Alright, for those who don't know, my theory is that Ash will die and be reincarnated in Tertius's body, and then they'll live happily ever after and all that rot. Tertius's thoughts on this:


When I first opened my eyes, I knew what my purpose would be. I existed for the future. Not to follow Machina, though I knew that was necessary, and not the new, fake Iron King. No, I was meant for the third ruler. Meghan Chase. I knew she was the one when I saw her, and the recognition on her face gave me hope that she, too, had known that I was meant for her. But no, she had fought against me, my comrades, my people, as if she hadn't known they were her subjects. Ah, the lengths a loyal machine must follow. I did not question her, but allowed her to escape, as my programming ordered me to. After all, a machine can never defy programming, and I was made to love her to the end of time, when my body disintigrated into rust and then nothingness.

But then I met him. He looked just like me. Same hair, eyes, and everything. It angered me. I had figured out my true purpose. He was anature fey. She was an iron fey. They would poison each other. And she would kill him. She would never get over it. And my love for her would force me to make the ultimate sacrifice: my very existence.

I was angry. Bitter. Upset. Disappointed. How could she do this to me? How could she not allow me to love her? I would love her more than any ice prince ever could. And yet, she gave me no more than a second glance, compared to him. Now, I knew that the recognition she had first given me was due to him. The one who'd stolen my queen before I'd even laid eyes on her. I would never forgive him.

I became violent. Tried to override my programming. I tried to make her hate me. I was cold. Cruel. And yet, when she pleaded with me to stop, I did. When she cried, I ceased what I was doing, forced to obey the will of the one I was made to love. I hated it. So much. But then, a machine can't ignore its programming.

I gave up for her. For the woman I loved. Many would call that a worthy death. Something to be proud of. But all I saw it as, in the end, was a final, single mercy given to me by my queen. Finally, I wouldn't have to watch her with another, but could sit back and pretend it was me she was kissing, because, in a sense, It was. Finally. A release.