Author's notes: This story takes place after the conclusion of the Ark arc and pretends like the series wraps right then and there. In other words, no Level 4 arc, and definitely no Noah memories/Allen disappearing weirdness. I'm more than happy to leave the latter to Hoshino-sensei, and fanfic writers more talented than I.

[Standard disclaimer goes here.]

Warnings: Possible OOCness depending on how you see things. Not beta read.

September, 1900

Mixed emotions washed over the now freelance Exorcist as he laid a bouquet of flowers on the memorial dedicated to his friend and former comrade. It had been four years since her death, and even now, though her body had never been recovered from the murky ocean depths off the coast of China, a part of him refused to believe she had died alongside the Level Three they referred to as Eshi. He never once doubted it when they said there was no stopping her once she'd made the decision to go after the beast, but what he couldn't understand was that they let her face the demon alone. That wasn't teamwork, as she and Lavi were so quick to remind him in the past, it was suicide. Most people would have been angry, but he preferred to believe that they were wrong and that she was out there recovering in some peaceful, out of the way place.

At first, that is.

As days turned to weeks, and weeks to months after their hard-won victory over the Earl, his optimism faded as anger, guilt and frustration slowly erased the silver lining of the very dark and persistent thunderhead towering above him. It was heavy and stifling, making him feel as if he were being crushed under its ever-present weight.

And so, one very long and sleepless night after visiting her empty room, he made a decision that, only a few months ago, he would never have considered - to gather his belongings and leave the Order for good. After all, the missions were now generally of the cleanup variety, and those that weren't were more suited to the intelligence gatherers, neither of which he wanted to be a part of.

Since then, he wandered, sometimes aimlessly, other times with specific destinations in mind, but two things never changed: the promise he made to Mana, and his calling to free the remaining akuma whenever and wherever he found them.

A soft, unusually warm breeze caressed his skin as he pulled back the hood of his uniform and then wiped away a few stray tears, a mixture of sadness and resolve reflected in his silver eyes. This was madness, and it was time to move on. "Goodbye Lenalee. I'm sorry, for everything."

After leaving Lenalee's memorial site, Allen returned to his room at the hotel. Surprisingly, he slept rather well that night, something he couldn't remember doing in quite some time, if ever. Maybe she had given him her blessing, or maybe the past 1, 460 days had taken more of a toll on him than he realized. Either way, it didn't matter. He was ready to finally stand on his own and make a life for himself.

:::

The next morning found the nineteen-year-old and his always-faithful companion at a small, out-of-the-way table in the hotel's downstairs restaurant finishing breakfast and planning their next destination. "So Tim, where should we go next?" The little golem ascended from its perch atop the young man's shoulder and projected an image on the opposite wall.

Allen sighed heavily and shook his head, the light of a new day's optimism fading quickly from his silver eyes. The balance between life and death was slowly being restored throughout the world, but because the remaining akuma were now without a purpose and a master, they were more destructive than ever. This however, didn't look like the work of the wayward, unrestrained demons, although it was inevitable they would be flocking to the devastation like moths to a flame. Allen didn't let himself think about how high the death toll must be.

Somehow, the image seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. "I see. Where is this?"

The little winged ball answered by replacing the first image with a map of the United States and a storm track graphic.

The Exorcist raised an eyebrow as visions of cacti, endless expanses of desert, tumbleweeds, and daily gunfights came to mind. If he was correct in assuming this wasn't caused by akuma, then it must have been the aftermath of a natural disaster. With visions of the 'Wild West' firmly cemented in his mind, Allen offhandedly hoped the womanizing, alcoholic he used to call Master had never ventured that far south in his time traveling across the pond, because that was exactly where he and Timcampy were going. If nothing else, he could at least help the townspeople rebuild.

Short chapter is short, sorry. It took me literally weeks to write, and was originally more…in-depth. After several rewrites, the whole thing just felt sluggish, so this is the end result. I absolutely loathe writing first chapters. Anyway, I still have some important details to pin down and don't really know how often I'll update, so please bear with me.

Oh, and if I don't get the next chapter out before Christmas or New Year's Day, Happy Holidays! ;)