There were moments in the stillness. Moments when the moon hung high in its cycle that Aban gained a feeling of being. That moment when everything aligned and no longer was he Aban, fettered to the worldly world, but a figure, an entity as chilling and silent as the moon that kept him company. And when his gaze lighted upon you it was as though you had glanced into the sun–blinded by the sheer will to exist. To be.
But the true power came after, when the feeling fell, and what was left was the emptiness, the vastness–the void. The void of potential, the lingering of what could have been, the loneliness in the no longer.