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There he stood, amidst the biting cold winds of Coerthas, overlooking the city of Ishgard. It had been some time since he last stood at this place… since he last visited his friend.
“It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it…” He chuckles softly, short red hair shifting in the winds, before taking a seat on the ground, the snow crunching beneath him as he lowers himself. There is no response. Only the wind answers him.
He produces a bottle of wine, as well as a pair of glasses. “Took a lot of effort to get some of this stuff… Wineport doesn’t mess around with its prices.” He jests, seemingly to no one in particular. Once again, there is no answer, as he uncorks the bottle and fills each glass.
“I figured that since I’m visiting, we should have that drink we planned to have, back before we went into the Vault to rescue Sir Aymeric,” He replies with a somber smile, setting down the bottle after filling the glasses, “And besides that… I’ve got a lot of stories to tell since I last visited.”
Tales of war, tales of rebellion, tales of a world almost lost. Of the friends whom he worked alongside, some who were lost in battles. Of villains both truly evil, those who were victims of circumstances, who went much too far to attempt to escape their pain, and those who just wanted to see the ones they loved again.
And such tales did he tell, accompanied by naught but the wind. Though one could swear that the winds sounded like enthusiastic support and intrigue, begging to hear more of the man’s stories.
The snow melts against his face, causing his horns and scales to glimmer slightly from the light behind the clouds, shyly peeking out as if to hear his stories as well. There he sits, speaking to no one, for hours upon hours, telling his tale.
“...Damn, it’s already this late?” He whistles in surprise, having not noticed the passing of time during his tale, “Sorry, but I’ve got to go… as you know, there’s always something happening with me.” He jokes, standing to his feet, the snow crunching as he pushes himself up. Both glasses of wine are empty, though he only drank one, and neither spilled.
Mismatched eyes, one of blue and one of orange that transitions to a brilliant white gaze up to the sky, the moon peeking out from behind the clouds. He smiles, turning away.
“I’ll be sure to visit again, when all is said and done, my friend,” He replies, “I’ll protect this world, no matter the cost… and someday, I’ll see you again, my brother in all but blood, when I finally return to Hydaelyn.”
Away he walks, the snowy winds quickly covering the prints from his boots in the snow, leaving no trace that he was there, barring an empty bottle of wine… next to a pierced shield, laid upon a gravestone, overlooking the city where the war of man and dragon finally came to its close.
[Haurchefant Greystone] [Until then, my friend] is written upon the headstone on the cliff.
If one listened closely that night… you could swear that as the man left… you could hear an enthusiastic voice among the winds… “Thank you, Kazan… I shall eagerly await your next visit!”