First...things were weightless. Suspended in a familiar ebony ocean with nothing remotely interesting on the horizon. Nothing to ponder, or smell, or taste, or touch, or see. How long had he been here this time? Was another century gone in the blink of an eye? Snapped away like it never existed. However, something then caught the eye.

It started as a mere pinhole-a tiny white dot against a vast tapestry of blackness. Laughable almost was this speck of light as it desperately tried to stake its claim in the black void. The darkness itself seemed to shudder and shake in amusement.

The light flickered and suddenly grew. Streaks of white sliced through the darkness forcing its submission. Its laughter died as the light expanded, chasing its foe away before hitting him square in the chest.

Ghirahim coughed as air rushed out, and he then gasped as it forced its way back into his lungs.

Sunspots danced in his eyes as a groan escaped him. Everything ached. His limbs blatantly ignored his commands to roll himself onto his stomach. However, with a low growl, they finally seemed to get the point. Ghirahim rolled over with a sigh.

Oh sure, he was now face down in the dirt, and that was not ideal; it did, at least, allow his vision to start to clear.

A shiver shook across his laying form as the cold air wafted against his metallic skin. With a soft grunt, Ghirahim pushed himself up and squinted to take a look at his newfound surroundings finally.

Freshly fallen snow glistened against the glassy stone surface. Arched walls surrounded the obsidian caldera like splintered teeth opening wide to snap up at the sky. Frozen water pooled around the edges of the bowl, split only by a narrow sliver of land snaking outward. This place was undoubtedly familiar.

Ghirahim frowned, looking back over his shoulder to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, jutting out from the charred stone was a jagged rock with an evil, twisted blade resting inside it. How was he here? The last thing he remembered was the battle between the boy and his master. But... indeed, his king had triumphed? Why else would he have been placed here? Demise was the only other soul who knew where to find this lonely place. Unless...he had fallen, and darkness reached out and snatched Ghirahim away before he shared the same fate as the Demon King.

The darkness was a fickle beast. Its motives and desire were difficult to know...perhaps that's how he got here.

Fire rose in his chest as his frown soured into a scowl. That could not be true...there was no way his master lost to that irritating brat.

Ghirahim rose to his feet and focused his mind. Reaching out, he would be able to feel Demise's presence through the bond that tethered them both together. Inhaling sharply through his nose, the air darkening as his aura expanded out. He would have an answer.

His blood ran cold, the fire within vanished, snuffed out as the realization slapped him across the face.

Nothing...no response...no familiar sense of dread or oppression against his mind; it was like the line had been snapped, now seeming to blow in the wind like a loose spider's thread.

First, a soft broken sound left the demon as his heart clenched. It could not be...yet it was true. They had lost that night. Defeated and fallen, reduced to legend and shadows in an instant. How much time had passed? If Demise was gone...why was he still here?

Second, fear crawled along his skin, chilling his blood and choking his throat. Was this all some trick? A test of his loyalty and will. Demise had stooped lower in the past. He often demanded a lot from his subordinates. Had Ghirahim failed his master? And now, in punishment, was left here to count the days and lose himself in his madness.

Ghirahim hung his head and shifted on his feet. Deep breathes, despair, or fear was not an option. He could not let it cripple him and allow this awful mountain to claim him finally.

He was still showing his authentic appearance, and the crystalline surface was freshly marred and scratched from battle though most of Ghirahim's wounds had been healed. Well, first things first then.

Ghirahim outstretched his hands upward and, taking in another deep breath, his fingers tightened. He held then for a moment as the air around him twisted and writhed. His hands then snapped down, and his vision darkened once more. Ghirahim felt itchy all over and had to fight the urge to break form. Sure, it hurt, but he had gotten used to it.

When he opened his eyes, his skin was back to its pale grey, and his white hair fell back in place on the left side of his face. The world was slightly taller now. Snapping his fingers, his mantle appeared on his shoulders through this time, more accommodating to the cold climate. The inside became lined with fur, and it covered more of his form. The popped collar also had the option to become a hood if so desired. Ghirahim also took a moment to pin his earring back in.

A small smile returned to his countenance though it did not do much to weather the concern furrowing across his brow.

What was he to do now? For the first time in a millennium, he did not know. Usually, Demise had always been there to bark another command, or he had something laid out for the demon to do in his absence. Now there were no plots, ploys, or plans for the future. Ghirahim was genuinely alone, standing in the collapsed ruins of an ancient volcano, and left to his own devices.

The smile vanished from him. It seems that his life now mirrored this caldera. Just like the bleak landscape that acted as his resting place, he, too was cold, quiet, and forgotten. But...was that anything new?

Ghirahim turned around; the sword was gone from the rock. Harbored safely in him, waiting for the day it would be called on again...if it ever came.

The demon sighed, turning back and starting towards the land bridge. Teleportation would be unwise until he got the lay of the land. Besides, walking would give him plenty of time to think. And maybe... maybe he would find a sense of purpose. The newfound freedom was both jarring and liberating.

The land bridge crossed over the frozen lake before entering the gaping mouth of a cave-a nasty gash upon the glassy cliff face. Ghirahim's eyes quickly adjusted, accustom to seeing clearly in even the darkest of caverns. Before deciding what he wanted to do, he needed to see what had happened to the world while he was gone. How it had changed and if he was remembered or lost to time. Only then could he make a plan of action.

One question burned in his mind above all else.

Where. Was. The. Boy?