In all the centuries he’s been alive, Eric tried his damn hardest to find beauty in it all. But in all the wars, in all the blood, all the death, where he could not save those he loved, and he remained alone, it was more and more difficult to see the good.

So he traversed the world, he saw it all, he did it all. He was a doctor, a soldier, a pilot, a lion tamer, a teacher, a hero, a villain, a king. But it was easier to stay alone than to form attachments. He became reclusive.

In this day and age, he was a musician, a poet. He didn’t go out unless he had to, keeping to himself. Occasionally venturing out in the dark to hear the music, to see the art, in the safety shade of darkness.

It was a misted night when he meets you, the streets bathed in the golden orange glow of street lamps, the pavement hot and wet with rain. There was an electricity in the air. This was new.