This update isn't late. It's just on Peruvian time.
(Twelve points to anyone who can explain why Peru is the ideal country for this excuse)
The hero emerges from the mountain dungeon onto a ledge just below the outer rim of the caldera. He sees that, as his foe claimed moments before, all his efforts were for naught. A twilight had fallen over the land. A lugubrious lethargy leeched life from all beings. The skies slowly broil with a faintly rumbling lightning. The remains of the Pandora still glow in the aftermath of the inferno. The hero looks on the land, as even the plants seem to break under the oppressive weight of the darkness. All at once, the faint wind ceases and a chill falls across the land. The color drains from all life, and only grey remains in the shadow. The hero looks at his own sleeve - his own arm - and in the light of his sword sees, to his relief, he still has the bright vitality he had possessed before, if a little dimmer. The world, though, seems to be devoid of hope, and seems to foretell a coming absence of life. Suddenly, a movement catches the hero's eye. He sees something nearing the ashes of the city. He recognizes the mayor of his own town, along with the prominent working men of the village leading a caravan to the ruins. Between the men, shielded by them, are the survivors of Pandora. There are merely a few score - the flames took many - but there are enough. The village would rise as a phoenix might. It is now that the hero sees a splash of color in the crowd. Helping an old woman along, is Pandora, the kind girl named after the very village she has come to rebuild. Hope lives on.