The dust settles. We march back to the capital - a victor's march.
If we're the victors, why don't I feel like I won?
Ylisstol greets us with warm arms and a celebration is held in honor of our victory. The celebration lasts into the night. A massive bonfire is lit. Wine is drunk, and even Frederick drinks a glass. There's even fireworks, imported from Valm.
The Exalt, however, does not celebrate. He mourns the loss of his tactician. He mourns the loss of his comrade. He mourns the loss of his friend.
My slumber ends to the sound of the morning.
With the end of the war, the Shepherds are disbanding. The Plegians are going home, the Feroxi are going home, the Valmese are going home. But where is my home? Where do I go from here? There's no "happily ever after" in sight for me. No, this is the beginning. Every march of a thousand miles begins with one step.
I pack anything I might need for the journey. With a purposeful stride, I step into the morning air. A brisk breeze touches my face.
As I leave, I take one last glance at the camp. The fire is out. The tents are still filled with sleeping soldiers. The remnants of a celebration lie on the ground. There's nothing left for me here. Nothing but memories of war - memories I'd rather not have.
Sayonara, Shepherds.
I march forward, toward the horizon. Where my future lies, I don't know.
The horizon may look hopeless and foreboding, but I will find my way home. I know it.
END.