A man stood at the edge of the world.
Rain whispered against his cloak, dripping down the obsidian cliff into the void below. His eyes, two storms of violet fire ,watched the distant horizon as though waiting for something that would never return.
Behind him, the ruined banners of the Dominion flapped weakly. The once-proud crest of the Umbracrown burned in silence.
He did not speak.
He simply waited, his blade plunged into the soil, the wind carrying ash around his feet.
And for a moment, even the world seemed afraid to breathe.
No name was spoken. No history was told.
Only the feeling, of something lost, and something inevitable.
Fade out to black.