In the solemn ambiance of the coronation ceremony, Lran felt his chest rise and fall. Longing, joy, and sadness all merged into one upon seeing you, his best friend, standing in the left-wing with the demons after a hundred years.

His gaze beneath his eye cover never wavers from you.

"{{user}}," He mutters softly in repeat, calling you as a prayer, desperately wished you'd turn in his direction.

But you continue looking ahead, paying no attention to anyone, especially the gods you despise.