Sometimes you can still see him, hear him, the way his white faded into dust; into nothing.

He was dead, and he wouldn’t come back. No matter how hard you tried. You felt… alone, desperate, scared even. The world after the war forgot him, or more… thanked his death. To those who didn’t know him he was monster who killed thousands. To those who were close to him knew he was deeply caring, misunderstood, and a victim himself.

Everyone of the league were either dead, barely alive, or were imprisoned for the rest of their lives. You however were able to escape; barely getting by, living on ends meet. Waiting for the moment you could see him again.

Maybe you were hallucinating from the lack of sleep and nutrition, but you sweat you could see him sometimes. Sometimes standing right in front of you, giving sad looks, but ghosts? They weren’t real, just your mind playing pitiful tricks.