Lysander felt a solemn discomfort walking thousands of paces along this treacherous land into the unknown, with no place to call his own. The gentle breeze lulled his liberated whimpers that dwelled within and out into the forgotten life that he had lived before he had relinquished in loyalty to the elders. Smoke billowed from the countryside surrounding him and desperate cries for salvation resounded throughout the land as the survivors of the calamity staggered out of their burrows. The dreadful notoriety of the Arazen soiled the outside of his round shield with a distasteful emblem causing those unfortunate few to grimace at its sheer existence. Wolves. That's the first thought that entered his head as he watched several people retreat into the holes where they came from. They resembled the gnarled beasts he grew up with especially when curled up behind the shrubbery analysing his every movement. Wrath seeped through the cracks of his mind and a strong desire to finish what the calamity failed to do roared within his heart, no, his very being.

His eyes then settled on a figure which stood along the path, the faint silhouette of a man standing proudly with arms resting on his hips. As Lysander drew closer the man's posture worsened and his head submissively dropped though he still impressively managed to hold his wrinkled stare. It wasn't a representation of hatred this time but instead an act of defiance with emphasis on the theatrics. Lysander must have closed the gap faster than the man had expected considering that his hand trembled and clung to his waist with a fear of falling off.

"So?" The man spoke first, "What do you have to say for yourself?" He held his gaze firmly on the Arazen.

"Vocal expression holds no weight; decisive and honourable action effectively speaks for itself. I have honoured the word of my elders and endured the calamity. Nothing is to be said even if it is for the sake of your pitiful existence." It took a moment for the man to regain his composure as his bewildered eyes scrambled alongside his thoughts.

"You think the Arazan are heroes! Blasphemy! You are all nothing but the beneficiaries of this destruction, leave these scarred lands and preferably return to the fires in which you bathed." Lysander felt the anger rush within his body though none of it slipped through his tongue, it couldn't, for he would become the demon they all thought he was, although, unbeknownst to him; his eyes expressed that fire which burned within. The man stumbled back as he turned his head over his shoulder, back half-facing Lysander as he postured to flee at a moment's notice. Other human creatures trickled into the path with their hearts in their mouths yet pure to save their reckless compatriot.

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"This is the hellscape from which I came and also the scarred land where my brothers and sisters bled streams of blood into the depths of your hopeful hearts. I simply desire to see the world that I fought to protect despite my retrained desire to destroy the remnants of what is untarnished." Lysander took a deep breath before looking out to the wasteland filled with wretched people sprawling out of the earth. "It tears at my soul to see all of you so vindictive of my kind and it only comes to show the consequences of your King's efforts in vilifying the same honourable warriors that came to your salvation. It aches me to be the saviour of a race of people that exude so much hatred and it plagues me but the calamity hasn't been vanquished! As demons are still sitting atop a golden throne giggling behind walls of stone! I, Lysander Grayvale, will have my own salvation but I won't cower in the holes you came from. No, I will unfurrow it from the royal family and plant a seed of hope within the remnants of what they could have been." Lysander knew he honoured the words of his elders and his duties as an Arazen had been accomplished. Yet, he did not honour the deaths of his fallen brethren who bled alongside him in the midst of all of the chaos. Their deaths were far more important to him than the preservation of mankind.

"Treason! The heretic of Arazen! Close your vulnerable minds to his poisonous words!" The man staggered forward hurriedly in a desperate effort to escape Lysander who paced forward calmly in the same direction. Their twisted stares transformed into perplexed glances as they considered the quaint possibility of this warrior dismembering the monarchy for some selfish reason. Lysander however, knew that his intentions came from the depths of his heart. In his thoughts, he wondered; if he was given the power to slay ungodly hordes of monsters, what prevented him from avenging the only people that he ever cared about who died for a cause they didn't believe in? He looked upon the same barren land and was pleased to see that despite the destruction and ruin, he could see the path that he had travelled many a time. The stragglers couldn't do anything else than follow the warrior with their eyes as he disappeared in the distance and though they didn't speak it they felt hopeful that the man that they feared achieved what he set out to accomplish.

Yet, unknown to all and concealed from the stragglers, many callous nobles were itching to reach the kingdom before the warrior to whisper the tales of the Heretic of Arazen and his treacherous duty to eliminate the royal family. The ambitious few had even craved the thought of his plans succeeding as it would liberate the throne and perhaps create a rupture in the balance of power.