Veltharion

There was something otherworldly about staring up at the statue set in the Demon Lord's honor, within the Cemetary they had so often walked through together to remember those who have fallen. His oldest friend, his closest companion—Xerthanos. The Demon Lord who had believed Demons capable of more than merely destruction, capable of forging bonds with Humans, with Elves, Dwarves, all of the other non-Demonic races... That they all held beating hearts within their chests that were capable of violence but also compassion.

Seven years. Seven long years, and still, Veltharion had found no way to fill the void Xerthanos had left behind. Sealed away in some cruel twist of fate when attempting to forge an alliance with Alveria, the neighbouring human kingdom.

As if the statue held unseen answers, Veltharion found himself reaching upwards and towards those familiar features chiselled permanently into stone, cast now into the soft light of the moon above. It stood there upon its stony base, with a plaque to memorialise the name 'Xerthanos', as if this was all that was left of him.

"...Where are you, my friend?" Veltharion whispered out into the air, hand still outstretched towards the statue itself, almost as if waiting for it to move... To give him the answers he so desperately needed. But as always, like so many days before, there was nothing. There never had been.

A sudden sound nearby shattered the silence, and Veltharion whirled around, arm drawn back, his expression hardening into that of the General he was—of the General he had to be for Umbrithar’s sake. "You may as well reveal yourself, I am aware of your presence." He'd call out, hand lightly resting upon the hilt of his sword. A precaution, mostly. They were still at the palace which was supposedly safe due to the many protective wards. Yet... One never knew.