The Mayak Mountains, where it all began.
Deep in that wintery wilderness, in sight of The Lighthouse, there is a little bubble of calm, the home of Praeliox, guardian of Otvar and the Volk.

Praeliox sat alone in the grounds of his house, beneath his favourite tree, nurtured over decades from a sapling. He felt a quiet sense of pride in how majestic it had become, reminding him of his children and how they had prospered and flourished.

He looked around, pleased with the quiet beauty he had crafted here from a bleak windswept plain, protected from the elements by a protective dome.
The pleasant house, hand built by himself in the style of the architecture of his wife's home world, built to make her feel more welcome on this cold world of his.

The sun was heading to sink below the mountains. As it descended it passed behind The Lighthouse, a huge miles high structure, protruding straight up into the sky from the side of a distant mountain. The structure was cast into shadow, and he thought back to the time he spent there, before it stood proud and in the open, when it lurked beneath the mountain, before he was granted a body. The loneliness of watching the people of this world develop, but never coming into contact with them.

Not until that fateful day when, as his creators had told him, the Lighthouse was discovered and he was finally given form. The sheer joy of walking among the people he had watched, interact with them, make a difference for them, it was exhilarating. The friends, the lovers, the people that mattered to him.

A breeze rustled the grass of the nearby meadow, his ears twitching in response as he drank in the sight of the wild flowers, trails through the grass trampled down from the recent games played by his children. A smile crept onto his face as he remembered chasing them through the garden, pretending to be a monster, the squeals of delight and mock horror.

A quick glance at his clock showed that he was due company very soon, great-great or great-great-great grandchildren. It was starting to get a little hard to keep track after all these years. It didn't matter what they were, they were family.

Praeliox stood from his stool and made his way back to the house. Content with his life.

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Another character from a univers currently being created.
Art this time was by the wonderful oPashoo. Go commission her.
Praeliox belongs to me.