[h3]Peace[/h3]
Zhan sat, in his glade in the forest, on his plain blanket, beside a pot of tea.
It had been centuries since the last hero sought him out, petitioning him for advice. Zhan had occupied the years with his meditations, his practice and the company of the spirits, and he was at peace in this world.
But, as it often does, destiny got in the way of serenity.

Zhan woke.

The last thing he could remember was talking to Haba over tea. Certainly he did not remember traveling far from his glade, and especially not to anywhere where there could be... buildings?
All around him were walls, and above him ceilings. Planes of cracked and broken plaster covered stone and mortar, overgrown with moss and lichens.
He hadn't been in his bedroom in a very, very long time.

He knew that it had been millennia since his life here, and even he couldn't help but be surprised at the fact that he had returned. He had, after all, died. Yet, even with the knowledge of this great passage of time, it was a little sad to see that the great empire that he had forged had crumbled. Or perhaps it was only his bedroom that was in such a state of disrepair. Thinking now, he realised that he hadn't actually gotten up from the wooden floor where once stood his bed.

Slowly standing, he walked to the once-familiar door and stepped outside. Before him were the ruined remains of the palace of the once great city, now abandoned and destroyed.

Over the course of the next day he walked around the dead city, trying to find out if anything remained from his time as a mortal man. Nothing did.

He was sad that what was once so great had fallen so far, but through the course of the day realised that there was little use in mourning a city that died millennia ago. He began walking south, in the hopes of finding a warm, dry place to sit, sleep and figure out why he had returned to the material world once more after such a long, long time away.