Summary: It's been centuries and he no longer remembered his name.
Sometimes he would just appear at the edges of the Wards, his fingers tracing against the blue-silver barrior that separated them from him.
The older ones, the young warlocks that ceased aging and bolstered the wards and cast spells for the rest of them would whisper how many decades or centuries had passed since the man had wandered near enough for a sighting.
The younger ones would drift close to stare, to question, to follow the man as he wandered along the edge of the barrior, his fingers never moving from it.
The Ancient ones, those that had lived before the Barrior was created; The Lady Clary Fray and her Lord Husband Jace, formerly Nephilim but granted an Immortal making Rune, the Lord Simon Lewis and the Lady Isabelle of the Vampires, the Guides of their people would gather the Warlocks Lady Catarina Loss and her daughter Lady Madzie Bane to watch the man, to strengthen he wards that kept them safe from the Demons that roamed the rest of the Earth, set free by Johnathan Morganstern long ago.
They Ancient ones would walk with the man as he wandered around the wards, never saying anything as blue sparks fell from his fingers and his golden-green cat like eyes ignored them and should those eyes fall upon them through the barrior gazed blankely until finally the man would pull away from the ward and walk away, never attempting to speak to the Ancient ones.
There might be bright flaches of light for days after, seen from beyond the wards until they got too far to see and the Ancient ones returned to their duties of running their civilization, the remains of the old world.
It's been centuries, centuries and he no longer remembered his name but he remembered this... this place where a ward he had created still stood, a ward he strengtheed every time he came near.
There was a lone stone marking that rested just on the outside of the protective ward that he could not see through, could not see within to know what it protected, a grave... a grave that he always returned to, returned to with blue roses made from his own power and set with great care before the blank stone.
This place that he returned to visit no matter how many years or centuries passed, the name upon the stone worn smooth over the years by nature and his own caresses, a name that he would never forget as long as he lived though his own name was forgotten, lost to time and the ages. The name he could never forget: Alexander