Moon - Horizon Lunar Colony

Years before, a similar ceremony had taken place here. The remnants of Overwatch and the cream of the Alliance Navy brass had assembled there to honor the memory of Winston and his surrogate human parent Harold, with Admiral Hackett extolling their virtues and elliptically condemning the leadership of both the Alliance and the Citadel for their recalcitrance and antagonism.

Now new flames had been lit in front of new gravestones. One for each of the Starwatch agents fallen in the line of duty.

Zaryanova, Shimada, Martinsson, Amari, Park.

Reyes.

Shepard.

And, unlike the other occasion years back, when there had been only a token Citadel presence, a whole third of the attendants crowding the memorial hall were Turians, Salarians or Asari. Compact agents, its Navy sponsors, and the Citadel Councillors themselves lined the front row on either side of Shepard's parents. Marcus and Camila were military veterans themselves, former gunship pilots that had fought on the Second Omnic Crisis, and wore their service uniforms.

Another sign of the changing times was that the first one to speak after the flames had been lit was Zenyatta.

"Many an event took place to bring about this reunion," the omnic sage begun, his measured tone and calm voice a soft balm to help dress the wounds of the occasion. "But the one I recall came to pass back in the sad days of what we now describe as the First Contact War, shortly before the first major contest between our navies.

"My esteemed friend, Strike Commander John Morrison, had reflected on how it has always taken an external threat to bring humans together. He had expressed hope that humans and omnics would learn to bond without needing a common enemy to bring it about.

"He and I both are sad to attest that this very problem also plagued our relations with the races under the banner of the Citadel Council. And it is also sad to see that a problem in the same vein was what it took to bridge our differences and bring about an understanding between us.

"The valiant sacrifices of those we honor today could have been avoided if only trust had prevailed earlier. Let this memorial be a lesson forevermore about the dangers of hatred, ignorance, and fear."

He then addressed Shepard's parents directly. "Your daughter brought this about. She saw past her hatred to believe in Reyes when no one else would. Together they became the instrument of our deliverance. I sincerely hope those responsible for deciding the fates of nations will look at her actions and imitate the example she has set for us all."

Zenyatta then ceded his place to a very elderly man. He dressed entirely in black traditional clothing the Citadel attendants did not recognize, a set of prayer beads hanging from his neck. His hair was not the usual gray of old age but pure white as a newly snowed field would be, neatly braided and tied in a single queue that snaked all the way down to his legs. His beard and mustache were equally well dressed.

Two girls also dressed in black traditional clothes, seemingly his granddaughters, escorted him to the center of the hall, where they laid a small cushion on the floor for him to kneel on and an exquisitely delicate box of lacquered wood in front of it.

The elderly man knelt slowly on the cushion, his granddaughters also kneeling behind him, and with indescribably graceful, dignified and ritualized motions he opened the wooden box and proceeded to prepare and lit up an incense holder. A soft fragrance that was difficult to pin down filled the hall, one so subtle that it seemed to be in equal parts sweet, sour and hot.

Then, holding the beads in his hands, he started to chant in a deep voice. For three whole minutes did he pray in this fashion, the monotonous cadence of the words entrancing everyone present. The majesty of the ritual even impressed the Citadel attendants, to whom this ceremony was a first, into quiet respect.

The solemn chant ceased. Then from the same lacquered box and with the same indescribable grace, the man produced some blank scrolls, a series of brushes and a few bottles of ink, and arranged them ritually in front of him. In complete silence, the man painted symbols on the scrolls, one after another — then, reverently, he stood up, bowed to each of the gravestones, and draped one scroll on each of them. Then he turned around, approached Admiral Hackett, and placed the remainder of the newly painted scrolls on his hands, to finally kneel once again on the cushion.

There, he bowed deeply, his forehead touching the ground, his granddaughters imitating him.

"Arigatou gozaimasu, minna-sama. Sayounara."

Then, after a brief pause, he added:

"Sayounara, Otouto."

And with the same immense dignity and poise, the elderly man packed all the utensils he had used, stood up, and walked back into the throng.

Then, Javik strode forward with slow steps to occupy the spot Hanzo had just vacated. Everyone followed him intently. He could understand why, but he had little sympathy to spare. He returned the looks with a stony glare of his own before unleashing his coolly furious tirade:

"I was told of the events that transpired before my reawakening.

"My conclusion is simple enough. What happened is on you, and you know it.

"Your own agents gave you ample warnings.

"And before then you found clues of what was to come. In that godsforsaken rock where you first clashed.

"You saw the horrors there first hand and neglected to heed those portents.

"You simpletons were too busy squabbling over perceived slights and plotting to gain measly advantages over each other! Fools! Gambling with the future of your civilizations as the enemy pursued its plots!

"And now only sheer luck saw you prevail over one Reaper, at the cost of a whole fleet.

"And at least one more is out there on the galaxy. On the loose. At this very moment." He seared his audience with a fiery look before yelling: "Think carefully just how madly dangerous that is!"

Not a voice rose to challenge him. Only those who had fought and bled to stop Saren were able to meet his burning eyes.

"I was chosen to be the Avatar of my people's Vengeance. I am sworn to fight the Reapers and defeat them and their servants. If not for that, I would leave you incompetent lot to your doom," he uttered through gritted teeth. "The galaxy is better served with a new leavening of species that prove wiser and keener than what I have seen so far.

"But I will not. I have not sacrificed so much and stained my hands with the blood of entire planets to simply turn my back on it all.

"I will not let you annihilate yourselves. I will see to it that when the Reapers at last return, you stand a chance against them.

"In spite of you if needs be."

Lena Oxton beheld the speakers as they walked before the throng, said their words, paid their respects, and moved on, one by one. People she knew, people she knew not.

Nothing touched her.

Not Zenyatta's wisdom, not Hanzo's quiet homage, not Javik's searing reprimand, not Hackett's speech, not the eulogy on part of the Citadel Councillors.

When the attendants moved into the next hall for drinks and sober conversation, people would approach her, but her staid responses unsettled most. Those closest to her kept a watchful eye on her but gave her breathing room, knowing there was nothing they could say that would allay her pain.

That was all there was. Pain. It blocked everything else.

I can't stand this.

Dispiritedly she wandered away, out the hall and into the corridors, but these also screamed memories at her. Horizon had been Winston's home, and he was gone too.

She walked until the noises of the gathering had died off and screwed her eyes shut. She wanted to block everything.

To a point, she succeeded. Now she was surrounded by darkness and silence.

But the pain was still there.

I need to get away from this.

She continued walking until, perchance, she reached one of the tram stations linking together the domes of the Horizon colony. A few passersby waited on the platforms. Most recognized her, but also saw the bitterness in her face and kept their distance.

Except for someone who still tapped her shoulder.

She turned around tiredly, but of all people, she had not expected to see Amélie Lacroix.

The tall blue-skinned woman was outfitted with her usual skin-tight catsuit, her long rifle slung behind a shoulder and a sidearm on her belt, a rucksack on her back and another, larger, on her hands.

This last one she handed over to her.

"Your things."

Lena looked into Amélie's eyes with a new understanding.

So, this is part of what made her into what she is.

Without a word, she accepted the backpack and slung it over her shoulders — and, as the tram arrived not a minute later, both women boarded it in silence.

"I don't think we should warn anyone."

Ziegler watched the video feed of the tram leaving the station in silence. That was no simple commute. That was a parting.

And yet, Mercy was right. There was nothing they could do.

"But where… where are they going?" Mei asked.

Anika killed the feed. It took her several seconds to answer. "Away. Somewhere where they can heal their wounds."

"They will get reprimanded," Garrus said, albeit somewhat half-heartedly.

Ziegler smiled bitterly. "They helped save the galaxy. I don't think anyone can tell them they can't."

She looked around herself. She felt alone in that room, surrounded by colleagues and friends.

Liara T'Soni's pain worsened that loneliness. The Asari girl had wilted. No one had heard her utter a single word in days.

Anika looked at Symmetra next. "You're not bound anymore by your agreement. You're free to go now. What will you do?"

"I will remain on the Compact," was the firm reply. "It would be foolish not to after what we have been through."

"The first intelligent thing I hear today," Javik muttered from his corner.

"Oh, fuck off already!" Jacqueline said angrily. She sat despondently next to the disconsolate Liara. "We're in mourning here. You know, saying goodbye? To loved ones? You know what that is? Oh, no, wait, love is a 'primitive' thing, right?"

The Prothean did not even look her way. "I was never given that luxury."

"Well, ain't it too bad," Subject Zero sneered. "We're not living in your time. You're living in ours. So show some fucking sympathy or shut the fuck up."

That earned her a glare. "You stubbornly refuse to see you are living on borrowed time yourselves, and yet talk so lightly about it." Javik stood up. "I am going back to the ship. I will make sure everything is ready for our departure when you decide to stop wallowing in your grief."

They all watched him leave in silence.

"Worst of all, he's right," Shilyna admitted after a moment.

"But he's doing us no favors by acting so brashly," Symmetra pointed out. "No one likes being called out, those in power least of all. And he just antagonized the very people whose auspices we need to defeat institutional inertia and prepare for what's coming."

"We'll have to do it on our own, then," Garrus breathed. "Ever since I joined in, the rules have always been on the way of doing what was right."

"I hear that," a moody Rix supported him. "Those 'important people' have always been in the way."

"But we can't get it done alone!" T'Perro argued. "Sovereign just sneezed and half of the Citadel fleet here turned into scrap. And the Destiny Ascension—if they don't retire it it's just because it would be one hell of a political defeat. But they should. It literally has to be rebuilt from scratch."

"Now that you mention it," Mei cut in, "did any government officials from our side attend? I'm not that familiar with the faces yet…"

"Nobody." Ziegler shook her head, suddenly angry. Other than the Shambali, who had borne the brunt of the onslaught of Sovereign's forces, only Hackett and Voronin had answered their call for aid. Nobody else had come. Sombra had told her that the Citadel were privately discussing whether to award the omnics an embassy of their own — before vanishing, along with Moira and Miranda.

She did not blame them. Now that Sovereign had been defeated, questions that had been set aside in the face of more urgent matters would resurface. The hacker needed secrecy to ply her trade, and so avoided the spotlight like it was the plague, and Miranda had to do the same given her unique status as one of two known human biotics.

But no one had the slightest idea of where Moira had gone.

Author's note: this marks the end of the current arc, which is more or less coincident with the end of ME1. I said otherwise a few chapters back, but this is definite closure.

The struggles of the Compact against the Reapers continue on a new story, appropriately titled Starwatch: Compact.

I wouldn't have come this far without the support of many, many people. BrainsBeforeBullets, BrokenLifeCycle, kishinokurobi, kyro2009, and my wife, Mornela. To all of you, and to all the people who followed me along the way - thanks. You helped me attain my goal of growing as a writer. Hopefully soon I will be able to come up with an original story beyond fanfiction.