In the beginning, there had been a dream. A desire to save others.To ensure nobody had to suffer like he once did. Freezing and starving on the streets, on the run from a slaver that sought to butcher and sell him for parts. Backed into an alley and falling to the ground. His legs failing him, his hope abandoning him. He’d had nothing left. Only a quiet, desperate plea for someone, anyone, to save him. In the end, it was his magic that had responded. It had torn his body apart in the process, but it had saved his life.Since that day, he had gained new duties and responsibilities. First as the student of that man, then as the servant of Death. He’d grown older. Learned more about the world. Witnessed the cruel and brutal depravities of humanity. His experiences had hardened him, made him more weary and jaded. Such had been necessary. But at the core of it all, buried beneath the layers of cynicism and realism and stoicism, had resided that simple, childish dream. It was that dream that had driven him to relentlessly keep on moving forward even as his body became more fractured and scarred with every mission.It was that dream that had caused him to nearly sacrifice his life time and time again with idiotic suicidal plans because he refused to let someone die.And it was that dream that had ultimately led to him making the single greatest, most terrible choice of his (...)