Launch Silo, Laconus Headquarters

Smoke danced in the air as Commander Julius Root made his way through the destruction, minding his footing amidst the fallen metal and stone. Fires burned here and there, casting their warm glow upon all that existed in the ruined expanse, shining on the metallic surfaces of discarded weapons and twisted beams and giving color to the myriad of dreary greys, as if in an attempt to breathe life into the dead world that remained in the battle's wake. Root saw no pleasure, no warmth, in the sights he saw—these were the images of victory, yet he felt nothing, so hollowed out was he. His brown eyes studied the gloom as he walked, ever watchful, ever searching for the one he had come for. He knew where he was going. Like a bird to the south he felt drawn by a natural instinct towards the middle of the room, where the missile, Project Morrígan, had loomed once before. Now nothing was there but fallen rock and steel, the once mighty silo crumbled and still like all the proud contrivances of history. Root walked amidst this great destruction, his eyes on the gloom ahead, where he knew his heart's focus lay.

He came to a halt a dozen meters from the room's center, standing on the same spot where he and his officers had stood during the final moments before the missile's launch. That had been twenty minutes ago, and now that the chaos had ended, he found himself there again, surrounded by silence where there had once been madness. His hands were empty, his weapon in its holster, and as he looked down upon the object of his focus he did not stir. There was no threat here, not anymore. His expression was hard, but after a moment it softened a little, betraying a bitterness that was deeply rooted in his heart.

"Hello, old friend," he said quietly. "Belenos."

Below him lay the body of the elf who had once been one of his greatest friends. Major Belenos Æthelryth, leader of Laconus and champion of the People's resurgent ultranationalism, lay trapped beneath uncountable tons of steel, only his upper body free of the crushing force. He was not moving, but he was still alive, if not just barely, and when Root spoke his name his emerald eyes opened a little more and locked on his. There was something profound in his gaze, an unbreakable spirit that was astonishing, and when he whispered a weak response his voice also bore that trademark certitude, as if his coming death meant nothing to him.

"Julius…" he rasped, his voice bereft of any hatred or anger, only calm and direct and with a subtle hint of kindness. "I am glad that you came to see me. I don't have much time…"

Root glanced at the elf's lower extremities and frowned a little. No amount of healing could save his life. "I know," he said. Without a sound he knelt down beside the dying elf, and sat upon a piece of broken stone. Their eyes never averted from one another, nor did their words; they were locked together, enemies by name yet old comrades by past and blood.

"I always knew that it would come down to this," Belenos said, almost inaudible due to his fading life. "You were always better than I…I could never be like you, no matter how hard I tried. You were something I knew I could never be, but I liked to think that I was close, so close..." He coughed, and blood ran from his mouth, its bright red glistening in the firelight. "Our war is over now. We can both rest. I only wish that it did not have to be like the last time…If only you had seen the world as I do..."

"I could never be like you," Root said, his expression unchanging.

Belenos nodded a little. "Well, that makes two of us…"

There was a moment of silence between them, and the desolation around them seemed to hold its breath. Root sat still, hearing the other's breathing getting more and more labored, and less and less deep—like listening to the ebbing flow of a draining pool. He eventually sighed, drooping just a little under the weight of what he felt inside but refused to show. "I still haven't forgiven you for what you've done. I will never be able to."

"I understand," the other replied, his words uttered with complete honesty. "I never expected you to. I did terrible things…for what I thought to be the right reasons…"

"You were wrong."

Belenos shook his head, and spoke through a rattling breath. "Let the gods sort that out, to them alone I shall answer."

Root nodded solemnly, fully accepting what his enemy—and past friend—had to say. There was no point in arguing heatedly now. It was over, and the corrupted elf lay defeated; Root found no satisfaction in kicking someone while they were down, let alone doomed to never rise again. Instead he remained by his side, remembering the old days, when everything had been clearer and easier. A part of him longed for the past, yearning for the precious life he had lived before all of the madness and darkness had tainted everything. But it was gone, departed like a ship over the horizon, and his realistic side kicked such dreams away like a pebble into a pond—and yet they still skipped along the surface of his mind. But they sank quickly enough, leaving his mind coldly attentive to the irreversible truth. Sometimes you just had to accept things as they were. It was what it was.

For a long moment Root waited, not bothering to speak to Belenos; the seconds of that silence crawled by, scraping his mind with feelings he refused to feel. Then, all of the sudden, he said what was on his mind, what mattered most to him at that defining moment. "You were a brother to me once…"

Belenos' face was starting to lose all of its color, and his expression was more pained than before. Even still, he managed to speak in a whisper. "Then…you have a poor choice in brothers..."

"No," Root said softly, looking the dying elf in the eye, "I had the very best…"

It was the truth he spoke, and it was a sad one. A ghost of a smile played at the edges of Belenos' mouth when he heard it, and with a sickening gurgle he laughed just a little, great mirth evident in the dying effort. "Then be well, brother…" He trailed off, his last words spoken with his last exhalation of breath. Stillness took him, as did the silence of undoing, and in that state he remained with a faint smile on his pale face.

Root watched the other's death with an unchanging expression, and when that last exhalation of breath ceased, he nodded ever so slightly. "For what it's worth, likewise..." He was then sitting on his own in the midst of the desolation, his only company the dead elf and his haunting smile. He was cast in thought, and in it he absentmindedly reached into his pocket and retrieved the cigar he had taken from Belenos' office. With a cold, hard expression he gazed at it, and then, with a steady hand, he lit it until its end was glowing like a miniature sun. A long pull from it was followed by a ghostly pall of smoke, which danced in the gloom between the old commander and his dead enemy. Cast in thought, Root remained still. With everything over, there was so much to think about. The smile on Belenos' face was what caught up his mind the most at that moment. He hadn't bothered telling the dying elf that his plan had failed, that all of his efforts, even his death, had been for nothing. No, he decided to let that slide. Belenos died thinking that he had won, that the People would have a secure future bereft of the scourge of humanity. He died believing that he had saved his kind when no one else could; that he had lived up to his duty to the People, carrying the torch of the warriors whose blood was shed in ancient times for that same goal. That's what was in the dead elf's smile: contentment. Root could not take that small comfort away from him, not even after all that he had done.

Now it was over, once and for all, the century-old conspiracy tied up and destined to fall behind into the silent halls of time. The operation had been a mess, a total shit show, but that was what could be expected of such an intense engagement between armies. Root was just glad it was over. As a soldier, he hated fighting, and that was why he had come so far; no one could get to where he was if their first priority was sating some sick desire for conflict—that was madness. He was a pacifist who ironically held a gun, but such was the nature of being what he was, a being who was moral and yet capable of terrible things. With these musings in his head, he glanced at his communicator, seeing data scrolling on its screen. What he saw made him nod just a little. The casualty reports had finally come in, and just as he had promised to himself at the beginning, he had not lost a single one of his officers to his enemy. It was a sheer stroke of fortune that none had been killed, because death had been so close at all times. Frankly, it was unheard of, but part of it could be attributed to the skill and dedication of the officers under his command; they had taken care of each other, and that brotherhood had saved lives where any lack of unity would have killed dozens. Many had been seriously wounded, over a hundred, and some would take years to fully recover even with the People's advanced medical technology. But they would all live on and recover, unlike so many from the past, and that was what Root took comfort in. That was his personal victory. And yet having accomplished that he did not feel joy or even relief. It was odd; he just felt cold, empty. He pondered this feeling as the glow of the cigar lit up his eyes. Maybe tomorrow he would look on it differently, but as he sat beside his dead foe his mind was tainted by the dreary veil of regret and past failures. Eventually he shook this off, and spoke into his communicator.

"What is the status on Captain Short's retrieval?"

They had lost track of her after an electromagnetic pulse had fried all of the sensitive systems in her gear, though everyone knew that she had succeeded in giving Foaly a chance to access and compromise Project Morrígan. It was thanks to her that the centaur had been able to override its systems and corrupt its AI, and thereby gain control of the missile. That weapon was now on a collision course with the sun, so everything on it, all of that terrible virus, would be utterly destroyed. After that success, Holly had gone dark, and some had feared her dead. Not Root. He never believed for a second that she would die. He took after her mother, after all, so even against terrible odds she had a good chance. He held on to that belief until he received word from Foaly that one of his satellites had spotted her, and now he waited for word from the retrieval team he sent after her.

"We are inbound to the last known location. ETA ten minutes."

Root nodded. "Keep me updated."

"Roger that."

He placed his communicator down, and took another pull from the old cigar, its nostalgic aroma filling his nostrils. The fiery glow from its end made his eyes glint as they gazed into the gloom, and his rough voice, so befitting of that place, spoke with a tone that melded with the grey smoke that swirled around him.

"Captain Short…that elf never ceases to surprise me…"

Julius waited a little longer, taking his time for the sake of the dead elf beside him. What harm was there in just a few more minutes? That time was filled with thought, but it soon passed, as all things did. With a deep sigh he rose and stood up tall, feeling the weight of his years beginning to mount upon him—they had been many, and had given him so many things to remember, so many joys and sorrows. With one last look at Belenos, he turned and started to walk through the destruction, his hands empty and his countenance firm. The cigar remained behind, smoldering half-used on the rocks beside Belenos; one half in memory of the old times, and for the sake of his departed spirit. Soon its glow faded as well, fading away ever so slowly, joining the lifeless world around it in eternal slumber.

Morane Atoll, Tuamotu Archipelago

Holly opened her eyes to the sight of a clear blue sky, dotted with pure white wisps of cloud lined by the telltale gold of the morning sun. She heard waves crashing on the shore, and felt them touch her boots, but her back was on solid ground, albeit the yielding sand of a beach. When she woke her right hand instinctively clenched into a fist, taking into it a glob of soft, damp sand. She squinted at first, her eyes adjusting to the light, and when she could see clearly she blinked and glanced around, dazed and disoriented despite the tranquil sounds of lapping waves and a gentle breeze. Pain stopped her from moving suddenly, but she still managed to sit up, doing so carefully and with a grim expression on her face. Her helmet was gone for some reason, and her auburn hair, wet with salt water, clung to her forehead like glue. With a slow, pained precision she brushed it aside and glanced about.

The small, alluring expanse of an atoll stretched out before her. The thin strip of land, circular around a sparkling lagoon whose waters were a brilliant greenish blue, was cast in a warm hue of gold by the rising sun. Screw pine and coconut trees dotted the land, swaying gently in the breeze, and dozens of small Tuamotu sandpipers walked contently along the beach. Holly watched as one of such birds went past her, completely ignoring her—it made her smile, seeing such delicate life after all she had been through. She stirred just a little, and it flew away. It flew in the direction of the sun, which was now above the horizon, and Holly set her eyes on that brilliant sight, feeling its warmth on her face. It was surreal, after all that she had been through; just like her dazed vision when she had been sinking into the sea, she almost thought that it was a dream. It was not, of course, and when she stood up she felt reality pressing down upon her. She was alive, somehow washed up on to the safety of the atoll, and she honestly did not know how. It was her intention to not think about that anyway; she let its mysterious wonder persist, and focused on the land around her. There were no signs of civilization, just the way she liked it. Without a word she fell on her back and stared at the sky, exhausted and content to rest.

A few minutes later she heard what she had been waiting for, and once again stood up. An LEP shuttle materialized in the air above her, coming in for a landing upon the narrow strip of land; it seemed to know exactly where to find her. Sand and water blasted through the air when it landed, and Holly, covering her face, walked towards it. She took the hand of the officer in its open side door, and was pulled into the familiar comfort of the ship, where she was seated and given immediate attention by the onboard medic. A few moments later they were flying over the ocean, speeding along over the glittering waves. Holly stared through the viewport the whole time, lost in thought; her mind, so awash with memories, was bursting at the seams. With the madness now over, she found that there was little to do but think. Everything had happened so fast that it was only now that she had the time to reflect upon it, digest it, and come to terms with it. It was hard, as it always was for soldiers returning from a traumatic experience, but she pulled through as the ship carried her home. She made peace with what had transpired, with what she had done, and with what was to come. She knew just as well as anyone the consequences of their actions, and the ultimate outcome of the mission; she understood the final step that had to be taken before the pages could be turned.

This was all important to think about, but for a moment she put it aside, focusing on something else that she had to do. Using a communicator given to her by the pilot, she opened a channel to her superior, Julius Root. She hesitated for a second after she entered the code, but all incertitude was gone by the time she spoke into it.

"Commander, this is Captain Short."

"It is good to know you are still with us, Captain," Root replied, his formal tone as resplendent as ever. She did not detect the emotion within it. "We were concerned, but we knew you would pull through."

"Thank you," Holly replied. "What is the status of the operation?

"Finished," Root stated gruffly. "Laconus has been dissolved, and the island is ours. Their weapon is presently on an express route to the sun."

Holly nodded, a slight smile on her face. "And Belenos?"

"Killed in action," Root replied coldly, betraying none of his feelings on the matter. "He was in the center of the collapse area. There was nothing we could do for him."

"I understand," Holly said, her previous smile replaced by a slight frown. She never found pleasure in the deaths of others, not even her worst enemies; despite everything, she still viewed all life as precious, even the life that had become corrupt. To hear that Belenos, another figure from her obscured past, was dead, was not so much a surprise as it was the confirmation of what she had expected all along. Such a radical elf as he would never cease his work until he was killed, and he intended to go through to the very end if need be. Just as Holly had been willing to give her life to protect the world, so too had he been willing to give his in order to protect it in his own way. She could not fault him for that, however terrible his intentions had been—she held a certain degree of respect for such commitment, though she still hated him for his evil deeds. "It's over then, for good this time," she said, watching as the golden sun rose further and further to bathe the sea in its light.

"Indeed, it is," Root replied, for a moment sounding tired. Then he was stoic once more. "You did well out there, Holly. Your actions saved billions of lives."

"I didn't do it on my own," Holly protested immediately, deflecting praise from herself. "I did my part, as did we all."

"Of course," Root said, inwardly impressed by her character. "And I know we have Foaly to thank as well for stopping their weapon. I hear he passed out after successfully diverting the missile, and now he's in a state of catatonic self-praise, passed out in his office with a book over his face."

This made Holly smile, the image of it easy for her mind to contrive. "Sounds just like him." She paused for a second, her mind ever changing its focus from one pressing matter to the next. "Do you need me on the island, Commander? I am willing to assist where it is needed."

"That will not be necessary. Return to Haven and await further orders. And get yourself some rest, Holly. You've earned it."

Holly nodded, a slight smile gracing her features. "Roger that...thank you..." She set aside the communicator. Her eyes had never left the view through the window—after seeing so much darkness, the sight of a beautiful sunrise was like water to a parched body, in this case to her parched soul. She savored it, for once not even bothering to think about anything but the moment she was in; about that brilliant orb of gold above the ever sparkling waters, and about the comfort of finally being able to rest after such a long, terrible struggle. It was good to be alive, but even more so, it was good to have lived up to her own high expectations. After all, everything that she did was in memory of the one who had set her on this path in life, and thus, more than anything, she wanted to make her proud. She wanted to be able to face her one day and say that she had done her very best—that the world was a better place thanks to the life she had lived. This was her greatest desire.

The LEP shuttle flew in stealth mode over the ocean, heading northeast until it reached the Galápagos Islands. Isabela Island was the location of one of the LEP's surface terminals, and it was there that Holly was taken from the surface—from all the light and life—down into the depths of the earth. When she finally arrived in Haven, she merely stepped out of the ship and walked through the hangar, still dressed in her ruined flight suit and looking as if she had dropped from the heavens into the ocean. She did not care that she received no reception, no greeting, or even a pat on the back from the officers there. After all, what she had just done was destined to be covered up, just like the entire operation. Her actions, and her heroics, would go unnoticed by the world, even her own kin, and she would continue to be nothing more than a greenhorn in the LEP recon division. That was alright by her. Praise and fame meant nothing to her, in fact they pissed her off. She did what she had to do, for no other reason than because it was right. Perhaps one day she would be recognized for her work, but for now she was just another officer amongst many others, a number and a badge. On top of all of this was the awareness of the final stage of the operation, the final step that she had consented to long before the operation had begun. In the end it did not matter how she felt about any of it, for she knew that she would not remember a single fragment of what had transpired. She, along with all of the officers who had participated in the clandestine mission, was to be mind-wiped. She did not think about it as she walked through the hangar, or as she took a squad car to her apartment. She didn't want to, even though it was in her interests. Instead she opened the door to her gloomy abode, tossed her gear aside, glanced warmly at her mother's medals, and collapsed on to her bed.