"A real . . . friend . . ." thought Akizets aloud with a smile.

It was a comforting thought, truly. Even if . . . even if she couldn't acknowledge that she was real--the very fact that Eld wished to keep something of her in his heart, and acknowledged their friendship as something real . . . the were words she could go out on. She shut her eyes with a smile, as individual tears flaked in shimmering irreality down her cheeks, only to halt and fade as they neared her chin. Indeed, words with which she could have accepted the end.

But there was . . . something else-- something or someone else of which Eld spoke, something that drew Akizets's eyes open against their will, something that forced the woman to refuse the end for just a little while longer. It was a call for one last thing, something she'd nearly forgotten in a show of dubious irony . . .

". . . as . . . anyone . . ."

Akizets fought the numbness. She grit her teeth together, shut her eyes tight, and fought with the physical effort of a desperate warrior-- and then, she calmed.

"Eld--" she whispered; she was feeling the weakness again, but this time, it was much more permanent. The strength she was losing wasn't going to miraculously come back, regardless of how she felt. It was fading in bits of glimmering light that drifted from her form, to falter and dissipate in the sky . . . "C-can you-- can you make me a promise . . .?"

It was obvious that Akizetsumei was struggling to remain conscious...she didn't have much time left. He felt helpless; all he knew about medicine, even something as simple as how to make a patient comfortable when that was all that could be done, was useless here.

"Of course," Eld replied. Under normal circumstances he would have hesitated to agree to anything without hearing it first, no matter the source, but he knew now was not the time to be cautious.

Moreover, he trusted Akizetsumei, and knew she would not ask anything absurd or unreasonable of him.

"The Dusk . . . Remnant . . ." she spoke weakly.

Akizets lifted her right hand, however weakly, to place hollow, translucent fingers upon the polearm in Eld's hand. It was as if she were trying to grab it, but her fingers slid through it, passed through and dropped with her hand, as she hadn't the strength to keep her arm lifted anymore. It was the last physical action she could muster.

She was weak and knew the end for her was nigh, but she refused to allow her own emotions to trump the message, one she believed to be of the utmost importance.

"Th-that's why we're here. It was our orders . . . s-since the very beginning. A-as soon as it was lost . . . w-we were all ordered to find it-- find it at all costs. Steal, kill, maim to get it-- it didn't matter. J-just as long as we had it."

Akizets paused for a moment as she gathered her quickly fading thoughts; they were drifting, not out of a fleeting curse, but out of coming demise. She clung to her thoughts to the very best of her ability and refused to let herself die, not until Eld knew the truth about the scythe he carried.

With the utmost force, she coughed in refusal of the end. Though her eyes were half shut and her mind barely clinging to consciousness, Akizets spoke with the most lucidity she could muster:

"The Dusk Remnant . . . i-it's a special kind of w-weapon. Th-they say it thinks a-and feels on its own, b-but it's-- it's more than that. It . . . it harvests souls. I-it turns them i-into raw . . . e-energy. The energy of the spirit . . . Qi-- there's n-nothing else in the world n-nearly as powerful. W-with enough of it, you could do anything. C-create . . . immortality-- create a-- a brand new soul, b-bring so many more to life . . . o-or . . ." she trailed off as she thought of this one, the ultimate conclusion that might have come of it, "Or create a-- a brand new world . . ."

A brand new world-- a world that Gestahl sought to create, a world for he and his family to inhabit, and never have to be separate and pained again--

"They'll . . . harvest everyone. In Hillcrest, in Galaens-- everywhere," Akizets thought in rueful admission, "Just so we can be real."

All that remained of Akizetsumei's form was a hollow shell, a translucent body that was, in regretful progression, drifting away in disjointed flickers of light, all departing from her image, guided into the air, and passing before they reached the treetops above.

"Promise me y-you-- you'll keep the Dusk Remnant from them. Please . . ."

It was a little hard to swallow; he knew Kageko had powers, of course. But that she was capable of something like that? He wondered if even she was aware she could do that.

But as startling as the revelation was, it was quickly eclipsed by Akizetsumei's condition. There was no way Eld could avoid acknowledging it anymore. He could see right through her to the ground.

"I promise," he said without hesitation. "She...does think and feel on her own. She isn't just some tool to be used; I'd never let anyone take her against her will."

His chest tightened--he knew it wouldn't long now. She'd held on longer than her brother or father, but it was inevitable, no matter how much he wished otherwise. He could no longer hold back the tears that had continually gathered.

"So...so, rest easy...okay? I'll take care of everything." That was as close as he could get...to say goodbye was just too painful.

Akizetsumei took in a shallow breath. Eld's reassurance was a wonderful thing, and provided her one less thing to worry about after she was gone-- if, perhaps, she could even worry when she was gone. Akizets thought of this, but it was only a minor recollection; in truth, it mattered very little. She knew what fate awaited her and she knew how fruitless it was to hope for more-- and yet, she was okay with that. Akizets had done what she could, and she did good things. By helping Eld, she saved people. It was a good note to go out on.

It made her feel . . . at ease-- to know that she did a good thing and that . . . that Eld would continue to do good things just as well . . .

Her eyes opened at last, to behold the last she'd see of the veil of stars above. It was such a clear night . . . a beautiful night. The image was striking. She'd never taken a moment to appreciate it before; she'd seen the sunsets and the rise of the moon, but she'd never looked up. All her life, she'd never looked--truly looked up, to examine every little detail of the heavens and think . . .

"Huh . . ." Akizets smiled weakly.

She could see the moon and the stars, all set upon the sky in glamorous detail--observed by she, the fading Memory, as a calm wind caressed the cheeks of Akizetsumei and Eldridge Tsukimono.

". . . The sky's really beautiful tonight . . ." her voice-- her existence --was little more than a faint whisper; ". . . don't . . . you think? . . . . . . . . ."

. . . . .

. . . words whispered as the last light of life dimmed, and Akizetsumei was but a memory upon a calm and fleeting breeze . . .

And with those words she finally passed, fading into an essence that rose on the wind. As though he could still see some part of her, his eyes followed the gust upward as it ascended towards the start.

The storm was over, and now a clear, starry sky blanketed the world, accented by bright, full moon.

"Yeah," Eld whispered, tears sparkly with the reflection of the starlight. "It truly is."

. . . . . .

. . . and time passed, slowly still . . .

A boy and a girl, adolescents for all intents and purposes, took refuge from the night beneath an umbrella'd table of a Galaens outdoor diner. They'd been asked numerous times by a waitress for their order, but both teenagers declined and explained that they were waiting on someone. For hours, they sat with no end to their wait in sight. The girl, with her black hair tied back and a casual one piece orange dress upon her, waited with some degree of solemn impatience. She continuously broke conversation to look up and towards the road to Hillcrest, but to find no one coming. The boy, with his short black hair brushed and parted and body clad in a casual suit, became uncomfortable after awhile and ceased trying to make and keep conversation.

But finally--

The girl asked, "She's . . . not coming, is she?"

With a frown, the boy replied, "No, she's not."

The girl looked at the table. The grain held her attention more than anything else. With a furrowed brow and a pout of her lower lip, she wondered why.

"She's not coming back at all . . . is she?"

The boy hardened his brow. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. The girl across from him knew the answer just as well as he did. Instinct demanded that he apologize, but he couldn't imagine he'd a reason to apologize. This was neither of their faults, nor was it entirely her's. Apologies would've just been a subtle distraction from the cold hard fact that had before them:

She wasn't coming back. She was lost. She was lost somewhere she'd never be found again.

The apparition stood amongst the Hall,
-- hood adorning its face,
-- a small blade in hand,
-- and eyes unseen, viewing a fresh cut upon the wall.

Below the Father and next, then, to the Sister, a new title was scratched into the surface, permanent effective marks in the wall, never to be forgot--siblings who were powerful in unification, yet pushed apart by time and circumstance, ever weaker with one another-- two siblings fated to destroy together, or destroy each other--

[memories lost; knowledge gained]