And, finally, the story continued, for perfection was a farce, was it not?

Time itself seemed to have suspended. But the clock on the wall had kept moving and he had not been able to move, as if he was shackled to the past that seemed to tease him, just out of reach.

And the lovely nurse who often covered for him during nights he couldn't bear to leave her kept gently clasping his shoulders, insistent.

"It'll be okay," she murmured, tone soft and empathetic. But it's not going to be and he's selfish selfish selfish

Her eyes were shut, face still and with a calmness he had not seen in months. An urge to brush away a lock of hair that fell out of place made itself known in the back of his mind, a small gesture that suddenly felt foreign and wrong, too intimate in the absence of a soul.

He knew she was gone.

Maybe it was at the urging of the nurse, or maybe it was of his volition, but he slowly made to leave.

Disentangling his fingers felt as if he was unravelling his soul, bare and vulnerable and fragile–

And somewhere behind him, whispers of encouragement and affirmations of bravery echoed, but he turned only to find pursed lips and stardust left behind from supernovae.

He turned to catch one last glance, but they'd already draped a cloth over her face.

It was so quiet by his side. Idle conversation and the clack of heels on marble echoed in the cramped space, where he stumbled down the hallway looking for an anchor.

But smooth walls are unforgiving and silence is deafening, and he's never quite realised how much silence expands in light of an absence.

Her laugh, her voice, gone gone gone and silence–

–was her worst nightmare. She hates it with a passion that rivalled the one that she holds for lilting melodies and harmonies. But truly, would anything exist without its opposite? Light and dark, day and night, music and–

Oh dragon, the silence.

It pressed on all sides of her unrelentingly, like the chiding of a concerned friend–

("Musa, go to bed. You shouldn't rely on artificial energisers this much.")

–trapping her in a bubble, a new alternate reality all for herself (and oh, what wouldn't she give for all this to be a farce, a fluke). Déjà vu broke through the haze and red-hot fury and grief burst through what little was left, remnants of a time where they thought that seen their friend's demise at the hands of the Omega Portal.

(They'd thought they'd been lucky, that they'd found their friend seemingly unharmed and well, but now she's actually gone and Musa really doesn't know what to do.)

Stumbling, Musa reached the top of the stairs, almost colliding into a couple with a newborn in their hands. A stuffed phoenix hung from the baby's hands and it cooed happily as it reached out to grab a lock of the woman's hair.

She tore her eyes away, stinging from what felt like a physical blow.

In a way, hospitals were fascinating. They held the tender beginnings of life within their cold white walls, nurturing and fostering those souls as they grew and blossomed. And yet, just down the same hallway, you might just find people trying their best to navigate their newly-shattered lives, picking up the shards of what they once knew as it crumbles in their hands.

But some, brave souls they are, some managed blind and deaf and bleeding, taping back together those shards without a spark of magic.

She'd seen him cry once before, in a torrent of vicious denial that she had thought back then was borne of a pain incomprehensible. But now she knew that it had barely held a candle to true heartbreak, which ripped at a soul with sanguinary devastation as one tried to hold themselves together.

It's a cruelty that she would think twice of bestowing upon Valtor himself.

He extended his arms towards her, an open invitation for an embrace which gutted her as much as the news did. It's a gesture so achingly familiar to her, one shrouded in the dark night light of Alfea's dorms, when the music had played its final dissonant coda. The gesture thrummed with her spirit, a flame-forged essence of nobility and kindness and compassion–

It was the ache so deeply embedded in her core that pushed her to unwittingly stumble into his shaking arms, tears pooling in her eyes. The world seemed to burn silently, the floor giving out beneath her feet and her magic cowering in the absence of stability.

Stability. The hum of idling devices, the blinking of lights, a constant background chorus that she had taken comfort in, taken for granted until it was violently extinguished.

She allowed for a brief caesura.

Then she bore his grief on her back for he didn't deserve this – and none of them did, but the world had never given a damn about what she wanted – and grasped his shoulders, gently ushering him out to the hospital lobby as they had no business here anymore, no tether of significance that would justify haunting the hallways.

"Let's get you home, okay?" she whispered. Any louder and her voice would have fissured.

His face screwed up a fraction more, opening his mouth as if to say something more. But he seemed to decide against it, snapping shut in favour of faint acquiescence.

They walked down the halls in silence.

Riven and Helia were at the lobby.

The news (and news it was, silent destruction where one would expect at least a singular spark) had trickled quietly, through an automated Realmberry notification that had cued the start of Musa's (and their) morning. A small background chirp, a remnant of a routine that had shattered the ceilings with a sort of maniacal glee. They all saw it coming and were simultaneously blind to it (the ensuing blaze a dazzling eclipse), so how were they to contain the aftershocks and wrap it under a cover of normalcy?

It's just as futile as throwing a sheet on a rigid stiff figure, believing it to be something that could be amended through simple appreciation of the silver linings.

(Silver linings, like that of a half-finished circuit, a glacial thief, of slabs of metal and thunderstorms that shock and throw a whole system into a clean override–)

It would later come out that Riven and Helia had tried to go past the visitor's section along with Musa after they saw her run in with a franticness that could only mean nothing good. They hadn't known and had found out purely by chance, having been in the area to pick up supplies at the mall. Funny how it takes a specific chain of events to get to a certain place in time, no? Percentages may fall to the hundreds, to the limits of the sky, but the strings pulled to reach that number? Knots of slim pickings, with the means to the ends as vast and immeasurable as the universe itself–

(–one that would have ceased to exist without her, but now his universe was gone and so was his home–)

But nevertheless, that didn't change the fact that what was done is done, and Riven and Helia were at the lobby.

"Do you guys want to get out of here?" said Riven, a strange expression on his face. It was as if grief and normalcy were battling for dominance there, resulting in a distraught sort of comfort. It pulled at the corners of his words, barbing the edges to a point of discomfort.

Musa shifted, drawing close to Riven as if to gather strength. Her fingers entwined with his as he gently pressed a feather-light kiss to her damp lashes.

It's a reckless kind of abandon, really, to make your abode a soul when one is so easily extinguished, no matter how bright, how brilliant.

He tore his eyes away and focused on Helia's soothing arm on his shoulder instead. He had a similarly anguished look on his face, but more concealed, wary of the sprinkling of people loitering, existing, nearby.

They were drawing stares. Curse their fame. Curse the cause.

"We need to," Timmy replied, the words bitterly exhausted on his tongue. "We're drawing a crowd."

"I can't– I can't go now," Musa protested, fingers curling inwards as they disentangled from Riven's. "I need time. I'll be fine–"

Someone snorted at that. It wasn't hard to guess who had, in hindsight.

"–, I just need more time. I'll catch up."

Everyone needed more time.

But they left anyway, Timmy included, leaving and an attempting to let go, let go.

When they all left and Musa was alone, she sat on the stairs outside and crumbled.

A whisp, a faint ghost of a breath and a smile, wind-caught; that's how the world ended, that's how everything imploded.

She'd never known that the destruction of a world happens so quietly.

But as quiet as the end of the world may be, the aftermath of it was anything but.

Headlines were blaring by sundown and all Layla wanted was to sink them to the depths of the seas.

They were no strangers to attention, that is true. But Tecna Vitalia dies aged 18, splashed white against a flickering black backdrop, seemed particularly vulturous in motive when the ashes had not settled yet. It was a nauseating speed, the glare of over-publicised achievements and perfected lives, a banshee wail of public mourning that roiled in her core.

But even so, behind locked wards, the news seeped in silently, like foam rolling in on a shore of a beach.

It was none of the high-pitched lamenting. It was Musa, stumbling in, clutching a piece of paper as if it were an unravelling lifeline, tears quiet in her grief. They would have come with her, but they had been kicked out one time too many, to the point where they were imposed with a strict rule of no more than two a time.

(A mutant chandelier and the roaring of poorly extinguished flames came to mind. She'd laughed heartily as they were escorted out, a bright sound cut short by the slam of a door and a ban.)

Stella made as if to speak, but Musa shook her head, shoulders wavering, and that was that.

That had been a few hours ago, a few lifetimes ago. By now, the reporters had finally stopped swarming Alfea's grounds, even the most persistent of stragglers. What morals do they even have? Layla snorted inwardly. Morals, fairness, they were all the same and dead. But it was not like the talks stopped with the banishment. The conversation of it carried well into dinner, which was far more subdued and dark than a dinner near a year's ends tend to be.

Near graduation.

They were so close to graduation.

Layla's knife screeched against her plate, fists clenching at the fairness of it all.

Of all them, she deserved to see graduation the most. For all she's done, she's sacrificed–

(You only needed to save one person, remember? But hey, you wouldn't be our resident overachiever for nothing!)

She would have been a shoo-in for guardianship. But the past is in the past, as she was now and all the glory that would've been ahead of her. It's a heart-rending realisation and the world seemed to have stalled for it.

Dinner melted into twilight, into the flickering stars that hung over Alfea's grounds. The night was hushed as if waiting, waiting–

But waiting for what? For Magix to right itself on its axis? For the universe to freeze, reverse to the rising sun and mend the awful split from the rightful timeline? To silence the mocking call of she's dead and gone, and so is all the fortune in this world?

But nature is fair, as cruel and kind that is, and gives no second chances.

The headlines may have ceased their blaring (temporarily, as all things are), but duties have not. Layla received a summons from the court of Andros as if to solidify that notion, for a public show of mourning as a representative of the royal family.

Layla wanted to drown this whole Dragon-forsaken world and all its pretences.

Zenith and Andros were teetering on the axis of war, and Layla could feel the quiet heartbreak that ensued from the mere possibility.

What started as Andros reaching out to Zenith for possible negotiations of servitude in memorium had lead to a faintly disguised fight under the pretence of formal negotiation. The two warring planets were so utterly set in their ways, with Andros seemingly giving too little and Zenith asking for too much.

The atmosphere was charged with despair only realised in worst fears and nightmares.

"–Andros offers its condolences, but we cannot claim that much of–"

"Enough!"

The committee had stopped at that, jaws unhinged at order upheaved, waiting, waiting–

But Layla would, could not stand by.

(–not anymore–)

"I may speak out of turn, but I cannot let this foolish argument stand for any longer. Tecna gave up her life for the notion of peace and prosperity and you all are disrespecting her very memory with this ridiculous infighting! Did you ever think of what made her do what she did?"

"Princess–"

Layla ploughed on, ignoring Chancellor Gails' attempts of silencing her.

"Yes, she sacrificed herself for Andros, risking her life for my kingdom's security. She earned her Enchantix for it, despite being a member of your realm and not mine. Do you know how she managed to gain it?"

("Her eyes, there was so much hope in her eyes!" and there had been, and Layla'd never met a Zenithian, anyone, with a bigger heart then hers–)

"Yes, should the Omega Dimension have been allowed to collapse upon itself, it would have resulted in a shockwave around the entire magical dimension. By saving Andros, she saved us all, and it was a rational decision, as what was one life in the face of many? But just as logical would have been to realise her worth and to flee, to fight another day."

(And she had fought, a raging storm in the face of death himself, and come out victorious. But all storms came to pass eventually and so did she.)

"What matters is the fact that her actions were an unadulterated wish for harmony between us all, a love for the universe she had learned to cherish and nurture. Zenith, I acknowledge your views on love, of the chaos that it creates, but it is a chaos that allows us all to celebrate our birthright and our unity under the Great Dragon."

"Zenith, Chancellor Inventi, I know your grief. We know how much you mourn for her and our hearts bleed with yours. But she would not have wanted our nations warring. You taint her legacy by even entertaining the thought of such. That does not negate the fact that we are indebted to you. I swear on all of Andros' oceans that I will do everything in my power to ensure that Andros does not forget it."

Layla turned to her parents. Much as she loved them, no-one in the room was completely devoid of fault.

"It was on our shores that Tecna laid down her life for the betterment of the universe. We do not have to be complacent, but I believe she is deserving of more than just shallow words and temporary memorials."

There was only silence.

Layla had either set off a diplomatic disaster or a–

Historical Show of Rapport between Zenith and Andros, the headlines blared. The same picture flashed on paper and screen alike, of both ambassador and rulers of each lighting a teal lantern and letting go, letting go–

A lull in the swaying, in the rocking, as the lantern is released, as the lantern makes its languid way towards the Golden Kingdom.

Another picture replaced it, this one on the island where it all began and ended, one that depicted an intricate shell arrangement being affixed to the centre of it all, just where the waves can't quite reach.

"It was beautiful," Bloom had said when Layla came back from her two-day trip, a wavering smile on her lips.

(as breathtaking as the macabre beauty of oceans boiling over, of higher order blown apart, of the lingering light where a loved world once stood)

The sunlight had torn asunder that day, an exquisite show of dusky hues that had rippled on Alfea's grounds.

And of course, it had been a grand affair. Spotlights of gleaming stardust were merely a boon to the soirée, a white-hot dazzling celebration of achievements and happenings–

(of which was an incandescent burn so bright that it could have been mistaken for a black-out charm, like something was being forgotten or perhaps simply cast away– an upset so distressing that it was best to lock away, cast away–)

Of course it had been a grand affair. Stella had made sure of it, fragment by fragment. After all, when else had Alfea been witness to such a momentous occurrence? Especially one so fleeting, one a passing of such speed and such attribute that Arcadia herself may have noted.

(bitter, bitter spotlight of the first-order, a sacrifice so cruel it could drive the purest, the bravest to selfishness and think it to be the better option)

Something of such scale should only be bequeathed with the most opulent of arrangements, of the most grandiose of perfections that could have been smelted by the Great Dragon themselves. Stella had dived in to answer the call, drowning in the details that had to be attended to, responding to the need and pulling it out of what had been laid to waste.

But yes, of course.

First, attendance was in order.

This event at Alfea would only be the first of a series of events, both of which would have a star-studded RSVP list. The Magix council would be in presence, and so would representatives from the kingdom of Andros. Surprisingly – or perhaps not so, for it's been coming – so was the Linphean Liberian Society, a realm whose relationship with the technocratic Zenith had always been frosty at best. That would have to be taken care of, so as to prevent any clash between the guests.

(but no clash could have outclassed the one that had resonated a fortnight ago–)

But details, details! That was what counted the most, what can make or break an event, no? If there was one thing that Stella was able to do, it was being able to laser-focus on every crease and imperfection of an event and to bring it back to the radiant glory that is expected of the crown princess of Solaria.

So she had kept herself busy doing just that, and the results had been absolutely dazzling. The entire area had been transformed into a venue with gilded roofs that soared above the attendees, a shimmering material that only served to further accentuate the stars that had just started to realise.

(one, two, three, four stars and more–)

Now, Stella would admit that the decor actually seemed quite understated for the affair, with the star-studded guest list that Solaria's system might be jealous of. The centrepiece was–

Ah, yes, was next to a most resplendent arrangement of frames. They were silver-lined, a darling accent to the whole set-up of the event. As customary, there was also a flickering hologram that stood unyielding, stalwart, with its light glinting off the ghostly silver that surrounded it. The seats were also of a similar fashion, wiry ones arranged into four sections.

The first row, six chairs, was almost full. One chair was empty.

The sun was still dying. No matter. Wouldn't be official till the last rays blink out, till the very last lavenders and violets and teals give way to a murky quiet. Even so, the night was just as beautiful as the day. Like Solaria's moons, set against a thousand pinpricks of light that made the sky look like a diamond-encrusted veil.

But...

It really wasn't the same.

It wouldn't be.

Guests were trickling in now. And yes, it was a grand affair, but it grand in the way the air was choked with loss and the enormity of the occasion. Yet something still felt missing, like something just out of grasp but so tantalisingly close, like a feeble glimmer, a wraith.

In the midst of it all stood a banner; taut and blindingly white, it was like a bloodstained surrender. It stood crooked at the entrance.

With a strangled cry, she nearly flung herself to the piece of scrap, hands quivering as she attempted the charm that would get it to fix itself, damn it!

It had to be perfect.

Dragons, it cannot be anything less than perfect, she'd work so hard and by the Celestials she cannot ruin this, cannot add to the upheaval that had already befallen–

She'd promised them. Stella'd been the one to wipe away Musa's tears, to silently take the responsibility of befitting arrangements from her. Along with Bloom, she'd been the one to personally see that... That...

Gods, she'd thrown herself into this whole affair to salvage the burning remnants of what should've been post-battle bliss.

Her magic sparked for a brief second, then flared out, banner giving one last flutter.

It was an utter joke.

Her Radiance, Princess Stella Solaris, heir to the throne? She deserved to have her crown crushed under Valtor's foot. Her kingdom would fall under her reign. Couldn't even handle a small gathering without it crumbling into dust. Couldn't even do the bare minimum of keeping order.

She couldn't quite see the banner in front of her anymore.

Something inside of her, even when cloaked in the mourning that she had come to be regretfully familiarised with, viscerally rejected the notion of reality. It was something that she just voluntarily blinded herself to, a verity that she just couldn't comprehend. Now it was just there in front of her, with all the subtlety of a violent slap.

And by Solaria, she didn't know how to do this–

The banner was suddenly lifted, a gentle tug that Stella raised her wavering vision to meet. It was a young boy, with electric eyes that she could've recognised anywhere. He slowly made to continue the help he was giving her.

She didn't say thank you, but he did. In lieu of a reply, she embraced him with all the force of stars being torn asunder, trying to put into actions what words couldn't comprehend.

And it was a grand affair and it certainly wasn't over (and likely will never be), but sometimes the grand scope of it all had to be ignored, even just for a little while.

(but sometimes it built into an ache that never quite dulled, or it enveloped one in a loneliness that haunted even in a room full of people)

Everyone had left, but really, it didn't take much logic or brainpower to realise that that was the norm for a graveyard in the dead of night.

(someone should have chided her, someone should have sent her a flat look that was somehow equal parts miserable and amused–)

Musa clutched her unfinished manuscript tightly, crumpling the sixth bar that held a scratchy "-lone" written. She needed to finish this, for her, and Musa couldn't think straight under the heavy cloak of sorrow and she needed, needed her, like light needs dark, like sound needs silence–

She needed her, but she was gone and the absence manifested in her damned tribute that reeked with the grievous weight of one that had lost too much and continued losing. Musa's been scrabbling for purchase her entire life, but even Enchantix, sacrifice-powered wings, only allowed for a brief flutter of comfort and that was that.

But somehow, it turned out that the idea of visiting an empty lot in a realm she barely knew in the dead of night was not as knuckleheaded as an idea she thought it was, for someone else was already there, kneeling knee deep in artificial grass. Timmy, glasses-clad and with eyes that matched.

But then again, no one was there to dissuade them.

She thought he hadn't noticed her, but he turned to her, face half-lit by the two moons of Zenith.

"Can you stay?" he murmured, voice wavering in the soft breeze. "I don't really want to be any more alone."

She knew that feeling all too well. She sat next to him, casting more shadows on the dimly lit marker in front of them.

"I've never had magic in my life. I was just Timmy, you know? A good enough engineer, maybe a little out of his depth at Red Fountain. I knew where my place was. I knew who I was. Maybe some wouldn't accept me for that, but it didn't matter. I met the guys; I met you all."

"And I met Tecna. She taught me there was more to life than technology and inventions. She just... she means so much to me," his voice cracked, palms working at the material of his jeans. "It wasn't love at first. More like a strong infatuation with the gorgeous fairy who actually understood what I was blabbering on about. But over time..."

The air was sharp with anguish, one that Musa was all too well acquainted with.

"I want to remember her. Gods, I want to remember the Tecna who gave me so much but all I know now is this void and just what I lost," and the words were spat like they were vile acid, "and it's just so cruel because she doesn't deserve any of that. I want to remember how she could add ridiculously large numbers in her head. I want to remember how she would never let me win at Wizards and Warlocks. I want to remember how she'd laugh at all my stupid jokes."

"You," Musa swallowed, heart even heavier, "you must really love her, huh?"

"She wasn't just my girlfriend; she was my best friend, my better half. Now I'm just–" Timmy paused brokenly, as if searching for a word that could even begin to cover the enormity of the quietus between them all, but he conceded in the end and settled for "lost." And it was such a small word, made all the more minuscule in the gaping abyss they were in.

Musa fought valiantly to keep the tears at bay. She wanted to offer comforting words, but how could she when she was every bit as lost as he was? She knew how it felt, and the cold bite of Omega was nothing compared to the sting of your life being uprooted, inside-out until nothing is recognisable.

"I get what you mean. It feels so wrong. Like I overstayed my welcome or something. There's just something– It's like she just left us with..." she trailed off, eyes catching in the distance.

"With something unfinished?" A hollow laugh. "Yeah, I get it. Pretty uncharacteristic of her, right? She was always so meticulous. But I guess even she couldn't have prepared for this."

A missed cue. "Dragon, I miss her," and her words were wet and gods, she could almost feel the phantom hug. "She was so selfless and it just seems so cruel that she won't even graduate with us. Hells, she didn't even get to hear the end of this damned song!"

"Is that what's on the paper?"

"It was for her, you know. Music wasn't exactly... welcomed at my house after my mother passed. Tecna was one of the first people who encouraged me to pick it up again, although back then I didn't really listen. I owe so much to her, but gods, it's like that day again and it's just so lonely–"

"You know, the last thing she ever told me was that I'll never be alone," he offered her a wavering smile. "Ever the optimist at the end, wasn't she? Wanted to make sure we were going to be okay after it all."

Never be alone. Musa rolled the words on her tongue, trying them on almost reverently. They slotted in like they were the refrain of a long-dead melody.

"Maybe one day."

Worlds passed. Systems passed. Days passed.

People passed.

Of course it was a momentous occasion. This is the day fairies – anyone – whittle themselves to the core for, the end goal of years of studying and unimaginable sacrifices, so of course Timmy came with the rest of the Specialists to watch the girls graduate. They were his friends, after all, the first few outside his family to truly accept him for who he was.

But he wouldn't deny that it felt empty, especially next to Helia's lovingly potted lillies. But he couldn't really complain at all, as Helia's delight and pride for his girlfriend radiated from him in waves, something so very palatable that he couldn't help but crack a small smile.

Three years. The Trix. Darkar. Valtor. They've accomplished so much in three short years and Dragon, this was the least that they all should get for everything they've done for the Magical Dimension. All of them.

"Shouldn't five of them be there?" Timmy turned to Helia, who at this point was struggling to make himself known from behind the towering plant.

There was Stella, anxiously fidgeting with her clothes, Musa and Layla behind her and Flora bringing up the rear. It's quite a shame that Bloom wouldn't be included due to her incomplete Enchantix, but–

"My Enchantix isn't really complete, remember?" Bloom said with a sad smile as she walked up to them, Sky in tow, "I'm just grateful that I get to be here."

The girls were finally called to the stage (or rather, behind the carpet that seemed to function as such) and took their places in single file, shuffling to fill in a gap that rehearsals hadn't quite gotten them accustomed to. It didn't take much time for them to settle in front of their respective trinkets (one, two, three, four). The fifth was lain to the side, a single white rose accompanying it.

Timmy turned back to the ceremony, heart smarting from the sudden reminder. It really had been nothing more than a lapse in memory (and gods, could he be blamed for forgetting when all he had ever considered was her beaming and his heart aching with pride and not of a bitter pining?), but he wanted nothing more but to crush the twisting sourness under his foot.

A phantom brush of lithe fingers traced his cheek as he watched each get her scroll and gift. It's okay, someone whispered while ghosting the lids of his eyes, we all get our due deliverances. It's whispered with the confidence of a fundamental truth but he now saw the scale tipped so steeply to imbalance. Maybe it's one of the laws of the universe that were actually upheld, and they were so few and far in between, but really, the happenings could hardly be considered as anything more than unjust retribution.

If his congratulations were half-hearted and verging near cheerless, no-one seemed to fault him for it.

On some days, the world was kind.

He'd wake up, blinding sun searing verity into his mind as soon as he cracked his eyes open. Those were the days of torturous truth, where nothing is left to the haze, and he knew those were the better times. He'd take the hollow feeling of loss, an itinerant ache that nagged at him to count your blessings, one two three four, you're still breathing and hurting, he'd take it if only to relish in the anchor that accompanied the dragging morning.

On other days, the world was cruel.

The light would cradle his weary soul and soothe it, and he would pick up his phone out of habit. He'd think about clearing his schedule to spend time with her, guilty for not seeing her in a while. In his groggy state of mind, he would forget, and that fluttery feeling of content would revive for a brief moment or two, and everything would feel right.

But there would always be a metaphorical slap in the face, in maybe his copy of Wizards and Warlocks with a player two that would be left unselected or the suit he'd worn both to see her off to a dance and to a grave.

And with that, the perfect illusion he had would shatter all over again.

Clutching his phone that had a chat with a deactivated phone number open, it was clear just what kind of day it was. Just the kind that stormed and flooded torrentially, strewing water-logged remains of a well-loved home inside-out, tearing through each possession systematically.

It's not in a literal sense, no, although it was quite ironic when compared to the state of his living quarters. It was almost barren, his belongings packed away into storage chests that would later be rehomed to Zenith. Only a couple items of his remained scattered around the dorm, knick-knacks whose existence had slipped from his mind. He still had a couple of days left to finish clearing out anyway.

All in all, a morning most sincere in its portrayal of reality.

His days now were often spent in a sort of dreamless daze, constantly tightroping the line between foolish, blissful, ignorance and the bitter truth. It's hard to function when loss was so tightly interwoven in your life. Pick up a gadget to fiddle with, a component will be glitching from a missing technomagic component. Pack up old textbooks to send off, coffee stains from a study date. Old explorer's watch, antique from Zenith with a frozen hand. It was maddening at best, a rage wrongfully brought about that he should be better about, gods!

But he doesn't have the right to. If this were the sacrifice that the universe required of him for the betterment of the world, he should be able to take it with grace, plunge into the portal as his better half had with no qualms. But he was a coward, selfish to the end with tears pricking at the edges of his eyes at the barest mention of the could have's and should have's.

He should pick himself up, forgive the bad draw he was given and dust himself off as best as he could, but he hadn't had an ounce of bravery and he missed her too much to do so.

He knew with every neuron still firing in him that she wouldn't have wanted this. If she were here, she would have yelled at him, don't throw away all this for me, fire in her eyes as she'd gently show him around all that he had, all that is left–

But that was the entirety of the problem. She wasn't here and he needed her back, everything was in shambles and crashing, please come back what do I do with these plans without you?

He doesn't even know how long it's been, but does it even matter when every day felt like an eternity in its own right, an eternal loop that taunts him each and every second and some, hey, how are you going to afford the apartment that you've put a down payment on, it's only you now, hey, you bought double of everything what are you going to do, what are you going to do with–

What was he going to do?

There's a reason why his role as a strategist fit him as well as his well-worn Red Fountain-issued gloves did. He may not be as nimble on his feet as the other Specialists were, but he's always had the knack for improvising, for strategising his way out of the unknown factors that life tended to throw.

But really? Sometimes he'd get so caught up, so bullheadedly assured of his own skills of adapting, of devising plans from thin air that he'd forget about the fact that life never gave a damn about the certainties and calculated possibilities.

There's a beauty in those unexpected occurrences, he was always aware of that. They brought about a sense of fragile awe, a childlike wonder that accompanied being the first to invent something just short of miraculous, to be the lucky one in love, to set your eyes upon a shooting star for the very first time–

He remembered the first time he'd ever done just that. The star had streaked so quickly across Magix's sky that he was almost sure that he had hallucinated it out of pure, vain anguish. What was one to do else when your addled sleep-deprived brain was told that there isn't any hope left for her, Timmy, pray her last moments were spent in peace, her rest be peaceful–

He had felt the very foundations of his world split right then and there, a chaos of agony that was anything but quiet. By far the worst moment of his entire life up until then, the pain of a lifetime succinct in a single night.

The real irony presented itself in the fact that really? The worst moments in life were actually quiet, peaceful, a breath that ripped his being into half, insignificant passages of seconds that suddenly ceased for those who mattered, they were never more but a slight stir in stagnant air.

The funeral had been quiet. Her dorm – what had been her dorm –, quiet, devoid of everything that should have carried the evidence of her presence, of her spirit and of her essence, as if she had never been there at all. His repair work for Red Fountain's security had been quiet, no-one to bounce off theorems with and possible upgrades that they could have made together. In the end, the negative energy detector had shorted out, narrowly missing his left hand.

"I'm sorry, I can't fix it without technomagic support," not without her, worked better together–

Headmaster Saladin had said nothing, just clasped his shoulder wordlessly as he walked out the door.

It really was funny just how interlinked life could be. He'd been there before, just a couple of months back, but it felt like another lifetime entirely, another reality where everything had gone right, had happened the way it should've. Yet again, the flat irony of how there was a common link between his bests and his worsts was almost enough to draw a laugh from him.

Would it have been better, to have rejected the small instances of happiness and adoration in exchange for the obliteration of this awful, awful loneliness and ceaseless mournings? Was it truly better to have loved and lose or was it worse, to have loved with every fibre of your being only to have it ripped away so callously?

In his hearts of hearts, he knew that the answer could never be the refusal of such.

There was nothing that could have even come close to equal to her worth to him. Nothing that could've compared to that sharp wit that had never failed to surprise him, to that singular focus that she exhibited when it came down to it. Nothing that could ever have compared to the almost shy nature of her affections, the hesitant prelude to her ardour that she slowly grew out of as time passed. Nothing that could compare to fond banter they had exchanged, once upon a time, nothing that could compare to that bright-eyed gaze that had so easily taken his heart–

That torturous teal that had so easily commanded worlds to a halt, brought the world to their knees.

That's all he thought about nowadays. Those little fragments of hope, he cherished the dying embers of them and kept them close to his heart, stoking the burns that they had brought along. He missed her with all the certainty of blossoming first love, missed the little bits that had embedded in his life so stealthily. Here was the closest measurement of infinity, he mused bitterly: it's the grief that follows you day by day, cycling in a loop that gave you too much time and too little at the same time.

His forgotten phone pinged, startling him. It was an email from ITM, a cheery automated reminder of the first dates for classes.

He should've learnt his lesson. Life knew no courtesy, and here he was again, and he hasn't cried this much since childhood, since that forsaken day in ice and snow with her and she's not here anymore–

Gods. She's really dead. Gods, Tecna's dead and she's never coming back and what am I going to do without you?

It was a hysterical question and the stupid logo flashed as it was dismissed, bringing back the echo chamber of a chat and a last seen far too old. Her profile greeted him warmly, as it always did and always will, and his phone went clattering to the floor at that, shoulders quivering as he was reminded of her lilt, you should be happy I'm proud of you you deserve it–

You'll never be alone–

Her voice echoed in his head, heart quietly breaking as his imagination conjured her over and over again, and once upon a time that had been enough but now it isn't but a version of her is here, a quiet sort of bravery as she smiled at him, strong and unwavering.

Tecna was– had always been as assured as she was clever. A purpose drove her every action – had driven her to her death – and there had never been a shadow of a doubt clinging to any action, any word of hers.

"You'll never be alone," was clutched close to his chest, a whisper almost too fragile to comprehend. His tears still slipped under the frames of his glasses, and they would for a long time coming, but accompanying them was a halting sense that everything will be okay, and maybe it won't be now or tomorrow or next month or year, but it will be and those words? Those words were said with such confidence that brought on another heaving sob, but there too was a faint echo just out of reach, a presence just so illogical that he almost laughed, for just over a year ago logic had ruled over his heart and look at where he was now. But that's love, no? Chaotic to boot and now heartbreakingly exhilarating.

But, that's okay. It was chaos, unpredictable hurt and he knew it would continue to thrum mercilessly as the mournings went by, but in the midst of it all would be the girl that had captured his heart and made him feel alive, for there was no humanity without the wounds.

He clung to those four words like a vice, one two three four, hesitantly, carefully.

What was he going to do? The question still raged on ferociously, unimaginably colossal. But he started formulating an answer to it, slow-going but it's okay.

Some days will be kind, some days will not.

(It's okay. I'm proud of you. Really, really proud. You deserve it.)

When someone dies, it was not just the simple act of the cessation of breaths or heartbeats or their magic influence. It was not even the loss of a bright future, not even the loss of many presents, of many more growths and highs and lows. Yes, death was the culmination of losses unfathomable condensed into one small word, but that wasn't even the beginning of the impact.

Death casted figureheads and the larger-than-lives away into the ground or sea or air or nothing at all, a clear distinction from the living. They were cast away from the living thought, shackled to the past and for all the influence they might have had when they were alive, none remained of it past death. They were at the mercy of the ones left behind, the ones unlucky enough to forge on.

Essentially, death stripped one of their voice. Their beliefs, their personality, their dreams and aspirations and hopes, all waived in a single moment and it's heartrending. One flourishing swell, an entire orchestra, it could be as grand as the Golden Kingdom itself, there is no discrimination in the silence

As the fairy of music, Musa could not stand by that.

Tecna may be gone, but there was no reason for every trace, every influence she had to disappear alongside her departure.

(–there will always be a place where you can find me–)

It started as something so self-serving, something to drive out the silence that had settled so deep into her bones, something to sort through the maddening bird song that was caged inside of her. It started as something to soothe the hurt that she felt, but really?

It was never that at all.

(–the night will give way to a better day–)

The lights dimmed.

Musa's red dress caught the barest of light that remained. Stella's dress was a work of wonder, and she really had to thank her for it. It was anything that was too flashy or too understated, and it fit like a dream.

This all was a dream.

This had been her dream since childhood, a budding careful thing that she had locked away, never expecting it to see the light of day. In a way, it hasn't yet, as Musa's first concert was scheduled for sun fall, where the first notes of her intro – her leading song – were scheduled for the very moment the sun dipped down beneath the skyline and the stars began to light the way home.

Now? Facing her audience, elation was bubbling in her as she waited for her cue, for the spotlight to blaze and for the next chapter of her life to begin.

In the audience, she saw herself. She saw the bright-eyed girl she had been, the one raised in a harmonious home. She saw the strong-willed freshman, she saw the budding musician, she saw the brave, terrified fairy–

She saw her father, beaming as she took her place behind the microphone. The seat next to him was empty.

Riven was seated not far away from him, along with the other specialists in the front row. The girls were there too, Bloom cheering as the lights came on, Stella enthusiastically leading a round of applause that Flora joined in with wholeheartedly. Layla was moving something at her, sending a thumbs-up at her.

In the middle of them all, a seat lay empty, save for a silver placard.

There were no words to describe the absolute exhilaration of completing a childhood dream, make no mistake, joy was humming a song of victory in her core. But the twinge of sadness still lingered, and Musa couldn't quite place the emotion that was behind the tears that welled up in her eyes as she took the microphone.

"Thank you all for coming to my first solo show. Before we start, I'd like to say a few words."

(something changed so imperceptibly at that, something she couldn't quite place)

"The first song is dedicated to one of my dearest friends. I don't think I could ever even begin to describe her in words unless you guys are willing to stay for a couple more years," the crowd chuckled quietly at that, and Musa was reminded of terrible puns and sincere attempts of lighthearted fun–

She cleared her throat, drawing strength, composing herself to the best of her abilities–

"So instead, I'll leave you with her words. She had always been the wiser one, anyways. Not always that articulate, especially with emotions, but she had always meant everything she did and said. She had a good heart and sometimes, that can be both a blessing and a curse."

It had made her who she was, but had also taken her so early, so unfairly–

Musa took a breath and with it, all the hurt of the past year, the stolen moments, the grief and the unfairness of the odds. She let the ice-cold burn settle, all of the overwhelming loneliness and quiet–

"She believed that no-one in this universe is ever truly left to face the odds by themselves. That you're never far from home, and that home was not just a physical place, but the people that you cherish. It took me a long time to understand, but I think I'm starting to get it. The power is left with us. We can choose to uphold or dismantle any legacies entrusted to us."

"Hold those you love close to your heart, and it'll be like they never left, like you'll never be alone."

She exhaled quietly, letting go, letting go–

The sun sunk into the horizon, a wondrous show of purples and reds and oranges as the sky exploded into a celestial dazzler. Musa summoned her instruments, commanding the orchestral backing to begin as she picked up her concert flute.

The silence was shattered as the stars exploded above her, casting the stage in an otherworldly light.

This is for you.

Musa launched into a melody that she had poured her heart into, a breathless nightingale's ballad with trilling notes that has just started to resolve. It was a delicate melody, just like the healing that had begun–

The wounds were still raw, and of course they were, because they all lost a dear friend, Timmy had lost more, and it had been a cruel, merciless loss. Finding her only to lose her later. Some days, it still doesn't feel real.

But the world never gave pause for anything. There was no choice but to march on.

Truly, the bravest were the ones reassemble their shattered world even as the dark magic threatens to overwhelm them.

The flute thinned, ringing out a solitary reedy pause. A caesura. Take a breath, give it her all.

All around her, the lights hummed with electricity.

Musa smiled.

Don't be afraid–

"Tecna!" he tentatively reached a hand, scared that it was all a vision too good to be true. But she never blurred, never wavered, her form fully solid and oh, he could cry right then and there.

"Timmy," she said breathlessly, trailing the surface of the ice. They were so close. "Just give me a sec, I'll get you out of there!"

"I don't want to drag you down with me, Timmy."

She gained the courage to look up yet again, into Timmy's face. For the first time in the history she'd ever known him, she couldn't read him, couldn't decipher the emotions that flickered in his face. She's done it now. He's going to break down and cry and it's all because of her, the person who stomped on his heart and left it–

And then she was scooped up with such ferocity that made her want to sob more.

"I'm not going to abandon you for whatever illogical reason you've convinced yourself with. We're in this together."

"Zenith," she said suddenly, quietly, "is a realm that prided itself on adventure. It's named after the tallest peak on our mountain. Exploration leads to new discoveries, Zenith's true passion. So, we had to make a home – some place to ground us, really – somehow, one we couldn't leave behind."

"With the people you care about," he answered, realisation dawning.

(and it won't be long–)

"But you know the one thing that Zenith got right? Your home is always a part of you."

(you'll wake up strong–)

And that was her home, his home, it was their entwined hands, the faint kiss that tasted like a gentle goodbye–

(the night will give way to a better day–)

"You'll never be alone."

Timmy mouthed the words, ones that were familiar for many reasons.

(Bright eyes, sincere smile, an ethereal spirit that he would declare his love for, even in one, two, three, four years and more–)

Tecna wasn't here but she was. It's an illogical statement, but love transcends, destroys even the highest of orders, and it was welcomed to upheave everything he'd ever known.

Perfection may be a farce, but what they do best was make the best of the wreckage left behind, pick up the pen and write their own version of a satisfactory ending.

For if the universe was not going to do it for them, then who will?

Perfect happy endings? There was no such thing. There was only the next page, the next chapter, and the courage that accompanied every turn.

Perfection lay in the happiness forged out of nothing, in the perseverance in the face of the fairness of the universe, a near impossible feat, and he acknowledged it as such.

But, who was he to not even try?

Tecna believed in him and he wasn't alone in it.

And perhaps, that could be as close as they'd ever get to a perfect happy ending.

A/N: There's no such thing as a perfect end, but this is the final chapter of this fanfiction. I am not going to lie, the closer I got to the ending the more emotional I got and really? I don't even know where to start.

It can be one year, decade whatever from now and this fic will always have a special place in my heart. Ironically, ending this fic was hard because I found myself trying to give it the perfect ending it deserved and obviously, that didn't really work out. I had three drafts for the epilogue, one that was slated for the original December 2017 update, one for the first anniversary and a revision of the latter. Let me tell you, it was hard. This fic had always been a childhood dream of mine, to be able to commit to a long multi-chapter piece of prose and there really is nothing more fulfilling then to achieve a dream.

But truly, the real gift is in the process. I learnt so much and grew so much through writing this fanfiction, and I really cannot thank all of you who've read even just a sentence of this piece. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart.

Sorry I killed Tecna though LOL. I was seriously considering reworking the previous chapter to let her live because I felt so bad HAHAHAH but past me made that really tricky so I did the next best possible thing: try my very best to write the best damn healing journey for everyone. On that note, I'd like to apologise for any inconsistencies from this chapter to the rest of the fic, I tried my best to match it up but I have an absolutely terrible memory. That goes for any weird writing thing in this chapter too. I got into a massive writer's block during this chapter and didn't write for a good couple of months and as a result, I'm pretty rusty. I did my best to clean it up though!

What's after this? I definitely have some much happier things in plan for these dorks, but no promises as to when they will be published because big changes are also coming up for me! But watch this space.

To end this, thank you so much again to all the readers (or rather, those left LOL), reviewers, followers, favourites. You've all made my absolute day every single time. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.