Steelclaw stood alone, his hands leaning on the parapet. He didn't feel ready to join the others yet. He didn't want them to see him like this. He was a warrior, nearly of age, and he was not supposed to cry.

Not even when his father is on his deathbed.

Angela's footsteps behind him broke his resolution to remain in solitude.

"Brother," she said softly, "come quickly. His consciousness returned to him for the time being, and he is calling for us."

"I don't want him to see how weak I am," said Steelclaw, squinting hard, as if trying to block out the sun their kind never saw until the dawn of their death.

"You are not weak," his sister reached for his hand, "there is no shame in what you feel."

"You are so calm," he said, seeking for signs of distress on her face and finding nothing but sadness, "are you resigned""

"I am older than you," said Angela, "and I have had to deal with losing our mother. You were too young to be expected much of, at the time. Come now, brother."

Together, they descended to the chamber where Goliath was lying, surrounded by the whole clan. Hudson was there, and Brooklyn with his wife and their children, and Broadway with his and Angela's children, and Korian and Lexington. The warriors of the clan were without exception sporting some injuries, but no one was hurt as badly as Goliath in the battle with the Stonehammers. His wounds were fatal, he lost nearly half his blood, and it was well understood by all that he will not hold on till dawn. It was a miracle that he was still awake, though it was obvious the last bit of his strength was leaving him rapidly.

"My children," he said in a raspy, barely audible voice, "My daughter. My son. Come near me."

Angela and Steelclaw approached him, each kneeling on one side of his bed. Goliath held out both hands to them and looked up at their faces. Angela had lavender skin and black hair like him, and Steelclaw was broad of shoulder and square of jaw, with blue skin and red hair. But in the features of them both, all he sought and found was the face of his love.

"Angela," he turned towards his daughter first, tilting his head in an enormous effort, "I know you and Broadway will teach your children diligently. You both have made me proud."

Angela didn't reply, but pressed her lips to her father's hand, her voice choked with suppressed sobs.

"Steelclaw, my son," Goliath went on, looking towards the young male now. His son's features appeared to him blurry through a haze of pain. "You are young, but I am leaving you in the hands of Brooklyn. He will train you well. Remember whose son you are. Live for your clan, and your rewards shall be ample. Do not grieve," he held both tear-stained faces of his children within his faltering gaze, "I am going to where I belong… to where your mother is waiting for me."

His hands squeezed theirs in one last effort, then relented. His breath grew quick and shallow, then slower, ever slower. Then the warmth of life began to leave his still limbs.

Goliath, the great leader, was no more.

Angela and Steelclaw both got up from their knees. The only sound that dispelled the silence was the weeping of the Elder. Old, feeble and almost blind, he had lived long enough to know that in certain moments, there is no shame in grief.

"I saw him hatch," Hudson said hoarsely, "I never thought I would see him go."

He sat by the head of Goliath's bed, to be a silent vigil to this greatest and most beloved of all his apprentices.

Steelclaw raised a young, mighty fist.

"I swear," he said through clenched teeth, "upon my father's body, I swear I will avenge his death. The Stonehammers will pay."

There was honor in his words, yet Hudson shook his head.

"This is not what Goliath would have wanted," he said, "your father would have wanted you to promise him life, not death."

"Their death will guarantee our life," growled Steelclaw.

"Brooklyn, you are leader now," Hudson went on, "it is time to choose your Second in Command."

"Steelclaw will be my Second, once he is old enough," Brooklyn replied at once, "I will train him the way Goliath trained me."

"Then let us assemble to meet the dawn," called Hudson, and all the gargoyles joined hands in a circle, surrounding Goliath. They would all be there with him as he makes his last journey towards the sun.

Her head bowed, Angela remembered how, years ago, they all stood the same way, in that same room, on the horrible night when her mother was taken away from them.

Her death occurred under similar circumstances – she was killed in a fight with the Stonehammers, the group of vicious thugs blinded by mindless hatred and fear, who made it their goal to destroy all the gargoyles. It was instinct, ancient instinct of a protector, that made her leap forward and receive the blow that was meant for another – in the heat of battle, they didn't even realize who of their brothers it was. She stood on her feet till the end of the fighting, and no one understood at first how dangerous her wound was until they were back home. When the horrible realization dawned, the bustle stopped and they all stood there, waiting for the worst and hoping, against all odds, for the best.

No one dared to approach her and Goliath, who was kneeling by her and holding her hand, his eyes horrible black hollows, his face draining of blood as fast as hers.

"Hold on," he said in a strained voice, "hold on, my Angel of the Night, till dawn. You are mine, you came back to us, and no one will take you away again."

She smiled weakly and tenderly and sighed, and with the remainder of her strength, lifted her hand to cup his cheek. He caught her palm with trembling fingers and pressed it to his face.

"I hoped we would have longer, my love," she whispered, "but I had time enough to correct some of the wrongs I had done, and even to bring our son into this world."

"He needs you," Goliath's voice was broken, "he is too young to lose his mother. I need you. We all do."

But something different, the glow of everlasting dawn, was already illuminating her face, and her pain was gone, and her eyes met Goliath's as she whispered the words that were most needed by him:

"More than anyone, they need you, my love. You are their leader. You must go on. Promise me."

And Goliath's face was contorted with suffering as he breathed out:

"I promise."

Her eyes opened wider, and her lips were almost bloodless as she said her last words:

"I am so happy."

Goliath threw back his head, and his howl of agony reached the stars.

… He chose his own place of mourning – the tallest tower of the castle, and for seven nights he didn't stir from there, eating and drinking only when pressed by Angela. She wondered what would become of him and of them all, but Goliath remembered his promise. At the end of a week he got up, and although he looked twenty years older and his face was gaunt, he was ready to resume the duties of a leader.

"She said she was happy," Angela kept reminding him, "and you know she was. She had managed to choose a different path, and from then and until her last day, she had nothing to regret. It matters, my father, does it not?"

He didn't reply. To him, all that mattered was this: he used to have her with him, and now she was gone where he could no longer reach her.

Goliath was never the same, yet he found comfort in his children, his clan and his duties, and led them through dark and dangerous times so valiantly that now, with him gone, they all felt lost.