Before we begin, one final author's note.

So here we are. The Epilogue. There's a lot in here, including the very scene that made me want to write this fanfic back years ago, when I first had the idea. You'll probably know it when you see it. It really is a pretty obvious thing to build a fanfic around.

I don't want to give away too much, however, obviously, editing this epilogue to my liking took me quite a bit of time, moving around, changing and deleting scenes until I finally had something workable. That said, the editing process isn't the only reason this took a while to get out. While I was working on the epilogue, I realized that there's one crucial (to me) aspect of this version of Emil's post-game life that this fic really didn't go into as much as I would have liked it to and... well, let's just say, I ended up writing a short prequel to this fanfic. A One-Shot called "Gradient". I haven't edited it yet, but once I've done so, probably the coming weekend, I'll upload it to both, my Fanfiction Net and Ao3 accounts as a separate story. Once that's done, I'll officially consider this "saga" complete for now, though I might add a fluff One-Shot or two to it every year for DotnW's anniversary. We'll see. For now, I'm very happy with what I've written...

Everyone, thank you so much for following and reading "Hazelnuts and Bitter Herbs", one of the few multichapter fanfictions I've ever finished and published in their eternity. It was a fun journey, and one I'm very happy I got to share for you. I hope you enjoyed it at least as much as I did.

Hoping to see you all again in another story one day and wishing you all nothing but the best,

Nenilein


They once told him that 'Castagnier' was an old Sylveranti word meaning 'Thorny Shell'. He hadn't really used that name ever since the end of his last journey. Now he was finally laying it to rest.

There was a small, modest grave underneath a chestnut tree in the Palmacosta cemetery. Emil and Flora knelt in front of it, offering their prayers. The air was heavy with incense and the scent of the flower bouquet they had brought.

"Marta said she'll have it arranged with the Governor-General that his name is added to the tombstone soon," he said.

Flora nodded, "Yes. That would be wonderful. Thank you."

"I… I won't ask you to forgive me for taking it."

"No, it's alright. To be honest, I think somewhere inside I already knew long ago that you're not her son."

"…Yeah. I figured so."

Emil rose from the ground and stood next to the woman who wasn't his aunt, because he never had an 'aunt' to begin with. Like watching the second-hand of a clock move, they let time pass emptily and in silence, giving the dead buried here the respect they'd been denied for too long.

"Did you… ever meet my sister?" Flora asked eventually.

"Only once," he answered. "The memory is vague, but I think her eyes and the way she spoke to me back then reminded me of someone I once thought of like a mother. That's probably why… my mind did what it did…"

Yes, he had long realized that somewhere in his head, the face of the dying Lana Castagnier had ended up blended into the expression of Martel as she was pierced by the arrow. He probably would never be able to fully untangle these two memories from one another. Still, this awareness of how his recollections had been distorted gave him context. Little by little he had been able to identify and discern the 'true forms' of the false memories he used to think of as his 'childhood', whether they were things he once watched humans do, altered scenes from the time he spent traveling with Mithos, or just stories people once told him.

"I'm not surprised," Flora laughed a little. "My big sister always had a way of leaving an impression. She was as headstrong and decisive as she was smart…"

"No wonder you said I didn't resemble her."

"Yes. Back then, you really didn't."

"Mhm. I'm sure."

"But I think Lana would probably have taken a liking to the boy you are now."

Emil lowered his head and quietly sighed. "I'm sorry that I'm not really your nephew."

Flora glanced away. "…It's sad, knowing that there's really nothing of hers left in this world anymore. I… I wish I could have said goodbye to her. But what's done is done. All I can hope is that wherever she and her family are now, they're happy."

Emil nodded, "I'm sure they are. They're together, after all."

Flora couldn't keep holding her tears back for long after this. For the first time ever, Emil saw her cry. While he didn't feel comfortable hugging the woman as he would have done for his close friends, he put a hand on Flora's shoulder and told her that it was okay to grief. Lana Castagnier had been dead for over 3 years. It was high time her sister had a proper chance to mourn her and the nephew she never got to meet.

Eventually the sobbing stopped. When Flora lifted her head again, the both of them decided it was time to go back. Emil began to extinguish the candles and incense they had lit. As he did so, the light of the flames got caught on the surface of a small, silver ring on his left hand, bringing it to Flora's attention.

"…You proposed to the girl?"

He snorted. "She proposed to me. At least ten times, actually. That time she just happened to have brought rings. …I was a bit surprised by that part, actually."

"And you said yes?"

"Every single time."

The candles were out and stored away in the small bag he had brought. One last time, the boy gently touched the gravestone.

"When Marta and I are married, I'll be taking her surname," he said. "I want to let the Castagniers have their peace… I am very thankful for what they shared with me, even if it was by accident, but I want to give the real 'Emil Castagnier' his name back. I just hope he'll forgive me for keeping part of it for myself…"

Flora laughed, "'Emil' is a fairly common name. I doubt anybody would fault you for choosing it as your own. At very least, I don't."

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear this, Flora…"

They left the graveyard after that exchange, stepping back out into the bustling town of Palmacosta in quiet reverence. The last thing Flora said to Emil when they checked into separate rooms in the Inn that afternoon, was:

"Even though you're not my nephew, Emil, I am glad I got to meet you."

At night he silently thanked Emil Castagnier for the name he'd lent him, and Aster Laker for the words of courage he had left for him. It were moments like these when he resolved even harder to do his best and live, for the sake of those two boys, too.

There were many such moments as the years passed, and each time one occurred, he again resolved anew to make his life worth it. With every new experience he made, he realized how long a way he still had to go to fully understand himself or what it meant to live in this world. It was funny how after thousands of years of being alive on this planet it was only now that he realized how little he really knew about it. That feeling, the ability to learn a little bit more about the world and about himself every day, became something he relished. As Marta grew and aged, he got grow along with her and all their friends, not only in the changes he let happen to his physical body, but also in spirit.

They got married when Marta was 21. Though they'd wanted a small ceremony, their plans got a little derailed by the sheer number of people who wanted to be present for the festivities. In the end it all mutated into a huge, public affair in Meltokio, followed by a reception in the ballroom of the Wilder estate. Sometimes it was a little hard to tell Zelos' generosity apart from his need to show off.

Still, even if it hadn't been for the meddling of one outrageously rich Chosen One, Emil and Marta's intentions of a private wedding would probably have been doomed anyway. By the time they actually got around to tying the knot, they were already both well-known public figures. Marta had made a name for herself campaigning for the unification of Sylverant under a new system of government that would heavily involve the public in legislative decisions. That sort of system, she reasoned, would prevent any one individual from becoming powerful enough to force the country's citizens into unwanted violent conflict the way a king or military commander might. She knew her idea wasn't perfect, and she relied heavily on the advice of friends such as Regal, Zelos and Raine to come up with the finer points of her political intentions, but they were already making definite progress with increasing the communication between the individual town-administrations all over Sylverant, which had greatly improved efficiency of trade and information-exchange and, thus, stimulated local economies and growth. Before long, Marta had, alongside Lloyd, become one of the unofficial "ambassadors of Sylverant" recognized by the Tethe'allan King.

"I think what we're doing right now is probably what Daddy and I should have been doing from the start," she'd tell Emil one day during dinner. "I'm just sad he won't get to help as much as wants to."

They kept in contact with Brute Lualdi in Meltokio, regularly visiting him and informing him of the current state of things in the world. The influence of the Heroes of Regeneration in Meltokio, especially that of Regal and Zelos, had helped avert a potential death sentence, but it was highly unlikely that Marta's father would ever be allowed to leave imprisonment again. Only for Marta's and Emil's wedding they managed to acquire a special permit that allowed him to attend, handcuffed flanked by guards, but still, he was there, and he looked very happy.

Emil didn't exactly remain unknown around the world either. There were quite a few more incidents along the way that resulted in him having to use his powers or summon the Centurions or monsters in public, and while some people, especially those that had fallen off from traditional believes, never saw him as more than the 'mysterious consort of Lady Lualdi', word of his true nature made the rounds across the globe. No story ever seemed to get the details 100% right, but the idea that 'Ambassador Lualdi's consort' was really a Summon Spirit in human form had quickly become the consensus among followers of the Sylverant branch of the Church of Martel. It took a while for Emil to stop being uncomfortable with the reverence many people insisted on treating him with or with the odd questions that visitors to Luin would often ask him. They were usually nothing like the questions the elves that used to come to the Kharlan-Tree would pose to Ratatosk, and more often than never they concerned the 'goddess' Martel – And, that was where inspiration struck.

"A lot of the corruption in the Church of Martel is based on the fact that its teachings are based in lies and misunderstandings, right? But… I know the truth. If people become more aware of what really grants Mana to the world, maybe they'll try and be a bit more responsible with how they use it in the future. I know, it might not really do much. But if sharing what I know is something I can do to help improve things, I want to try."

So he went to the churches and chapels around the world and told the priests about 'Martel'. That she lived in the World Tree and granted Mana to nature. That she could only give 'life' to the world as long as those given life used it responsibly and treated the world around them with the respect it deserves. If humans, half-elves and, yes, elves, didn't find a way to live together and use the gifts given to them responsibly, one day the World Tree would disappear, and Martel and the Summon Spirits would disappear with it. If that came to pass, then no "Chosen One" could ever bring the Tree and Spirits back. It would need nothing short of a miracle to undo the damage to the world. That was why on this journey called 'life', nothing mattered more than to appreciate the world and the people in it just as much as Martel herself did. He knew, the chances that his reinterpretation of the Martel-faith would fundamentally change how people felt about and treated the planet was low, but it existed, and he decided to place just a little bit of trust in it. Since his 'divine' powers were a well-known fact among the followers of the church, many believed what Emil preached, especially the most sincere priests, and a minor cult worshipping the World Tree as the seat of Martel quickly formed.

An unfortunate side-effect of this development was that Luin, as the rumors had predicted, morphed into quite the destination for Martel-pilgrims, much to the glee of those involved in the local tourism business, and the annoyance of Mr. and Mrs. Lualdi, who often found it difficult to find even a moment of peace among their busy schedules and often unwanted visitors. It was a fulfilling, but stressful path they had chosen to walk together. They sometimes had fights over it. Occasionally, awful fights. But they were never bad enough to drive them apart for long. Decades went by, Emil grew out his hair, Marta began pinning hers up, but the two of them never grew apart. They were too good a team to ever consider letting go of one another.

Time kept passing. The number of Exspheres in the world kept decreasing with every stop Colette and Lloyd made on their journey, the philanthropic expenditures of the Lezareno Group grew with each new idea Regal and Presea put into motion, the global hatred for half-elves weakened ever so little with each passionate speech or presentation Raine and Genis held, and the acceptance of Sylverant and Mizuho as cultures and sovereign states became stronger with each bid Zelos and Sheena made to Tethe'allan king. Sylverant, slowly, but surely, grew together into a state union. The Church of Martel lost power, but, in the process, gained integrity. Every day, the world's dependency on Mana lessened. And thus passed one year… two years… ten years… 30 years… 70 years…

Many stories better told another time happened in those years. Countless happy memories, sad incidents, fortunate encounters, and tragedies. Emil watched many friends, even people he had come to consider family, pass away with time.

And then, eventually, it was Marta's turn.

He sat by her bed and could feel it was happening, because for the time being humans were still dependent on Mana, and he could feel that Mana losing its grip on her body and soul. Her breathing grew shallower and shallower.

"Marta… Marta, please don't go…" he whispered, holding her hand. "Please… I… I can't go where you're going. You know that, right? Please…don't go yet…"

A lifetime had passed, and people called them 'old' now, but to Emil, Marta was still as beautiful as she'd always been, her graceful form framed by her long, now silver hair. Yes, a lifetime had passed, but to him it had been much too short. There was still so much he still wanted to say to her, so much he still wanted to do. Tears dropped from his eyes and he prayed that maybe, just maybe they'd pass a piece of his life on to her. As long as Mana existed, he would always have plenty of life left in him, but hers was fading fast. Once it was gone, it could not be brought back…

"E…Em…il…"

She didn't have enough strength left to grip his hand properly, but he could feel she was trying.

"I'm here," he mumbled through his tears. "I'm here, Marta…! I'll always be…"

"E…mil… thank you…" whispered Marta's thin voice. "We made this world… so much more beautiful together… didn't we?"

"We're not done yet...!" panic crept into his voice. "There's still a lot more we can do…! A lot more you can do. This world… still needs you. I…"

'I still need you'. 'I'll always need you'. There was no need to say these words, because he knew that she knew. There was no way she wouldn't understand the look in his eyes, the way he held on to her hand for dear life. That's why it hurt so much, when just a second later, her eyes clouded, and she began to mumble nonsense phrases and random words that he couldn't make sense of. This had been happening a lot as of late. Human bodies were fragile and often as they broke down, so too did their minds. Soon, hers might be too broken to fix. And then, he would never see her again.

"Marta… Marta, please, stay with me…!" He knew it was futile. He'd always known. But knowing reality and accepting it were two different things. "You… You can't die yet. How can it be your time to die, when Presea and Zelos and Sheena are still alive…?"

Yes, why did Marta have to die now, when there were still others, humans who were older than her, who would go on living? It wasn't fair. Nothing about this was fair.

"Right… Sheena…! If, you die now… that would break our pact with her…! That wouldn't be right, would it…?"

Maybe she was too weak to understand what he was saying. She just looked at him, eyes misty, yet there was a soft, calm smile on her face. Finally, after helplessly starring at her face for long enough, something occurred to Emil.

"…The pact…"

He brushed away the hair falling across Marta's face. There, hidden under strands of silver, he found it; the jewel he'd once given to her when she was young. All these years its presence had simply been a fact of their lives and the bond they shared, and he'd rarely paid it much mind, but now…

"If Exspheres can draw in and remove human souls from their bodies, then my Cores should be able to do the same…!" There was a hopeful glimmer in Emil's eyes. He pulled Marta's hand close to his chest. "D-Do you see, Marta!? I… I can take you in! I can save you from this body and make you a part of me! Then we'd never have to be apart. We'd be one, forever, and-"

"Emil…" He finally felt Marta's hand gripping back, firmly. That smile was still on her face, but her eyes were clear. "…It's enough. Enough, Emil."

He felt his body shake at her words. "But… Marta…!"

The despair in his voice didn't seem to sway her.

"I'm human…," she gently whispered to him.

Emil lowered his head. Yes. She was. She would never not be.

"I… I want to meet my mother and father…" she kept whispering. "I…I'm sure… they must've been… lonely without me…"

How lonely it had to be, to exist in a world without her. He'd always feared to imagine it.

"There is so much… I want to tell them. About this world… About us…"

He buried his face in his palms. Why did it have to be now? Why couldn't she stay with him and forge more tales of the both of them?

"…I promise… I'll tell them everything… you did for me… So, they'll know… when we meet again…"

He looked up.

"Marta…" Tears welled in Emil's wide-open eyes. "Marta, I can't… Where you're going… I can't-"

"Let's meet again, Emil…" her hand was still warm. "Even if it's… at the end of the world… I'll wait…"

At the end of the world… Would there be a place where they could see each other again beyond it? He couldn't know. Neither could she. This was all just speculation. No better than delusions. Even the Spirits had no way of knowing what lies beyond death. And yet, when he looked into Marta's eyes, he so dearly wanted to believe that she knew something he didn't know, and that her words were true.

"I… love you, Emil…" she muttered, closing her eyes.

"I love you, Marta," he told her through heavy tears. "I always will."

Her breath stilled, then ceased, and then he couldn't sense her presence anymore. It wasn't her anymore, laying on that bed before him. Just an empty shell, like a doll. Something that couldn't smile at him the way she did. He wasn't sure how long he refused to leave the bedside, crying and crying, calling her name over and over, until he'd exhausted himself too much to make another sound.

He dissolved the pact quietly that night, taking back the part of his power he'd given Marta. He could swear he still sensed fragments of her warmth in that part of himself he'd reclaimed, but he couldn't know for sure if that wasn't just hopeful thinking. He might never really know. This entire lifetime, the life of the person who had come to be known as 'Emil Lualdi', he'd continued to use Aster Laker's appearance, letting it grow and change into a possible version of what that boy's body might have become if he had had the chance to grow old. Now that this 'lifespan' was over, it was time to leave that body behind. He cast off the appearance of an old man and left a shell of it behind with Marta's body. That way, nobody in the world of humans and half-elves would try to look for 'Emil'. Only their friends would know the truth.

All that was left now was to go on living as the Summon Spirit Ratatosk, doing his duty protecting the world from the Ginnungagap.

"Well then… Which name do you want me to call you by?" Richter asked him one quiet evening spent sitting back on back. "Seeing how you've 'killed' Emil… Would you still be comfortable being addressed that way?"

The Spirit thought about that question for a bit.

"I get it… You don't want to call the one you will be spending the majority of your lifetime with by the name of your best friend's murderer…"

"I am more concerned about you," Richter claimed. "You've spent more than 70 years as Emil. Are you really ready to leave that identity behind?"

"It will be a part of me forever," said Ratatosk. "But 'Emil Lualdi', the human, lies buried alongside his wife Marta. Their tale has ended. That's how it should be."

"So, you wish to let the memories of the both of you rest with her. I understand… Ratatosk."

The Spirit turned his head a little, looking at Richter from the corners of his eyes, "If you want to, you can give me a new name."

"A new name...?" Richter paused, then laughed a little. "I'll think about it."

Ratatosk leaned back a little, "Or you could just keep calling me 'Emil'. Really, it wouldn't change… who I am."

Who he was would always be an incredibly, incredibly lucky person, because he got to meet Marta, and he got to meet Richter. His pain never really went away, not the pain of losing his Tree and Mithos' betrayal, nor the pain of losing Marta, but here, in the companionship of the Centurions and a person who understood his history and his plight, it was bearable. Richter would let him cry into his shoulder at night, without judgment or demands and, eventually, after many years of shared games and listening to each other's opinions and grievances, they reached the point where the Spirit could do the same for Richter. Hurt couldn't be erased, but it could be endured with a friend, regardless of how unlikely that friendship might be.

Of course, Richter wasn't the only friend still left to him among mortals. Sometimes, when Ratatosk left the Ginnungagap to catch a glimpse of the state of the world, he would run into the Sage siblings.

"How is Richter doing these days?" asked Genis Sage, a proud half-elven scholar 246 years of age.

"He has been trying to learn how to cook," said a man who didn't really exist. Ratatosk wore a disguise, allowing him and Genis to sit together in this café in peace. "Says he's getting tired of my dishes. Just between you and I, I think it irks him that there's something people do that I'm still better at than him."

Genis snorted, "It took him 200 years to start learning? Oh boy."

"Better than having been learning for 200 years without any progress. By the way, how's your sister?"

"Okay. Point taken." The two of them shared a laugh. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, they supposed. "But just in case, that question was more than pure rhetoric: Raine has been in high spirits. Our research on Boltzman's techniques and the Unicorns's rebirth cycle is progressing nicely. At this rate we should be able to adapt some basic Healing Artes for energy-sources other than Mana within the millennium."

"That sounds promising. In how many other fields do you believe you'll find ways to phase out use of Mana?"

"We're not certain yet. It would be easier to tell if nature's reliance on Mana was already a thing of the past, but-"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid by the time I get done rewriting the law, you won't have much time left."

"No, I understand. Don't rush. Raine and I will make sure to document everything so others can follow up on our research."

"Please do. The less strain human progress will put on Yggdrasil the better."

"It would be great if we could keep the Tree alive forever this time," Genis nodded.

"Yes," Ratatosk agreed. "At least till the end of this world."

Even if they didn't yet know what lies beyond that end. One of them might not even find out. Long-lived as they were, even a half-elf's life wasn't infinite.

"You know, Emil…" Genis brushed some hair out of his face. For a moment Ratatosk saw a flash of a youthful light that he hadn't seen in the while behind the heavy lenses of Genis' glasses. "I really need to thank you."

"Why? Where's this coming from?" asked Ratatosk.

"For still being here. Still being my friend," said Genis. "When I was a kid, I was always afraid that one day I would be the only one left. Other than Mithos I never had any half-elven friends my age, so when we failed to save him, this fear grew in me that eventually everyone would either abandon me or… pass."

Without meaning to, Ratatosk let his eyes wander away from Genis. Oh, if there ever was a fear he could relate to… In any case, Genis continued speaking.

"When Lloyd died, there was a brief while when I thought my fears might be coming true. Everyone was growing old, and I stayed youthful… Even Presea had overtaken me eventually. And I knew, the chances that Raine would outlast me were slim. For a while I was selfish enough to wish that I might die before her." The half-elf sighed. "But now… every time I find myself thinking those thoughts, I remind myself that you're still here. Even in a world where almost nobody I knew back then is still alive, you're still here, and just as I've asked you to, you keep coming back to visit me." Genis smiled a grateful smile, "That's why I need to thank you. Thank you, Emil, for not letting me be the last one left."

'You're cruel, Genis,' Ratatosk thought to himself, avoiding his friend's line of sight, but never voicing the thought, because he knew better than to spoil this precious time for Genis.

A 1000 years passed in the world and in the Ginnungagap. A 1000 years of a single man's life burning away slowly to keep the realm governed by the World Tree and its Mana separate from the demonic depths of Niflheim. And then, it was done. The world's reliance on Mana had been severed, its flow redirected towards the Gate to deter the demons. With a seal this powerful in place, as long as the Tree Yggdrasil was alive, the world would never need to fear being consumed by demons again.

The Spirit gazed upon his work, before turning to his companion with a smile, "…Richter. Richter, it's done! The seal is complete. Now I can release you from this place."

He wouldn't get a response. It took the Spirit a few minutes to realize that he'd already heard the final words of the man he'd spent the last 900 years with.

"Richter…"

'Aster would be proud of us.' That was the last thing Richter ever said to him or anyone. After a millennium of having his Mana burned, his body hadn't been able to last any longer. They'd both known that this might happen, but still, until the very end, Ratatosk had hoped that he would be able to show Richter the world everyone had built together just one time before he passed. Elves and those of their blood never really grew old. Aside from his now silver hair and a few stray wrinkles, Richter still looked as youthful as the day they had met. Gently, the Spirit touched the man's pale cheeks.

"Give Aster and Marta my greetings," he mumbled.

Aqua and Tenebrae helped bury him. They found a safe spot near where the town of Sybak used to be. There, they put up a monument. They knew that to the people living today, neither the image of the half-elf, nor his name would mean much of anything, but they were able to at least enshrine a part of his memory. Aqua carved Richter's accomplishments onto the tomb. He wouldn't be forgotten, not as long as they lived. And with that pledge, again, another tale ended.

The final time Ratatosk mingled with the mortal world was at the funeral of Genis Sage. Silently he stood in the back and listened as many humans and half-elves of high rank in the academic world stepped onto the podium one after another and spoke of the man's feats, his discoveries and his ideals and activism. The Spirit himself didn't give a eulogy. Nobody here knew who he was, especially not with the fake face he'd chosen to wear to blend into the crowd of people. He stayed to watch Genis' coffin being lowered down into the same grave as his sister a few years before, then wordlessly shook hands with a few people exchanging condolences. Then, he left.

What followed were years of absolute silence. Only occasionally he'd exchange words or smiles with his Centurions. Far more often he would just quietly pet them when they offered him their company. And then, once he realized that he simply had no more words left to say, he made his way to the holy forest.

"It has been a while, Ratatosk."

"…Martel."

The two of them met in front of the World Tree, which had now grown tall enough to tower over them, as it was always meant to do.

There was a soft smile on Martel's lips. "I owe you my thanks, Ratatosk. You've done this Tree and the world a great favor. I don't know how to repay you for your selfless efforts."

"There is one way you can."

Light dance through the lush, green foliage of Yggdrasil's canopy.

"So, you've made up your mind?" asked Martel.

"The Centurions tried to stop me, but… yes," he nodded. "The power to administrate Mana should not be split across two distinct Spirits. That is not the way it was meant to be."

"I think our cooperation has been functioning well, though. Is there really a need to change this arrangement?"

His eyes betrayed the excuses he was making. Ratatosk sighed, "…I thought I might be able to go back to the way I used to be. But I know now that my place just isn't among Spirits anymore. I've gotten too close to people. The way I am now, 'eternity', even just a single one, feels too long to endure…"

"I see…"

"You understand, right? All the human souls within you, each of them must have people they yearn to see again, beyond the end of this world."

Martel closed her eyes and nodded, "Yes. I do."

"Right now, that feeling itself is the place I belong. So, please, Martel… Take me home."

She understood. Though not without melancholy in her expression, she offered the older Spirit her hand. He took it.

"Once it is done, the process cannot be reversed," she reminded him. "Even if I should choose to split myself into aspects, your existence, as it was, can never be restored."

"I know," he said. "I'm ready."

He chose to believe that, regardless the form he'd continue to exist in, at the end of the road Marta would be waiting for him. That thought was his solace. He just did not want to feel alone until the time came.

With warmth and kindness Martel took Ratatosk into her arms, holding him tight and offering comfort. He let himself get lost in her gentleness, surrendered himself and sunk into it, until he felt himself melt away into her embrace.

There now was one single Spirit under the World Tree's canopy, solemnly mustering her hands in the quiet of her forest.

"One day, at the end of the world… I will make sure our tales are told," she whispered to herself.

Hearing a sound rustling the leaves of her Tree, the Spirit turned towards the forest and gazed into it. Out of its shade approached eight figures, one by one coming onto the clearing and lining up before her. They bowed to her in reverence.

"Lady… Martel…" the frontmost one spoke.

"…Oh Tenebrae, my loyal friend." She knelt down and gently caressed the Centurion's head. "Please, forgive me. I know how much you tried to dry his tears. I hope you won't blame yourself for our weakness."

"No, I understand. You were never weak… my Lord."

Martel mustered the Centurions, her Centurions, with gratitude, one by one. Then she rose onto her feet.

"Everyone, let us go. Let us make this world so many have spent their lives protecting flourish and bloom yet more beautifully."

"Yes, Lady Martel."

And so, the tale of Martel, Mithos Yggdrasil and the Summon Spirit Ratatosk, too, after many thousands years, finally came to an end.


Now was the Age of Legends. Many wars had been fought, many countries risen and fallen. Of the stories now known to mankind, only few still existed in their original form. Much of history had been forgotten. Many tales. Many names.

But the Spirits still lived in this world. Martel kept existing. And though it was often a solitary existence, sometimes she got to enjoy the presence of those that had sworn themselves to protect Yggdrasil and its world.

"Hey, hey, hey now, Falken, what'cha think you're doing, just running off? You want me to freeze you to the ground?"

"Aah, no, no, no! Martel, saaave me!"

"Martel can't save you, dummy, I'm your Mom! There'll never be a goddess stronger than me in your world!"

"AAAAHHHH!"

Arche Burklight's five-years-old son squirmed and squealed in his mother's grip, trying to wriggle himself free, but his attempts were very much futile. Martel couldn't help but chuckle watching the scene.

"What a lively child," she commented.

"He's a handful!" Arche complained. "Argh, I don't know how you and Mint can just stand there smiling when you see this! I swear, one of these days this kid's gonna dart off across the Valhalla plains on me!"

"I see, he takes after his mother."

"Hey! Watch it."

There wasn't any big, important reason Arche and her son were here in the Forest of Spirits today. She'd just felt like taking her child out into nature, so she'd taken him here. That wasn't unusual for them. The living members of Heroes of Eternity had made a habit of visiting the forest and checking on the state of Yggdrasil whenever possible. It was their way of making sure that all they had fought for across time and space wouldn't be in vain. Of course, Martel's company was always an enjoyable bonus.

"But, hey… It's really sad, isn't it?" Arche said, once she had gotten her child to quiet down and found a calm moment to talk to Martel.

"What is sad?" asked Martel.

Arche looked at the grass beneath her feet. "That even if Cress and the others might find the time to come along visit next time… Claus will never be here with us again."

"Arche…"

The half-elven woman raised her head and hands and dug the toes of her bare feet into the ground a little. It was as if she was trying to connect the earth and sky through her body.

"I know, I know. I'm lucky. I got to know Claus and be friends with him almost his entire life, and now I get to spend life with Cress and the others. With Chester. I really shouldn't be complaining. But sometimes, it still feels wrong. We were all a team, right? So why can't he be here now? Why can't Suzu be here with us yet?" Arche paused. "Why… will I be the only one left in the end…?"

The woman, who's youthful looks betrayed the over one-hundred years she'd already spent in this world, looked to Martel for answers, but the Summon Spirit could only look back at her with deep, sad eyes. Arche sighed… then laughed

"Hah… Ahaha! This is silly. Why am I telling you this? Of course, a great Spirit wouldn't understand what it's like…"

"No. I understand."

Arche looked back at Martel again. The Spirit's expression was sincere. Just for a few seconds, the two women stood there, looking at each other quietly.

"Hey… Martel?" Arche asked eventually. "You're part of nature, right? So, I figure you know a lot about how the world works and stuff…"

"Yes, I do."

"Is there something like reincarnation?"

Martel was stumped. She had never been asked that question before.

"Or some other way the people who've left keep watching us?" Arche continued. "I don't know, I've just kept thinking… Maybe Claus is really still here? Maybe Suzu is already here! And we just have to search and find them. Then, we could all be together. We could be a team again!"

Hope gleaming in her eyes, Arche searched Martel's expression for confirmation of her theories. But after a while she had to realize that she would find none, and her smile fell.

"I… don't know," Martel admitted. "The fate of the souls of the departed is not my domain."

So not a 'No'. But not a 'Yes' either. Not even a 'Maybe'. Arche slumped to the ground. In short distance, her son, unaware of his mother's conversation, had wandered off to play with the Summon Spirit's familiars in the bushes, but Arche didn't notice. She pulled her knees close to her chest and hunched over, defeated.

"Ahaha… I should have known. Would've been too nice to be true…" She looked over to where she heard her son's laughing voice. The child was gathering nuts and berries from the bushes, watched and aided by one of Martel's creatures. "One day, Chester will be gone, too. I keep thinking about when my Dad died. I've spent more time without him in the world than with him now, but it still hurts. When Chester dies… It'll be just the same. For me, and for our son."

Arche looked up. Again, she posed a question at the Spirit, "Martel… When does it stop hurting?"

Martel closed her eyes, "At the point where you find the strength live in the present, while accepting the wounds of the past."

"When do I reach that point?"

"…It might be never."

"I… I see…" Arche let her head hang.

"But even so…" Martel put a hand on her shoulder. "This world is wonderful. You cannot forget that, no matter how many tragedies befall you, there will always be those that will understand you and walk by your side."

"How can you say that…? How can you say, 'It will be worth it', if you think the pain isn't going away…?"

Arche, strong woman that she was, was still holding back her tears at this point. It was here that she felt a tugging on her sleeve.

"Mama." Falken had come back. He proudly presented his little hat, filled to the brim with fruit, nuts and herbs, to his mother. "For you."

Wiping some of the wet out of her eyes, Arche turned to her child, "Ah! Did you gather all of those? Nice work! And you know how to share with a lady, too! Someone's been raised well, heh."

Arche smiled at Falken and he smiled back at her. Out of his hat, he took a single nut.

"Mama. Eat!" he insisted.

"Huh? Why?"

"Because, you look sad," he said. "This will make you better!"

For a moment, Arche looked down at her little boy and it seemed like she was about to cry again. She nodded, took the hazelnut he'd offered her and ate it.

"Eheheh… You're right, this is nice! It's sweet…"

Falken's face lit up. He grabbed into his hat again.

"Mama, take more!"

Arche made a face, "Falken, no, that's peppermint. It's bitter!"

"But it smells so good!"

In the end, there was no resisting the charms of her own offspring. Reluctantly, Arche sighed, accepted the leaf offered to her and bit into it. She forced a smile, but her eyes were watering.

"Mmm… Mhmmm…! Heal…thy…!"

"Yay! I made Mama healthy!"

Arche felt the strong need to punch a certain healer in the arm the next time they met, for no reason other than said healer's name. Behind herself, she could hear Martel laughing.

"Hmpf! Not funny," Arche complained.

But Martel kept laughing, "Why? Better to find joy in the sweetness of moments like these, than to let the bitterness of life bring you down. Right?"

The half-elf was quiet. She felt as if she understood what the Spirit was trying to tell her. Right… Right, she had Falken. There used to be her father, and Rhea and Claus, and now she had Chester and Falken, Cress and also Mint. One day, she would have Suzu and Falken. And then, it would be just Falken and her. But no matter how many times she found and lost them and how bitter the pain that brought would be, it wouldn't change that this would always be the world where they made sweet memories together.

Sweet, beautiful memories of this wonderful, bittersweet world.

A smiling Martel rose her voice in the clearing, "Everyone, gather around!"

The Spirits's familiar, one for each of Mana's elements, heeded their mistress' call, forming a circle around her in front of the World Tree. Arche and Falken, both curious, joined the circle as well. They watched with heightened attention as Martel took into her hands two items: A wooden pan-flute that had been hidden under her robes and a white lily she'd worn pinned into her hair. She presented them to her waiting audience.

"Let me tell you the tale of the boy who almost destroyed the world to defeat his despair, and the girl who fell in love with a Summon Spirit."

And she told them her story.