts of the Legendary family being ripped apart. If they could not stand together without him, then what would happen were there to be a power struggle? Who would save the Legends from themselves? Or would they extinguish one another, because his light was not bright enough? His doubts grew from this seed in his heart, spreading gradually up to his mind. A sadness crept from the darkest depths of his existence. He had been a beacon for so long, so very long as to be an eternity, but fear had led him down a dark and treacherous road.
Nightmare after nightmare of his failure, his soul crushing inability to save his people, his lack of power where he should have it all under control. Long centuries spent in sadness. Millennia of dissolution into something Other.
A dark presence, a dark thought slithered from the depths of his now diseased, wounded soul. If one were to betray - if one were to go against the balance - that would unify the Hall. Surely it would. And he would do it for the weak, the lesser, those who needed him. His resolve to do so grew, and grew.
On the dusk of his final day he watched the moon rise. It reminded him of his close friend. His final thoughts as this being of hope were that he wanted that they would understand he was saving them - though they would suffer, they would understand. They would band together. They would truly be family as he had wished for.
And so the First Son hid inside of a new, horrifying form he should never have taken, vanishing utterly beneath a darkness no pure being would ever touch, and gave up his original self to begin his new legacy.
In that moment where the sky is utterly black, as dusk is devoured by dawn, the beacon ceased to exist.
The new creature inhaled and exhaled, the mist that curled from its dark mouth rising as it's former self had - away, away into the night sky where it would never be seen or heard from again. The creature and its sadness was spent. It rose, flew off, to achieve what it needed to.
And the dawn, the rising sun, chased him to the foregone confrontation.
But he did it for them.
Did it work?