Epilogue

Time slips by. New graves are dug for brave soldiers that fought for their kingdom. Houses, demolished by the onslaught of Black Hearts army, are put back together piece by piece.

The day after the battle, Glenn was standing alone on one of the parapets of the Guardian Castle, looking out over the familiar battlements, fingering his sword hilt. Nothing could be found of the tainted Masamune when the smoke had cleared. It worried him.

What would twist the blade so? What would corrupt it? Did it have something to do with--his future?

There was a slight rustling behind Glenn, and his whirled around and had his blade half-drawn before he saw who it was.

Schala looked back at him, her face a little startled. Glenn reddened (as much as a frog could) and quickly sheathed the Masamune. "A' pardon, M'Lady," he said apologetically, bowing to her. "Old reflexes die nigh long after they are useful."

Schala smiled, and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry over it. And you needn't pay me such respect. It has been many years since I was of royalty."

"Nay, M'Lady," Glenn replied firmly. "'Tis not for thy royalty that I pay thee respect. Thou art a lady of class, and no man worth to be called such would dare disrespect thee by calling thee anything less."

Schala blushed and turned away. "I... thank you."

There was a pause as the two turned away and watched the clouds drift by, lost in their own thoughts.

"So," Schala said at last, "about your... curse."

Glenn shook his head. "Ye needn't worry thyself, M'Lady. I have grown well accustomed to this form, and I have heard it from thy brother's own mouth that the only way I may return to my original form is should he die." Glenn sighed. "And I have forgotten revenge long ago, at the feet of the ghost of my friend."

Schala smiled again, and Glenn was briefly amazed at how stunning that smile was. He had not much occasion to see it when they first met.

"About what Janus said," she told him firmly. "Well, my brother wasn't completely correct."

Glenn blinked almost audibly. "What?"

Schala didn't answer him. Stretching her hand out toward him, she began to chant. A steady glow began to shine in the round red pendant around her neck, and the air was suddenly lit with a brilliant white light. A slow glow began to surround Glenn, which felt like it was permeating his very being, filling him with some indescribable magic.

There was a rush, and the air lit up with a thousand twinkling points that swirled around the parapet like diamonds that had been caught out of the sky.

***

A week after the Battle of Tarpon Plain, the people assembled at the blackened wasteland of the battlefield. A dozen men hauling ropes and shifting boards placed a monument in the center of the desolation. It was a twenty foot high and six foot wide column of granite, constructed by Melchior and sealed by the magic of Lucca and Schala to last out the decades. The sides bore the names of every person that had died, engraved in silver, and on top the statue of a soldier had been mounted. In one raised hand, he stood poised to hurl a double-bladed half-moon axe; a crossbow lay poised on his back; his hand fingered a gun at his belt.

There was a plaque at his feet, with the following words emblazoned in thick, bold letters:

Battle of Tarpon Plain

May, 1002 AD

For our friends,

for our families,

for our peace,

have we fought

and died.

Lucca slowly stepped forward, reaching out a hand and tracing some of the names with her fingers. Crono walked up beside her, looking back and forth from the silver script to his childhood friend.

"Crono?" Lucca asked suddenly.

"Hm?"

"We've gotta make sure that nothing like this happens ever again."

Crono blinked, then stared at her. "How?"

Lucca sighed. "I don't know. But I'll find a way to make sure. There has to be a way."

Crono nodded, but said nothing. There was nothing to say.

***

King Guardia XXXIII sighed, and sat down heavily on his throne. It was late evening by now; the day had been spent in hearing petitioners, making wedding preparations, and continuing rebuilding many of the damaged villages and homes. The last of those killed in the battle had been finally laid to rest, and the last messengers had come and gone.

"What a sad state of affairs," the king sighed. "But a month's gone since it happened... I hope the wedding will cheer the people up."

Just then, one of the wide double-doors that were the entrance to the Great Hall creaked open, and a spiky, red-haired head poked inside.

"Er... You wanted to see me?" Crono asked.

Guardia, brightening, nodded and waved his almost-son-in-law over to him. "So... how are you feeling, my boy?"

Crono blinked. "Uh... okay, I guess."

The king grinned. "Ready for tomorrow? Not getting cold feet, are you?"

"I, uh, well... um, er, I... n-no, why, um, er, I--" Crono stammered hysterically.

Guardia laughed. "That's what I thought." Then, the levity seemed to leach itself out of the king' body, and he sighed.

"What's wrong?" Crono asked curiously.

"Oh, just the usual things of running a kingdom. People coming in and telling me that we've got to attack the Mystics, despite my proclamation that it wasn't them who invaded, messengers from Medina protesting that their citizens are being mistreated by travelers, and worst of all, there is a large militia movement stirring down in Porre." The king scowled. "They say the Kingdom of Guardia can no longer be trusted to handle attacking forces, and that a new army should take over."

Guardia XXXIII snorted, puffing out his white mustache, and then smoothed it back with a knuckle. "Codswollup, really. I know the leader of the new movement. He's the sort that would go conquering and pillaging to 'bring order to the uncivilized backwater countries' and such. He's already trying to depose the mayor there... Good man, that mayor. Very generous."

Crono nodded. "I met him, a couple years ago."

"Yes, well," the king said, brushing a hand in front of him as if to clear the air, "We'll worry about such things later." His grin returned. "Right now, we've got a celebration to have, don't we?"

Crono opened his mouth, and then closed it firmly. The king supposed it wouldn't have come out coherently anyway.

***

Wedding day.

If Crono were in charge, it would be a little ceremony held in the Great Hall of the castle. There would be a few friends and relatives, all seated in chairs while the ceremony proceeded, and they would cheer quietly as he and Nadia kissed, and then throw a minimum of rice as the two of them made their way back down the Isle and off to... wherever it was they were going.

"No, no, no!" Nadia was saying, waving here hands impatiently at a group of soldiers. "The grand lineup with be up over their, so you have to make plenty of room for people to stand along the street as we walk by. And you there! We'll need a lot more punch than that for 300 guests! Bring some more barrels in from the basement cupboard, and fill them."

It was abundantly evident that Crono was NOT in charge.

And on so it went, despite Crono's protests--which were completely ignored--and sooner than he had hoped, yet longer than he had wished to wait, the preparations were complete.

Lion banners flapped triumphantly in the wind, their brilliant red-gold colors reflecting brightly in the afternoon sun. The old castle's gray battlements and watchtowers gleamed dully, and men patrolled the upper walls with warning horns ready. A large group of people gathered on a small grassy knoll just beyond the clear cut field and sheer cliffs surrounding the castle. There were soldiers surrounding it, their stiff, unadorned blue shirts and breeches ruffled slightly as they worked and watched.

All around, seats were decked in blue, red, silver, and gold, shining and sparkling in the sun. Tall silver torches were driven into the ground along the red-carpeted center aisle, sparkling with polished brilliance in the sun. Many court officials were gathered, and the chancellor was busily hurrying about doing some last minute preparation. There was a general look of excitement in the faces of the spectators, as this was to be a momentous occasion that would never happen again.

Today is the day, the young girls whispered excitedly. Isn't this wonderful? They're finally getting married. The young men chuckled, and debated what refreshments would be served, and discussed their favorites. Older women gossiped, say what a lovely couple they would make, and when would they start having children, do you think? Older men nodded wisely to each other, comparing this to a royal wedding nigh on twenty years ago--and then debated what refreshments would be served, and discussed their favorites.

Some things do not change.

But as time passed, and the bride and groom made no appearance, all the talk began to echo much the same thing. When are they going to come? What's keeping them? Where's the food?

Finally, after the sun had risen over the center of the sky and the shade had become scarce, a young man with spiky red hair like none other walking down the isle. He didn't look apprehensive; he was an absolute nervous wreck. His hands were constantly running over his sky blue shirt with a thin silver lining on the cuffs, and his knees were shaking in the pants of the same color and design. He wore a simple white bandana and orange scarf, the ever present syllables that were part of what made Crono Crono. He reached the end of the aisle, and nodded silently to the priest, as if he knew him.

In the distance the bride appeared. She was all clothed in white, with a thick vale as was Guardian custom, and as proud and as any queen already on her thrown. Her every step seemed to say that for just this once, Princess Nadia, daughter and sole offspring of King Guardia XXXIII, in full royal regalia, approached.

She was being led down the aisle by a white-bearded man who was quite obviously the king himself (judging by the crown on his head) and he seemed enormously pleased with the whole affair. Their stately pace soon carried them to the priest who stood nearby, and the bridesmaids were close on their heels. Lucca in particular looked rather uncomfortable in her dress, but she was nothing compared to Ayla, whom they had had to snatch up all the way back from 64,999,998 BC.

The challenging parts had been getting the cave woman to wear the dress in the first place, and then get her to sit still for more than thirty seconds. It was always rather hard to force a woman who could and regularly did hurl large boulders and split trees with one fist to do something she didn't want to do. But she didn't stand long against Nadia's puppy-dog eyes.

Nevertheless, Ayla stood with the rest as the king kissed his daughter's cheek, and stepped off to one side to stand next to the chancellor. The bridesmaids also settled off to ether side--though one of them kept twitching to get down on all fours--each decked out in blue and pink silk, bouquets in hand. The bride herself stood excitedly by her future husband, evidently impatient for the ceremony to begin. Or for what would happen after it was over.

The aged priest began to speak. His smooth baritone, though hardened and craggy with age, immediately put the crowd into a dull stupor. Had they not been staring out into space, or been busy in their deep contemplation of the meaning of the universe, they might have noticed the faint shining of metal in the sunlight, in among the bride's maids. The shine seemed to grow larger, until three feet of steel seemed to emerge from nowhere. It was a sword.

Like a striking snake, the woman leaped forward, her blade whipping through the air. Crono and Nadia had half turned around at the noise, and it was far more than his instincts that saved Crono--this time around. In a blur of motion, one of his feet shot forward and clipped a long cylinder shape that rested beneath the alter, which twirled up into the air. There was a ring of metal on metal, and a single spark drifted slowly into the air.

The false bridesmaid struggled, her small, pretty face a mask devoid of emotion, both her hands gripping, white knuckled, around the narrow hilt of her blade. Crono's Rainbow Sword glittered with all the brilliance of the sun from which it had been made, cold and unmoving in his one-handed grip.

"You killed the Black Heart," the woman said dully, "and so you must die." Her voice as cool and indifferent as if she had told him the sun would set today.

Crono nodded. "I killed the Black Heart so that I could live. If there had been another way, it might have been different. But she chose her own path, just like you will choose yours."

Several soldiers and Ayla lunged forward, but Crono raised a staying hand. "Wait," he said with iron in his voice. "Not yet."

The woman stared at him a moment, something working in her eyes. And then a small spark appeared there, like the first flicker on long dead fire. Then she closed her eyes, and fell back to the ground.

Crono smiled, sheathed his sword and stuffed the scabbard into his belt, then turned back to Nadia and the priest. "I think that's finished now," he said as soldiers carried the woman away, followed closely by a still-angry Ayla--"Ayla not even get to fight in whole story!" she whined-- and one or two maids.

"Now, where were we?" Nadia smiled, and also turned to man behind the alter.

The priest blinked at them, and then nervously cleared his throat. Slowly, then with increasing confidence, he finished the ceremony. Crono and Nadia tuned, tearing off the vale together, and kissed.

And kissed.

And kissed. By the time they were finished, the male population was all hot and bothered--there was still food on the line, mind you--and everyone else was simply embarrassed. It made for the best topic of gossip for years, however.

Later in the day, they made a grand march through the main streets of Truce, which was fast becoming less of a village and more of a town. They occasionally spotting friends in the cheering crowd. First, they saw Crono's parents, who whistled and waved, and then his mother shouted something about Crono's cat.

Crono waved back. He did not fail to notice that they were holding hands.

Next, they saw Melchior smiling and nodding from the walkway. He waded through the throng took Crono firmly by the hand.

"Excellent, my boy, simply marvelous," he chuckled, pumping Crono's fist up and down. "Just wanted to congratulate you."

"Uh, thanks," Crono smiled, and then he noticed a man trailing behind the old Guru. Melchior noticed him looking, and grinned.

"Allow me to introduce my new apprentice," the old man said cheerfully. Crono shook hands with the sun darkened, thick-set man who looked about thirty. He had a wicked look with a scarred eye and blunt face, and Crono could tell that the man had already spent much time in front of a forge. "Zappa, these are my good friends, who have saved my life--and the world, a time or two."

"A pleasure," the man grunted, but he didn't look all that excited. In fact, he looked a bit grumpy. Crono shrugged it off as nerves.

They had barely said goodbye to the two men when the crowd swept them up again. It took him a moment to realize it when a green-haired man had shook his hand, slapped him on the back, and muttered, "Good luck to you, my boy. I think I can entrust the Guardian line to you, here."

Crono blinked and looked around for the man, but he was nowhere to be found. After a few seconds, the same voice called "And don't forget to practice thy swordsmanship, lad! Ye'll be needing it again, no doubt!"

***

A day short of 400 years earlier, the Great Hall of the King of Guardia was silent as a man kneeled to his king.

"Your Majestys," he said softly, bowing low on one knee. "I have returned. Forgive my long absence. My long battle hath finally ended, and so I have returned. Sir Cyrus... is dead, these twelve years now, and I have at last avenged him, and redeemed myself."

The royal couple stared at him silently, waiting for him to continue.

"I wish to ask thee... ask you to honor this request." Slowly, the man got to his feet, his clear eyes staring into the kings. In one swift movement, he drew his mythic blade and saluted them. The weapon sang shrilly even in the flickering light of the torches in the castle, and then glowed with a light all its own. A shaft of silver shot from the tip and into the air, filling the hall with a metallic shine that flickered and played across the surprised faces of the soldiers that watched.

"As we swore over a decade ago, Cyrus and I have reclaimed the Masamune, and defeated the wizard called Magus. I now humbly request--" he lowered the blade and set the flat into his left hand, holding it out hilt first to the king, "--that I be sworn to serve you and your line while breath and blood flow through me, and even into the grave."

King Guardia the XXI stared at him a long moment. Then he looked at his queen, who gazed back at expectantly.

"I would be more than honored, lost knight," the king said, taking the sword. Its light faded as soon as it left the man's hand.

"Yes," Queen Leene said, smiling. "And after that, we can welcome you home at last, Sir Glenn of Guardia. Where you will stay."

Glenn smiled back. "Yes, your Majesty," he said solemnly. "Where I will stay."

***

Lucca was restless. Things were buzzing relentlessly around in her head, refusing to organize themselves, taunting her with answers just beyond her reach. But, whenever she grew restless, it always seemed to help her compose her thoughts to go pacing out in the wood that surrounded her house. Science was her in all and be all, but it was nice to hike a bit through the trees every once and awhile.

Lucca had been serious when she had told Crono she never wanted that sort of death and destruction to happen again. But there was a problem to the theory.

How?

She DID have a time machine, after all, and she was almost sure she almost had the thing figured out, but...

Just then, a long, high-pitched noise brought Lucca out of her stupor. She blinked and looked around. Her curiosity up, she set off in the direction of the sound; it was... familiar somehow. Now, what WAS that? It sounded almost like... almost like...

A baby crying.

Lucca took off into the brush at a dead run, clearing a clump of tall weeds and rounding a corner. She looked down, and found a small bundle of white blankets.

***

"And so you just found her abandoned in the woods?" Nadia asked in surprise.

Lucca nodded, shifting a little bottle that looked as if it hadn't been used in ages awkwardly in one hand. "I'm afraid so. I don't know why anyone would try to get rid of something so beautiful."

Nadia nodded in avid agreement, then frowned. "What about the pendant?"

Lucca laughed. "It's the same pendant we always seem to be running into, isn't it? Well, that's another mystery. One for another time." She paused, and glanced down at the child in her arms.

"Nadia?" she said finally.

"Yeah?"

"I think I want to start an orphanage. You know... for all the kids that lost parents the battle. It's the only thing I can think of to save the future for sure; to make sure nobody has to die like so many have. I have to teach the children."

Nadia gazed back at her a moment, and then positively electrified the air with happiness. "I think that's a GREAT idea, Lucca. You just tell Crono and me if you ever need help. We'll be there."

Lucca grinned. "Of course. Why should anything change now?" She laughed, jarring the baby, who lost hold of the bottle and squirted out the milk she had been trying to drink all over Lucca's blouse.

"Kid," Lucca said sternly, "You are definitely going to have to learn some manners."

"That reminds me," Nadia said, "What are you going to call her?"

Lucca shrugged. "Kid's good enough for now."

Nadia sighed. "I guess I should be thankful she's not a serial number." She looked down into the baby girl's eyes and grinned, waving one hand in front of her face. "Hi ya, Kid! How's it going?"

Kid giggled and reached a hand out toward her, grabbing a lock of blond-gold hair.