Samara entered the monastery, nodding her head toward the asari near the door. Looking around, Samara allowed herself to marvel at how small the new monastery was. It was a mere third of the size of the previous one. A vast monastery would be too large for only one Ardat-Yakshi, Samara thought, before feeling a pang of pain. Less Ardat-Yakshi meant two dead daughters; their blood on her hands would never wash away, no matter how hard she tried.

Forcing the feeling to the deepest corner of her mind and locking it there, Samara continued making her way to the main balcony of the building. She knew her last daughter, Falere, would be there. She had taken it upon herself to visit Falere more often in the past years. She felt obligated to fulfill the promise she made to Falere… and to Shepard.

Samara sent a silent prayer to the Goddess to bring peace to her friend's spirit. The Goddess of all beings should know how much Shepard deserved it. Shepard had spent too many years trying to protect every being she could; peace was something she never experienced alive.

May the Goddess guide you, Shepard, Samara added as an afterthought, finally reaching the balcony. She smiled as she saw Falere picking the red, teardrop shaped flowers that grew along the railing. Walking to her daughter, she gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hello Falere."

Falere did not even jump at the sound of her mother's voice. She simply stood as she placed her own hand lightly over Samara's wrist. "Hello to you, Mother," Falere smiled. "I didn't know if you were able to make it today."

"The code does allow me to spend some time with my daughter," Samara replied. Both of them knew however, if Falere were not an Ardat-Yakshi, Samara would not afford to put the code on hold. She glanced at the flowers in Falere's other hand. "Are those for Rila?"

Samara heard her daughter take a sharp intake of breath, before glancing sadly at the flowers. "Yes," her daughter softly answered. "These are her favorite flowers."

The two stood in silence for a moment, each in their own memories. Samara slowly removed her hand from Falere's shoulder and brought it to her side. "Should we start making our way to her grave?"

Falere blinked at the sound of her mother's voice. "Y-yes," she answered, quickly making her way back into the monastery. Samara quietly followed.

The two walked through the monastery to the courtyard. Reaching the outermost parts, Falere slowly kneeled beneath a tree Samara remembered humans calling a 'Weeping Willow'. Falere silently placed the flowers at the trees trunk.

Any trace of Rila's body was destroyed when the explosion was set off three years ago. There was never going to be a proper grave for her, with no body. Falere was the one who requested the tree be placed at the furthest point of the new monastery. She kept silent on the reason as to why that certain tree was chosen, but Samara knew her daughter well enough to assume it was to let Rila know Falere wept for her.

Falere bowed her head, sitting still under the tree. Samara placed herself a few steps away, the branches of the tree slowly grazing her back. Seeing her final daughter in such a state, Samara couldn't help but blame herself. Rila's blood was on her hands and only hers. Would she feel such pain for her daughter, if she had arrived sooner, if she did her duty as a justicar?

"I miss them Mother," Falere said. She turned to look back at Samara. "I miss my sisters. Even Morinth, as horrible as she could be. I always thought we would be together. Did that future start to unravel when Morinth left? Was Rila destined to leave my side also?"

Samara kept silent as she saw Falere try to withhold her tears. Falere continued as she slowly stood. "Morinth sent Rila and I messages," she confessed. "Rila and I decided to never open them. We didn't want to at the time. We thought she was just trying to convince us to join her. She…stopped… almost four years ago. I think…I think she's dead. And there was only one person looking for her." Falere turned fully to Samara and stared at her. "Do I need to ask who killed her?"

Samara stayed still, forcing her emotions away. She would not break, not now. Not as she watched Falere's face contort in grief. Not as she watched her daughter fall to her knees and wail into her hands. Not as she remembered making that final biotic blow against Morinth, hearing the crunch of a broken body. Not as she saw her recurring nightmare of unwashed blood on her hands and her own cries of horror.

Samara would not break.