The sun was bright today, and it somehow felt off. It did everyday to the man who stood washing dishes, his hair with a white forelock tied up in a bun as to keep it out of his face while going about the tasks in his shop. His golden prosthetic arm worked on holding the dishes as his flesh and bone arm worked at scrubbing them clean. The party that had come in just before closing had left quite a mess, but whilst sitting there cleaning he couldn't help but think back to his old life. The Spire and his extended family, his friends, his old shop... Some part of him missed it all, but he shook his head as he shook off the feeling. He had quite a mundane existence now: make noodles, throw out the ruffians, and of course read Fenrith to sleep when he had time. He had a chance to be a father, be an influence, and be a person disconnected from who he was and what he was raised to be. He gazed out of the window at the milling mass that was the Marizan streets, in that all too familiar direction. If any were to look in from outside they would perhaps be startled by the man's expression. Everything who had made him who he was, every event and dialogue— and he let it out in the purest form he knew how. He gave a wide grin of happiness thinking over his life. After all, it had all led to this.

Etwyn Jassimir, for perhaps the first time in his life, felt fulfilled.