Before the shovel meets the grounds, two hands stop the fall, and after exiting a handstand, stands up to meet the face of his old friend. Instead of the shovel stood a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, but with a demeanor as old as time. His own beard, now riddled with gray, nearly reaches the ground. His once long hair demonstrated by the statue above was long-gone, now an empty dome. Looking quizzically at Razul, he begins speaking.
"Now, you know I hate to be called that," the man sighs. "Now, I know I technically could have stopped your boy from stealing me, but I thought it would be nice to get some fresh air; but in that note, it doesn't look so good out there." The man ends his statement with a grunt.