A black-haired man sat on the edge of a cliff that had probably seen better days.
The breeze hit his face, carrying nothing but the smell of decay and something metallic that probably shouldn't exist in nature.
His armor looked like it had survived several wars without maintenance, scarred and dented in ways that suggested he'd taken more hits than any sane person should.
But despite all that, despite the absolute mess of the world stretching out in front of him, the guy was smiling.
The horizon stretched endlessly ahead, painted in shades of grey and dying brown.
Trees stood like skeletal fingers clawing at a sky that had forgotten what color looked like.
No birds sang, no animals moved through the underbrush that had long since withered into brittle husks.
The grass beneath him crunched with the texture of ash, and even the wind felt wrong somehow, like it was carrying the last gasps of a world choking on its own death.
Everything looked dead.
Not recently dead either.
