...
Skull Plain, Cold Stone Mountain.
His long hair, bound up with a golden hoop, fluttered as his bronze skin gleamed.
He spread his arms wide, took a deep breath, drawing the cold, barren air of Skull Plain into his lungs. Rain poured down, baptizing the rocks. Fresh scars marked his body, with rainwater converging into streams across his mountainous muscles.
He looked up towards the distant peaks.
In the storm, the mountains were hazy. The tenacious pines and wild willows growing from the rocks emitted a fresh fragrance, stimulating his olfactory cells.
And beyond those mountains, at the edge of his sight under the far-distant dome, the bright moon hung high, its cold light reflecting, with clouds scattered like sprinting steeds.
He seemed to have shed all his burdens, enjoying a moment of peace.
But the peace did not last long.
