An old, grizzled warrior stands in the Seven Skies, watching as the Old Orener makes his final journey. The man wasn't well known, a simple guard standing watch, whether by force of habit or not, over the countless stream of souls entering the promised paradise above. His eyes are dull, but gain a slight glint as they watch Silus pass.
A withered goatee and a dastardly birthmark turn to Silus. The rusted sword sits beside him, and two gray eyes narrow. His boots softly clunk upon whatever ethereal surface makes up the next world.
"Horen, aye...?" his slow, methodical speech contains little emotion as he speaks to the now deceased Silus. "I saw you... many a'time. Many a'place. I expected you... t'last longer. You know... It's strange. The dead who pass through 'ere are always distraught. Confused. Depressed. Many wish to go back. For... promises they never kept, apologies they had to make... people they wanted to be... Tell me..."
While in death, you do not need to breathe, the old warrior exhales, fixing his eyes on Silus. Whether the dead man would continue on through the skies silently, or answer, the ghostly voice remained the same, speaking the words slowly and clearly.
"Was your life worth living?"