I have to get up really, really early tomorrow, but I felt as if I needed to do this. So yeah, here it is.

I do not own the Night Angel Trilogy, The Way of Shadows or Beyond the Shadows, despite the quotes/paraphrase things I borrowed from them. The characters, plots, places, and books belong to Brent Weeks. If I owned them, Kylar and Logan's reconciliation scene would actually be existent in the book.

Years had passed since the war against Khali. The Wolf—even now it was still hard to think of him as Ezra—had been true to his word, and peace thrived in the lands that were once filled with so much turmoil. Kylar had watched throughout the years as the people he cared about aged with time. He'd finally come to terms with his immortality, and the terrible price that came with it.

Tall grasses and pristine marble stones now replaced the filthy streets of the city; brilliant crimson flowers replaced the blood and death that once littered the country. Cenaria had been completely reformed since Logan became High King. More powerful countries no longer attempted to conquer it, and healthy relations had been created between Cenaria and Khalidor. The corruption amongst the nobles had all but disappeared, and citizens no longer lived like animals.

Now a large temple lay in the outskirts of the capital, and people visited it daily to pay their respects. However, by the High King's request, the true site had been hidden away in a small garden several miles out. Only a few knew about it, including Kylar.

A gentle breeze caressed dry cheeks, and velvet petals brushed bare feet. A pair of eyes, much too old for the man they belonged to, gazed longingly at the stone on the ground. It was relatively new, age having not yet worn down the surface and fading the name carved into it.

It was simple. No dates or explanations or titles. Just a name.

The sky was bluer than it had ever been, and not a single dark cloud tarnished the picturesque scene. Animals could be heard somewhere amongst the brush, living unaware of the body mere feet away from them. Even from afar, where the rusted metal fence separated this sanctuary from the rest of the world, a single golden dome peeked over the horizon in the distance. The Hall of Winds stood grander than ever amidst the city, which still held the name it had been given.

Everyone had gone long before, and only his old friend had remained, watching over the world as his fate had been. Now, here lay yet another in his deathbed, his role in the world's tale fulfilled.

A sad smile graced his lips, blond hair brushing the back of his neck. The man—who looked to be in his twenties still—bent down with the grace of one who had done so many times. Before the gravestone he placed a simple object, common despite the significance it held for the man.

Straightening up again, he began the short trip down the dirt road back to civilization, but not before murmuring to the ghost he was sure stood behind him, watching. And listening.

A young man, thick in build with short, dark hair that had just begun to poke out in bristles along his chin. He looked much like his father, though his eyes resembled his mother's. Striding up the dirt path, he stopped in surprise upon noticing a difference in the scenery from when he'd last visited.

A battered old sword, though wooden and used mainly in practice, looked as if it had been treated well. The young Gyre smiled when he realized who must have visited recently.

He had brought up Acaelus Thorne, the name unfamiliar at the time, and that had spurred on their eager conversation all the more.

"So what does that teach you about being a leader?" Kylar had asked.

Logan's face scrunched up in perplexity. "Eat your vegetables and get enough sleep?"

"How about 'be nice to your inferiors, or they might kick your ass'?" Kylar suggested, smirking.

"Are you asking me to spar, Baronet Stern?" Logan had replied, his expression mirroring his newfound friend's.

"Your exalted dukeliness, it will be my pleasure to take you down."

By the time night had fallen, pinpricks of silver light brightening the blackened sky, the garden was once again devoid of visitors. A single resident remained awake, if that's what it could be called. The breeze picked up wisps of smoke from the incense laid before the grave, the bluish haze swirling into the air. If he still had the ability to smile, he would have. If he had the ability to see, he would have soaked in every detail of the relic now leaning against his grave delicately. If he could hear, he would've heard the words his old friend and brother had spoken.

"Do you know how much I love you, Logan?"