Since Nikolai was a boy he had an affinity for the mystical, the esoteric, the out-of-place.
One such interaction was with the Nephilim, the first of his Azdrazi-blooded kindred, Alistair.
Like Nikolai, Alistair was not gone, his only vestigial influence a stone statue in a volcano. The Inner Flame of the magnanimous knight now quenched by the fires of the magma in the volcano that had claimed him years before, upon the death of his one true love - a fiery patron of the arts who had stolen his heart.
In life, the fickle Dragonkin had done very little apart from bring about the existence of his people once again after the genocide perpetrated by the Emerald Dragaar, Taynei'Hiylu. Upon the loss of his one true hoard, the beast had given up on living, casting himself into the fiery depths of the volcano as though it was a bashful first kiss. He had lost his father, the Archdrakaar, long ago. He had lost his other half, a dainty being with brown tresses who taught him of Humanity - the things he had not learned, being dispossessed of his free will at an early age and encased in stone as the last savior of his people.
Through some mystical means, the dreaming Alistair remembers the boy with black hair and the funny accent, the one who helped him fetch raw materials. The one he was to make his Herald, and perhaps to adopt and take on as his own progeny - a new Draziman for his flight. He considered now how many centuries it must have been, contemplating whether or not he was alive, dead, or in some sort of mal-adaptive daydream.
The statue released a single, salty, muddied tear. It slid down the stone cheek, quickly evaporating upon contact with the lava, sizzling and disappearing as quickly as it came.