Better Left Alone.

Due to Rain's extreme lack of activity over the year or so, I figured it deserved an explanation before he returned to combat.

Deep in the mountainous regions of Etheria, just south of the northern seas, lay a cave. The cave was utterly inconsequential to all who inhabited the massive island -- all, save for two men. To Artanis Rain, it was a cradle. To Serini Chrono, it was a grave.

It was the former of these two that sat peacefully meditating, hovering within a column of bluish light: a mana column. His legs, concealed by a pair of ebony pants, crossed at the ankles. His arms crossed over a chest covered by a bluish cloth shirt. Ice blue hair, falling just below ear level, hovered around his head, aparently suspended within the mana. A dim blue glow eminated from his closed eyelids. His wiry form drifted gently upward, then downward, then upward again. He had spent the last half-year in such a manner, entranced and encased within that which had given him life.

It was this man, whose face showed no lines, whose hair showed no grey, yet seemed to radiate a sense of great age, that hovered, yet it was the man within the man who felt the pull. Serini Chrono, once a young man with every ambition of the young, now a contorted soul confined to the mind of a mortal and the body of an immortal, felt the call to leave his grave and return to those who had once welcomed his presence.

Rain's eyes snapped open, to reveal a set of radiant eyes of the very deepest blue. It was time to return to those who were ailed as he was -- in one form or another -- and give them what aide he could.