I am no king, or leader. I am merely a frontman. A foreman for my people. I will not force any decisions, unless the situation truly calls for it. I am no king, and merely am too... Regretful to ever want to admit what I feel. And as much as I hate to admit it, I have put off a conversation far too long for it to matter who it is with. Veraxitoc, sighed mentally, preparing himself for the memories. Hopefully he could make it through. Hopefully.
Before my sleep, I was in love. She was perfect to me, we never argued, we were perfect. Nothing ever went without a laugh with us. He transmitted snapshots of his happiest memories. Their snowball fights, their races, their high altitude kisses. Just small things that showed they really were perfect.
Then, one day, after I went out to ensure the arrangements for the Crystal-backs to take over the job of my species, as guardians, as my species was dead from the century long Dragon Rider war, I came home, to find Loreiaka had killed all the others. And then she begged me to kill her. She told me it was a demon, and that it was her fault. That she deserved to be punished for her mistake. After half an hour of debate, I did it. I killed her as painlessly as possible. Then for two whole weeks, I sat by the ashes, in that cave, and wept. Two weeks I mourned for her. Then I left, deciding that two weeks was adequate, and went back to my duties. But nothing was the same. They nights were cold and quiet, the patrols boring and bland, the life I once had destroyed. So, once I believed the Crystal-backs would continue our work, I decided to sleep. To sleep for nearly 2000 years. And I woke up regretting it. Regretting my selflessness. My loyalty to my job. Veraxitoc gave a playful tug of the bone, letting out a sound akin to a puppy growl.
