Years have now past, Giru has not visited his old clan in a very long time. He lives in the seclusion of the Hallelujah mountains and has not verbally spoken in years. His Ikran is old, and battle-worn. From time to time he thinks of his living children, of his lost Chieftess, of his many old friends, and of his many adventures but that was so long ago now, he hardly remembers. As he stares off into the distance, a floating belt of mountains his only view, he wonders what may come before his eventual insanity, or his inevitable death. Would there be more adventure for him?