Several years had passed since the Jade Empire had been freed from the clutches of a tyrant, and it continued to prosper under the rule of the Heavenly Lily. The hero of the people, however, had not been sighted since that fateful day, vanishing without a trace. Her story would be told and retold for centuries to come, eventually fading into legend, but with always a core of the truth. Many pilgrims had journeyed to the ancient temples of Dirge, still left standing long after its people were slaughtered, their bodies turned to ash. Perhaps they sought answers in vain amongst the dead buildings and streets paved by a long forgotten civilisation. Some would say that although the Spirit Monks were long gone, their presence lingered still, in the now empty city amid the snow-covered mountains.

No matter how long they searched, how hard they tried to piece together the truth of what had occurred in that sacred place, scholars and philosophers would find no trace nor sign of the legendary party that had banded together for the cause of saving the empire, save the Heavenly Lily herself, who would breathe a word of it to no one-not even her closest advisors. No news came of Sky, the thief in blue, eyes alight with mischief; nor of the small child who possessed a power far greater than her frail body would reveal. The Mad One vanished soon after the tyrant lay dead; the popular opinion among the people being that he had been transported to another realm or flown too close to the Heavens.
Far away from the Heart of the Empire, a secluded school was said to have been restored by the Star of Dawn, but none could find it; and the Black Whirlwind was said to have ventured South, far beyond the borders of the Empire, and had not been seen since. He was presumed to be dead or taken captive by the savages who dwelt outside.
As for the bun master, he was said to have met his end by the will of a mysterious and dangerous foe, but there were some who would swear that they had seen him within the very walls of the Imperial City.

As for the Radiant leader of the party, she dwelt among the people of a small fishing village, on the outskirts of the Great Northern Forest, which had now been restored to its former glory. The sickness was gone, and the trees sang gaily in the moonlight of her heroic deeds.
An unmarked grave lay somewhere within the forest, and those that had passed by it came back telling tales of ghosts and a figure in red often seen kneeling at the foot of the burial site. No one knew who exactly was buried there, but there were some who looked deeper into the legends, finding no explanation of the disappearance of the lonely assassin who had accompanied the party on their quest. Few put the pieces together, however, and eventually the searching ceased and the people continued their lives as before.

But if one paid close attention in the dark hours of the night, one would hear whispers of heroes lost and times long past.