the old crinkled face of familiarity upon seeing the champion. a wonder to why one might return at this time, when all seemed driven towards finality, to the conclusion of an era that perhaps the old king was the only one to know about. he couldn't help a chuckle to rise from his chest; as an old cello or bass may illuminate it's sound from the edge of a bow, to the middle where it was at it's fullest. a fullness he had since lost since the hollowing of his heart through years of wandering.
ah, to exist and simply be. what a beautiful thing it was, in a world that deserved peace. even as sins encroached, might he keep his optimism, for had he not, perhaps his beloved friend may fade, and perhaps he might crumble to dust.
" may your return be cause for any reason? might you humour the physical phantum before you? "
@fairymint // starter call