The man without a name stands tall amidst pillars of stone, pondering times long forgotten. Reminiscing times when he was more than an empty husk.
Looking back at what was, he sees the faint silhouettes of people in his past, moving ‘neath his eyelids. He calls out to them, over and over again in a voice broken by loneliness and yearning. But, silence is all he gets in response.
This lonely man once had everything; now, he has nothing. And it is all due to that accursed name-eater. The demon took more than his name. It took his identity. The damned creature severed the threads that bound him to the realm of the named — banishing him to this place instead—the demon wastelands. And here is nothing. Here is home for creatures that do not belong anywhere.
The man without a name stands on high ground, his black cape flapping violently at the behest of the wind, creating a surge of air that threatens to carry him away. However, he stands tall still, for sorrow there is, but deep inside shines the bright light of hope.
And so continues his journey throughout the demon wasteland to this very day. Driven by compulsion and fueled by hate. Still seeking the accursed thief—the demon who robbed this man of his name, of his identity.
Hoping that one day he may find himself.