Disclaimer: I do not own DGM; I only own my OC's and this fanfiction.

Since that day, life felt to have moved at double pace. Every waking moment, he reeled through the events of all he had witnessed. The memories conjured themselves upon the window as he stared out at the night blanketed battlefield. A new scene unfolded inside him with every blast of a mortar shell. Even in old age, his trained mind was still strong in retaining the details of history.

In the decades that had passed he had discarded many aliases and taken on countless more. Since the death of his mentor it had become his sole responsibility to maintain and add to the hidden records. For a long time the Bookman believed he would not need an apprentice for several years to come, yet fate had dealt a cruel hand. Injured, and crippled with infection, the nurses stated he had not long to live. The infirmary was isolated, and with isolation came a limit on resources.

Just as suddenly as things began to occur around him, everything came to a grinding halt.

There was no way out; he accepted his destiny.

If he had the time he would have chosen a more suitable apprentice – but his selection would have to suffice. What time he didn't spend in recollection, he spent on teaching his student. He could only hope that it was enough.

Several explosions sounded in the distance.

Flames lit up billowing towers of smoke.

A volley of gunfire rattled in the air.

The unusual silence roused him from his sleep. As his tired emerald eyes gazed at the ceiling, he could see it was still late at night.

"A ceasefire?" he pondered.

He did not know for sure.

Without shifting his body much, he searched the darkened room. At the other end, slumped in a chair, the uneven outline of a boy's sleeping form.

Light filtered in through the window – presumably from the moon which had been veiled by cloud cover – and illuminated the small ward.

His vision had become clearer now and a figure he hadn't noticed before soon came to his attention. At first glance, he suspected it was one of the nurses. The garb was unfamiliar, however. Where he should have felt apprehension, he felt only placidity.

Wordlessly, the woman walked across the room – her bare feet made not a sound on the tiled floor. Now standing at the edge of his bed, he could see under the shawl she wore over her head.

With what energy he had, he smiled.

"I must be dead," he whispered. "To see you again can mean only that."

Kiyre drew back her shawl, resting it over her shoulders. Though her dress lacked the bright and lively colours from his memories, and her hair was tied back in modesty, her face was much the same as he remembered. She had grown into herself a little more – where as he had aged beyond her.

He could see the sadness behind her stern demeanour; sadness felt for his condition.

"Lavi," she uttered.

He smiled again.

"That's a name I haven't heard for a long time…"

Kiyre kneeled and placed her hands to his left one that rested on top of the sheets. Her expression was unchanged – yet still shallowly masking her distress.

Without speaking a single word more, the Bookman came to understand everything. She sent all of her thoughts to his mind – her memories mingled into his. The connective sensation was one he remembered and almost missed.

In the time he had spent traversing the world recording history, she had been rehabilitated by the Draconican Council. She had met with the Supreme Elder – Sahl; Kiyre brought the vision of a great blue and white dragon to the forefront of his mind's eye. There had been many discussions and trials, but eventually she was given another chance. Another vision – of Eerios and Liryd – was shown to him. They were appointed to guide her. Among this, she internally explained to him the intricacies of her recovery. At present, she was still in the final stages of their programme, but she added that Liryd had kindly dismissed her for this moment.

"They believed I would die before you were reintegrated," he murmured, to which the brunette nodded in affirmation. "Won't Liryd be in trouble for this?"

"She will not disclose that to the others," Kiyre said softly. "It does not matter either way."

Gently, she squeezed his hand. He feebly did so in return.

"I must look a horror to you," the Bookman chuckled, trying in vain to lighten the mood. For a brief moment, Kiyre's eyes flickered with childish surprise – and the familiar glint brought warmth to the old man's heart. He laughed a little more, before pain cut him short. Concern washed over the brunette once again, and she tightened her hold on his hand.

"Don't exert yourself with words; if you speak inside I will hear you," Kiyre advised.

Despite the agony, the Bookman maintained a positive expression towards the woman.

"You forget I'm not a dragon. It's not quite as easy as you think it is," he replied.

Silence fell between them shortly after his statement. Time passed and Kiyre remained at his side; through their interlocked hands she accessed his mind and conjured images, distracting him from the constant waves of pain. Whether she had grown more proficient in her illusionary magic or merely expanded on her inherent mental links, the Bookman welcomed the diversion. With his eyes closed, he watched the pleasant colours swirl within him – swaying and soothing. He could feel Kiyre's head resting against him and he could see her standing before him inside; shaping the iridescent hues into relaxing auras.

Fond warmth stirred within the depths of his cold Bookman heart – he couldn't help but smile at the sensation. Staring into the swirling haze of colour, he contemplated whether life would have been different had he followed Kiyre. Would he have been happier? He would never know for sure; abandoning his duty had not been an option in the past.

…but even if he had chosen to pursue Kiyre, he knew the ending would always be the same…

"Lavi," she murmured – opening her eyes as she felt the old man's free hand caress her face. Inside she felt his colours stiffen and begin to fade, no longer conforming to the motions of her mind's flow.

In the decades that had passed, he had grown old. War and conflict had weathered his body, wrinkled his skin and diminished his strength. Despite living his life on the sidelines, he was still a human being. Staying with Kiyre would never have changed that fact. No matter what path he chose, he was always going to die before she did.

"Kiyre," he started, speaking with a voice that had grown ever so hoarse. "I have a favour to ask of you."

The brunette recoiled slightly – her eyes widening in mild surprise. He sensed her apprehension, as her expression was one he had seen many times in the past. He squeezed her hand in his own to reassure her.

"This is my final request," he added.

The woman caught a strand of his thoughts and she directed her gaze towards the boy that was asleep at the far end of the ward. Dressed in military uniform and holding loosely onto a rifle, the boy looked to be no older than nineteen. Kiyre looked back to the old man; her brows furrowed just the tiniest.

"I have failed to complete my duty as a Bookman – the boy isn't prepared to succeed me," he explained. Kiyre felt the man's inner colours fade further and her chest tightened in fear and uncertainty. "I cannot ask you to tutor him in my stead, for you know little that would be of help to him… Instead, I want you to carry my knowledge to him. I know you have the power to do so, Kiyre."

The brunette's frown deepened.

"Lavi, you know I cannot interfere with human affairs," she reminded, "if I do this, for what purpose did I spend decades in rehabilitation?"

The old man shook his head in disregard to Kiyre's statement.

"You are interfering with nothing, Kiyre," he reassured. "As Bookmen, we are not a part of humanity. We stand on the sidelines, record history from an unbiased perspective-"

"Even so, such a thing would certainly cause me trouble with the council," Kiyre insisted. The Bookman squeezed the woman's hand as tightly as he could muster and pulled her close.

"Please, Kiyre, I beg of you to do this one final thing for me." There was desperation in his emerald eyes that the woman couldn't defy. She weakened, dropping her defensive demeanour rather reluctantly. Despite having reinforced her resolve for such a scenario, Kiyre couldn't bear seeing her beloved die having failed his duty.

It pained her, but she proceeded with his request.

She focused her mind and delved into the Bookman's, accessing every crevice and seeking out every vital piece of information and memory. The senses and notions that he had felt flooded into Kiyre's own being as she stored all the data she had retrieved. Kiyre was thankful that Liryd had taken the time to train her in interweaving minds – had she foregone the privilege, Kiyre doubted she would have been as efficient in collecting the old man's memories.

At long last, the brunette withdrew from the Bookman's psyche; her head pounding as it processed the new memories and thoughts. When she finally recollected herself, she took notice of the joy and relief that the man emitted.

The wrinkles on his face deepened slightly as he mustered a weak smile. Having released his hand in separating their minds, Kiyre reached out and took hold of it once more. His grip was feeble and his flesh was cool.

His colours had almost completely faded into nothingness.

"Kiyre," he muttered through dry, smiling lips. "I want you to know that I'm sorry,"

Her sharpened gaze softened; her eyes glimmering with childish innocence once again.

"A simple thank you is not enough… there isn't any phrase that can adequately convey my gratitude…" His eyelids began to shut – flittering frailly to stay open; to take in every last sight of the woman that he did indeed come to love. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you… and I'm sorry that there wasn't more I could have done… to help you…"

Kiyre's tears felt hot against the icy surface of his skin. The heat was fast fading, however, as was the sensation of the woman's firm hold. He held her in his eyes for as long as he could; watching as a familiar despair came over her.

…yes… this was the scene he always knew he would see happen...

…this was the end that was inevitable…

Her warm lips pressed chastely against his, the edgy taste of salt and skin reminding the Bookman of the distant past. That notion lit up the remaining hues of his mind – colours that Kiyre captured in her spiritual hands.

He was still smiling when they parted, though now, everything inside was black.

Kiyre remained motionless at Lavi's side – feeling the ghastly air begin to grow around her. The darkness of death encroached on her mind through the connection she maintained. Shady tendrils threatened to drag her under, but quickly she severed the link and moved away from the old man's body.

Breathe.

She had to remind herself that she was not the one who had died.

Staring through watery eyes, Kiyre took a moment to comprehend her grief. Her head was pounding from the intrusion of foreign memories. She knew that the only thing stopping an onslaught of debilitating flashbacks was her despair. She struggled to find balance between the two unstable grounds and as such, she staggered from the increasing agony.

"I must pass on his knowledge quickly," she told herself inwardly.

At last she had hold of her sentiments and proceeded with the task at hand.

Silently, the brunette crossed the ward. The boy, Lavi's apprentice, remained slumped in the chair. His military uniform was creased and dirty – the scent of sweat and blood laced through the fabric, she noticed.

Kiyre knelt down, tilting her head so that she could gaze up at the face of her beloved's successor.

The boy's features were well defined – just as Lavi's had been. Strands of dark hair framed the angular lines of his jaw; an unkempt fringe hanging across the bridge of his nose. His brows appeared tender at rest, but the faint creases between them told her that they could – and had – furrowed with ferocity.

Her heart stirred with a sensation of odd familiarity...

With shaking hands, Kiyre reached forward; aiming to take gentle hold of the boy's face. He would surely wake at such intimate contact and thus she had to deliver the memories swiftly. She didn't doubt for a second that the rifle he held was loaded.

The tips of her fingers lightly caressed the soft skin of his cheeks - the light tingle it caused being the only trigger needed to rouse him from his slumber. The look in his eyes, Kiyre could not register.

Perhaps it was Fear?

Confusion?

Recognition?

It did not matter.

Before he could move to wield his firearm, Kiyre transferred the memories she harboured. The sights, sounds, and every other tangible sense shocked the boy's system, nearly causing him to fall straight into unconsciousness. Kiyre clasped onto what fragment of awareness he had left, guarding it relentlessly until she was certain she had finished.

Exhausted by the exchange, the boy wilted into his seat – his eyelids drooping shut immediately after Kiyre retracted her hands.

The link was cut; she had completed her task.

The rifle fell to the floor, clattering loudly against the cool tiled surface. The noise echoed down the corridors of the infirmary, it was bound to have woken someone. With haste, Kiyre stood and began conjuring an illusion to conceal herself. As the magical cloak began to cover her, she saw the boy's lips move; his eyes opening by a fraction.

"W-wait…"

Hurried steps in the corridor nearly drowned out his tired voice. She could not hesitate.

Kiyre spared one final, apologetic glance at the newly christened Bookman before, slowly, exiting the ward.

She passed the scurrying nurses completely unnoticed, drifting by like a ghost. Her fingers pressed to the door, opening just enough for her to slip out into the night.

Once on the outside, Kiyre abandoned her human body, allowing the winds to embrace her. Her beastly shadow was cast upon the brick walls as the clouds parted to reveal the heavens. The moon and stars in all their dazzling glory, beckoned to her. She reached out with spread wings, seizing the air and launching herself skyward, disappearing into the twilight.

End

Author's Note: ...and so the finale has come.

It's been a wonderful journey writing this fanfiction, and I couldn't be more thankful for all the wonderful readers and reviewers. I never expected to receive such support on this story, but it is thanks to you that I have gone the full distance. To you I send all my love and hugs; to my betas and dear friends who assisted with the continuation of this fanfiction, I am indebted to you.

As for a sequel? I'm not too sure. I've a few ideas floating around, but I will leave this up to the readers.

Thank you for reading, please send in your comments and reviews - or even drop in a favourite.

Goodnight everyone