"Please, sit wherever you like... except the pink couch, that's my spot," Reis said, disappearing through a curtained door. "I'll be right back!"

"Uh... okay..." Freya mumbled; the wooden furniture, the potted plants, the books, the fluffy woolen rug, the crystal cabinet full of perfectly arranged tableware... the goddess' living room was the epitome of grandmotherly interior design, and the dragoon digged her style so much that she was beginning to doubt her own mental age.

"Haha! You should see your face right now!" the elderly lady commented, returning from the kitchen with a teapot and two delicate porcelain cups with lemon juice and honey on a silver tray.

"I think I'm in love with your house, ma'am," the knight impulsively said before remembering just who she was talking to.

"Aww, thanks, dear!" the granny cooed, pouring her some tea. "And please, just call me Reis. I may be a few millennia old, but ma'am is a bit excessive, don't you think?"

"Yes, ma'am... I mean, Reis... sorry..." Freya nervously stammered, mentally kicking herself as she smelled the delicious infusion. "Oh my, this is fantastic..! Thank you..!"

"Isn't it too sweet? 'Cause people think I'm a little too fond of honey, but you know what? Screw them... screw them and their lame opinions," the goddess declared, raising her cup as she sank into her favorite couch.

"Hear, hear," the knight concurred with a bemused smile; the Allmother was certainly not what she had expected, but she wasn't disappointed either.

"So, I take it your father and my son have caught you up on what's going on here," Reis said, angling an inquisitive stare at her guest.

"Mostly yes, but I still have so many questions..." Freya answered.

"Go ahead."

"Alright... what happened between you and Berlioz? Why is this realm a secret?" the knight asked.

"Oof... those are tough questions..." the goddess sighed, making a pause to drink some tea. "What exactly do you know about him?"

"Well... he was the original Dragonslayer, leader of the First Rebellion, founder of Burmecia, and creator of the Dragon's Crest..." Freya recalled. "He used to be a simple farmer, but the souls he took from his slain foes allowed him to break free from the Crystal and build Fólkvangr... that's how our civilization was born..."

Reis interrupted her with a wry chuckle.

"That's the official version, my dear..." she said. "Reality is a bit more complex than that."

"What do you mean..?"

"He was never a mortal to begin with..." the Allmother stated, much to Freya's surprise. "Long before the birth of the three nations, dragonkind ruled unopposed what eventually became Burmecia," she explained. "When your ancestors first came to the basin, fleeing from a great plague that had ravaged their homeland, the Drekar, as dragons call themselves, enslaved them to be used as servants and fodder."

"That story always gave me nightmares as a child..." the knight commented.

"Of course it did... I still dream of the killings from time to time..." the goddess grimly answered. "You know... Burmecian flesh and souls are still highly coveted delicacies among my kind."

"... Y-Your kind..?" Freya stammered, suddenly terrified.

"Yes. I'm a Dreki, my dear... one of the oldest alive..." Reis answered in an almost apologetic tone. "... So is Berlioz."

The knight felt an urge to sit down despite being already seated.

"What..?" she whispered. "So we've been hunting your kin all this time..? Why..?"

The Allmother sighed.

"Berlioz wasn't just any Dreki... he was the son and only heir of Clan Völsung's alpha, Wothn," she explained. "Clan Völsung was believed to have descended from the Old Gods themselves, and they had the raw power to back their claim, so they were considered semi-divine among my people. My father and Wothn had arranged for me to marry Berlioz in order to unite our tribes and become the undisputed lords of the Drekar..."

"... Did you love him at least..?" the dragoon asked, and Reis chuckled.

"Oh, not at all. At first I couldn't stand him... he was standoffish, moody, and hilariously weak," she answered with a nostalgic smile. "But then I realized that deep beneath his obnoxious exterior, lied a decent man with a strong sense of justice."

"Why did he turn on his own people..?"

The goddess stared at her empty cup for a moment before answering.

"Berlioz never felt at ease around other Drekar... they would often shun and abuse him because of his reluctance to feed on sentient beings," she recalled as she rolled up her sleeves, revealing a pair of almost skeletal forearms. "Problem is, we are natural soul devourers. Without a steady supply of spiritual energy, our flesh decays, our bones crumble into dust, and our minds shatter like glass."

Freya covered her mouth, horrified by Reis's condition.

"Does that hurt..?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"I'm over two thousand years old, sweetie... I've had plenty of time to get used to it," the goddess replied with a wry smile. "I appreciate your concern, though."

"Why did he starve himself like that..?"

"... I assume you remember the legend of King Athelric, founder of the now extinct royal bloodline..." Reis answered.

"Sure... every Burmecian knows it..." the knight concurred. "He was the first and last mortal to earn the title of Spear of Berlioz via honorable duel. No other candidate has challenged the Allfather and won since then..."

The Allmother snorted.

"Actually, Berlioz totally threw that fight, even if Athelric was the sole mortal to ever wound him," she said.

"... Why did he spare him?"

"Because he loved him, of course," the goddess stated. "Everything in Burmecian history, from the First Rebellion to our current predicament, can be traced back to the day those two first met."

"How did it happen..?"

Reis smiled fondly, as if she had just remembered a cute anecdote.

"When Berlioz was just a little fledgling, he left his father's side in a moment of distraction and got lost in the forest below his home mountain," she recalled. "He wandered alone for hours on end until a pack of hungry axe beaks ambushed him near a hidden Burmecian village."

"Ugh... I hate those things..."

"I know, right? The thing is, fledglings are tough, but not strong enough to survive a ten-to-one fight, so they badly injured him..." the Allmother said. "Luckily, Athelric was hunting nearby. He may have been a young boy, but what he lacked in age, he compensated in skill. When he saw the scene, he climbed a tall tree and shot the beasts dead one by one with his trusty longbow."

"How noble..." Freya commented.

"Berlioz was too wounded to survive on his own, so Athelric secretly took him home and nursed him back to health," Reis answered. "The two of them became fast friends; Berlioz even learned a few Burmecian words. Everything was coming along swimmingly... until Wothn and his warband found the hidden village."

"Oh, no..."

"Yeah... Athelric and Berlioz tried to explain the situation to him, but Wothn burned the settlement to the ground and rounded up the survivors for slaughter," the goddess sighed. "For the next few weeks, little Berlioz was force-fed the souls of the villagers by his own father, both for health reasons, and to ensure he wouldn't forget how the food chain worked. The experience utterly changed him... turned him into a bitter shell of his former self."

"... That's why he began starving himself..." the knight muttered.

"I didn't understand him at first... having grown in a powerful clan, I was used to eating whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, no questions asked," Reis regretfully admitted. "I know it's probably not the best idea to tell you that, but you need to know the truth."

Freya lowered her gaze and sank in her seat.

"I can't judge you either..." she answered, eyeing the spot where her Dragon's Crest used to be. "I've also killed for selfish reasons when I was young and stupid..."

"It's funny... we were born in diametrically opposed times, yet things haven't changed all that much..." the Allmother commented, taking a sip of her tea before resuming her story. "As Berlioz grew, so did his ideals. He began searching for alternative energy sources, experimenting, naively believing that if he found an acceptable substitute for sentient souls, the Drekar would cease their oppression of the Burmecian people. Naturally, this only exacerbated their contempt for him, and things came to a head when his father captured Athelric, who had somehow survived the destruction of his hometown."

"What an..."

"Indeed," the goddess interrupted her. "Wothn tried to force his son to publicly execute his childhood friend and savior in order to purge the shame he had supposedly brought upon the clan..."

"I'm guessing that didn't go well..."

"Ah, hahahah, you have no idea!" Reis chuckled. "He may have been severely underfed, but he was still a furious Völsung, and you don't fuck with a furious Völsung..."

"You were there, too?"

"More than that! I helped him escape with his friend," the Allmother answered. "Of course I had to leave with them... setting your father-in-law's dwelling ablaze isn't exactly well regarded in Drekar society."

"Gods... and where did you go..?

"We found a cave in the Aerbs Mountains, near the current location of North Gate. Our clans were hot on our heels, so we couldn't risk leading them to yet another Burmecian settlement," Reis explained. "We were hungry, cold, and scared out of our minds, but we survived."

"That must have been horrible... I'm sorry," the dragoon commented.

"Yes... yes it was. I felt miserable, and seriously considered turning myself in at least twice, but deep down I knew we were long past the point of no return. When things settled down a bit, Athelric led us to a hidden rebel village, which would eventually become the capital of the future Burmecian kingdom. Using illusion magic, we assumed the guise of a refugee couple in order to fit in," she answered. "We lived with Athelric for a few years. He was real nice to us... taught us the ways of his people. Eventually we built our own house and became farmers! How crazy is that? It was around that time when I got pregnant with Li'l Giz. We were... happy."

Freya smirked at the idea of referring to an absurdly powerful, two-thousand years old entity as Li'l Giz... guess she wasn't the only one with embarrassing parents.

"Um... may I ask you a question?"

"You just did," the goddess playfully retorted. "Shoot."

"Why was your connection to Gizamaluke erased from history..?"

Reis averted her eyes for a moment.

"Let's just say his father and I didn't part ways on the better of terms..." she answered. "It all started two years after Giz was born. A lone Dreki scout discovered the settlement and attacked it, looking for an easy meal. He was young and foolish... a child, and Berlioz wasn't around, so I beat him into submission. Then I realized that in order to protect the village, he had to die."

"Did you kill him..?"

"No... but I really should have," Reis answered in a quivering voice. "He was so scared and helpless... I just couldn't bring myself to deliver the final blow... and that was all he needed to sucker-punch me and escape."

The goddess tucked her hair behind her left ear and cocked her head backwards, revealing a brutal scar running from her jaw to her collarbone.

"Yikes..." Freya winced.

"Little bastard got me good... it wasn't as bad as it looks, but it bled like crazy. Berlioz arrived shortly after, and when he saw me like that, he begged Athelric to take me to the local healer while he went off to hunt the fleeing raider."

"Did he catch him?"

"Did he catch him? Oh, sweet child, you have no idea..." Reis chuckled. "Berlioz was as furious as he was hungry, so when he finally got his claws around the scout's neck, he took his time tearing his soul to shreds before feasting on it... the absolute worst crime in Drekar society."

"Ugh... so he's essentially a cannibal..."

"I'd like to deny it, but I really can't," the goddess shrugged. "That night, the grieving townspeople buried their dead in the forest, too scared of retaliation to build a funerary pyre, and Berlioz swore he would force dragonkind to either change their ways or leave the land."

"I still have trouble believing he defeated the Drekar on his own..."

"Of course he didn't fight alone... the town shaman had been researching draconic magic for years, hoping to replicate it, but his counterfeit sorcery was... ineffectual, to put it gently," Reis explained. "Berlioz changed that. He gave your kin the power of soul manipulation, the Dragon's Crest, and instructed the village's best warriors in its use."

"So that's how the dragon knights were born..." Freya muttered, feeling guilty without knowing why. "Did you fight in the war too?"

"No... I simply couldn't handle seeing him and his followers killing, enslaving and feeding on my brothers and sisters, no matter how much they had it coming," Reis somberly answered. "Maybe it was necessary... maybe it was not... I'll never know for certain."

"And what did you do?"

"One night, I told him I couldn't stand his methods anymore. I begged him to at least stop the soul stealing, but he had become hopelessly addicted to the power boost it gave him," the Allmother said. "He promised me he would stop once the war was over, and I believed him at first... but then he established his dragon-hunting cult, and I started fearing for the life of our child."

"What did you do?"

"I left the kingdom and took Li'l Giz with me..." the goddess sighed. "He was just a kid, unable to conceal his true nature, and I didn't want him to grow in such a dangerous environment..."

"Well, that explains a lot," Freya sighed, lowering her eyes. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that..."

"Don't worry, dear... it's water under the bridge now," Reis answered, offering the dragoon a grateful smile.

"I've noticed Berlioz is quite dismissive of his son... why is that?" the knight ventured, aware of touching a delicate subject.

"Ugh... where to begin... both of them are hopeless idealists, but whereas Berlioz is a slave of his lowest instincts and deluded himself into thinking everything he did was for the greater good, Giz has a stronger will and a sharper mind; he never gave into his appetites, not even once..." the Allmother explained. "For Berlioz, his adamant refusal to feed on souls, coupled with his success at staying reasonably healthy without renouncing his principles, are constant reminders of his own weakness..."

"But why doesn't he try to learn from his son instead of shunning him?!" Freya exclaimed.

"Because he's essentially built his whole utopia on quicksand," Reis stated. "He's running out of energy, and being the prideful old fool he is, he refuses to admit that merely patching his short-sighted solution is no longer viable.

"What happens once his reserves are exhausted..?"

"Simple; Fólkvangr collapses and all the souls in it are absorbed by the Crystal, including him," the Allmother explained. "That's not necessarily a bad outcome, though... both of our realms are completely unnatural, and maybe it's a good idea to let the cycle of life take its course unimpeded."

"Wait, how's it possible that Myrkvidr can sustain itself without consuming souls, but Berlioz's domain self-destructs the moment he runs out of fuel?" the dragoon exclaimed.

"You're quite observant, aren't you, dear?" Reis smirked. "The answer lies in three factors: antiquity, design and power source. In a nutshell, Myrkvidr is not only far newer than Fólkvangr, but more energy-efficient too."

"What about the power source?"

"Ah, that's our secret ingredient!" the granny playfully declared. "It's a mixture between my own spiritual power and Gizamaluke's, our people's faith, and residual Crystal energy."

"Crystal energy?! You don't mean the one that keeps the world going, don't you..?" Freya, squeaked.

"Relax, dearie, we're not stupid enough to tamper with the source of all life!" the Allmother chuckled. "During his time in the soul stream, Giz had the unique opportunity to study the Crystal up-close and, much to our surprise, he discovered that it constantly radiates a small amount of spiritual energy to the environment. This radiation can be harnessed to fuel Myrkvidr for centuries... but it's not enough to sustain the two realms at once."

"Then what do you suggest..?"

Without saying a word, the goddess set her teacup on the coffee table, got off her couch, left the room through the curtained door, and came back holding a bizarre, organic-looking polearm.

"W-What is this..?" Freya asked.

"This is King Athelric's spear, the Dragon's Hair," the goddess answered, offering it to her. "It holds the essence of Wothn himself, and is the only blade in existence capable of punching through Berlioz's spirit armor. Be wary, though; this is one seriously arrogant weapon, and won't obey you until you show it who's boss."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on!" the knight exclaimed, horrified by the implications of the gift. "What do you expect me to do with this?!"

"I want you to unite us, Cleyrans, Burmecians and Drekar, and lead us into a new era," Reis answered with thinly veiled enthusiasm. "I want you to succeed where we failed, and for that to happen, you must first convince Berlioz to get his act together and work with us for the sake of our people."

"Um... with all due respect... if he hasn't listened to his own wife and child for two thousand years, what makes you think he'll listen to me?" Freya asked, accepting the spear more out of courtesy than anything.

"He will listen because you two share a common language that Giz and I cannot speak..."

"And that would be..?"

"Power, of course," the Allmother smirked. "Don't worry, we'll be the strength behind your swings, but we require a skilled hand and an sharp mind to guide our blade."

The dragoon didn't answer. Instead, she quietly admired the weapon in her hands; its unfathomable historical relevance still boggled her mind. "This is really happening..." she thought as her fingers explored its surface; it was definitely inhabited by a slumbering god, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost feel him breathe.

"Isn't it ironic..? Long ago, people used to call this spear the Divider of Heaven... but in your hands, perhaps it can unite it for good," Reis said, offering Freya a warm smile.

"... Can we still save the people in Fólkvangr?" the knight finally asked.

"If we convince him to meld the two realms, probably," the goddess answered.

Freya averted her eyes and pondered her options. After a while, she rose to her feet and calmly headed for the front door.

"W-Where are you going..?" Reis asked, following her outside.

"Do you think she's alright?" Zidane asked, watching the Allmother's chalet from the safety of a high tree branch. "They've been in there for a while now..."

"Relax, pal, she'll be fine... I hope..." Puck failed to reassure him.

"Quiet! Someone's coming!" Wulfweard hissed.

The three spirits dove for cover and Zidane held his breath as Reis's door opened and Freya emerged from the house, Dragon's Hair in hand.

"I-Isn't that thing..?" Fridgeir stammered, pointing at the weapon.

"... horribly cursed?" Puck completed his sentence.

"What..?!" the Genome hissed a little too loud, immediately covering his mouth. "... Just how many doomsday artifacts do you guys have..?"

"Would you please shut up?!" the old Partisan chided them, clenching his fists.

Without saying a word, Freya walked to the center of the garden. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath and brandished the spear once; the gentle afternoon breeze turned into a gale, shooting Cleyra's fallen leaves skywards and nearly knocking Zidane off his perch.

FWOOOM!

"Whoa... that's one powerful stick..." the Genome thought, strengthening his grip on the branch just in case.

As the knight began performing what could only be described as a martial dance, a swarm of floating petals surrounded her, trailing her blade like ethereal paint strokes; her movements flowed so gracefully, so seamlessly into each other, that it looked like she had become one with the wind.

"So cool..." Puck whispered, utterly enthralled by the spectacle unfolding before him.

"Indeed..." Wulfweard concurred, his chest swollen with pride.

The Dragon's Hair was by far the strangest weapon Freya had ever wielded, but its most disconcerting aspect was that she could clearly feel the emotions of the spirit sealed inside, and it was utterly distraught.

"You miss the outside world, don't you..?" she muttered, sensing the dragon's sorrow. "It must get horribly lonely in there..."

Refusing to be pitied by a mortal, Wothn immediately lashed out at her, sending a wave of primal magic through her veins that nearly tore her apart from the inside.

"Ack..!" she grunted, fighting back his influence as the leaves whirling around her caught fire and burned with pale, ghostly flames.

"Shit, not this again!" Zidane spat, leaping off the tree and rushing to her aid, but the Allmother intercepted him so fast that it looked like she had teleported in front of him.

"Don't worry, young one. She's got this," she said in a kind, grandmotherly tone that brutally clashed with her inhuman abilities. "Remember what I told you, dear! Show that old fool who's boss!"

The Genome glanced back and forth between the goddess and his lifelong friend before nodding in reluctant agreement.

"O-Okay..." he stammered.

"C'mon, Freya! You can do this!" Puck yelled at the top of his lungs, and both Fridgeir and Zidane immediately followed suit.

Freya's whole body trembled under the immense pressure of Wothn's power, but instead of panicking, she closed her eyes, slowed down her breathing, and cleared her mind. A faint, glowing aura began to form around the knight as she meditated, pulsating to the rhythm of her breathing. Zidane squinted, a little confused.

"Is that some sort of Trance..?" he muttered, eliciting a chuckle from the goddess.

"There are smarter ways to use your power than just letting it consume you, boy," she commented. "I believed he had already taught you as much."

The Genome frowned at the mention of Kuja, and the Allmother smirked in return.

"You're a compassionate lad, and a righteous king... if a little paranoid at times," she stated, eyes still fixed on the dragoon. "Don't worry about your brother. I shall release him in short order."

"Y-You will..?"

"He hasn't paid for what he's done yet... he's not even close... but I've been watching you. I find your ability to forgive inspiring," she answered. "I'll let him know he owes you a big one."

"Hah... that will surely piss him off..."

"I'm counting on it."

The Genome smiled back at the goddess. "Thanks..." he said, sheepishly bowing his head.

"Don't mention it," she said, and then she cocked her eyebrows. "Oh, look! Told you she could do it!"

Zidane turned his head towards his friend so fast that he almost snapped his own neck; Freya was grinning at them, triumphantly holding the (now tamed) cursed spear up in the air.

...

Later, in Myrkvidr Forest

...

Cleyra's illusory moon shone brightly amidst an ocean of stars when Fridgeir began singing the last tune of the night. It was a sweet foreign song about finding hope in unexpected places that no one had heard before, not even his daughter, who had grown listening to his endless repertoire. Zidane and Puck delightedly bobbed their heads to the music while Wulfweard fed a few sticks to their dying bonfire. Freya was captivated by the lyrics, even if she didn't fully understand them.

"What language was that, Fridgey?" Puck asked once the song was over. "Lemme guess... Daguerrean?"

"Bingo!" the bard piped up. "I learned it from a traveler during a gig. Amazing guy, you would have loved him. We got pinned down for hours in a pub during a blizzard; I didn't understand a word of what he was saying, but there was a piano, and I had my mandolin, so we managed to communicate just fine. Maybe we should have set up a tip jar, haha!"

"I've visited a grand total of four different worlds, yet I still feel your stories are better than mine," the dragon knight half-jokingly commented.

"Hey, we did fun stuff too!" Zidane chimed in. "Remember when we went treasure hunting with Choco the Chocobo?"

"... You're not helping, monkey butt."

"Aaanyway, you know my secret, honey," Fridgeir intervened. "It's not the anecdote that counts..."

"... It's the way you tell it. I know," Freya sighed, averting her eyes.

Puck cocked an eyebrow at her reaction. "Um... you okay, girl? 'Cause you're making the face," he asked.

"What do you mean? I'm not making a face!" she retorted a little too brusquely.

"Aw, c'mon, you always have that look when you're about to deliver bad news," he countered. "What's wrong?"

The knight pursed her lips.

"I'm leaving with Gizamaluke... tomorrow," she said, piercing the ghost king with her jade gaze. "We'll try to knock some sense into Berlioz."

A dense silence grew between the four companions... until Sir Wulfweard broke the ice by snorting.

"Why so surprised? She made her choice painfully obvious when she performed the Dance of the Twin Dragons in front of Reis," he said, throwing the last stick into the fire before angling a knowing smile at his former student. "I still remember how you struggled with that form... night after night you trained under the rain to no avail. You just weren't cut out for it, but that wouldn't deter you, no. Nothing would."

"Heh... it was mom's favorite kata. Whenever I felt like giving up on my training, I started practicing it instead. It gave me strength," Freya admitted in a fond tone, and then she sighed. "... I wonder if I'm doing the right thing."

"What does your gut tell you?" Zidane asked.

Freya jokingly pretended to listen to her own stomach.

"... It's starting to believe this could actually work," she answered.

"Then it must be right. Your tummy's always been quite perceptive," Puck declared, rubbing her back encouragingly. A little surprised by his touch, but by no means averse to it, she craned an amused glance at him, cocked an eyebrow, and then returned to watching the flames.

"Thanks guys... for everything," she said, smiling affectionately at the group. "The last few months have been terrible... but it's been an honor to fight alongside you."

Without saying a word, Sir Wulfweard stood up, smiled proudly at his former student and performed the Burmecian salute. Nearly moved to tears, Freya rose to her feet and returned the gesture.

"Well... it's getting late, so I'll be going now," the old knight said, nodding politely at the rest of the group.

"Yeah, me too," Fridgeir concurred. "You coming, guys?"

"I'll stay a little longer, thanks," Freya answered.

Zidane glanced at her, then at Puck, and yawned loudly to dissimulate his mischievous smirk.

"I'll be on my way too... wouldn't wanna be alone with these two in the middle of the woods," he said, cheekily waving at them as he left. "Ta-ta, lovebirds."

"Hey, what the..?! Dude, not funny!" Puck squawked, angrily brandishing his fist at the Genome. "Fucking douchebag..." he grumbled as he began putting on his coat, but the knight grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Hold on a second, Your Majesty..." she said, angling an inscrutable stare at him.

"Freya... I..." he stammered as she pulled him gently back to his seat. "What... are you doing?"

The knight sighed.

"... Look, I've been thinking about what happened earlier on... well, almost happened," the knight explained, letting go of him. "Sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable... guess I got a bit carried away."

Puck chuckled in disbelief.

"W-Why would you apologize for that?" he asked, blushing furiously under his fur. "I've been wanting you to hold me like that for years."

It was Freya's turn to chuckle.

"So... my hunch was right all along..." she said, averting her eyes. "... I didn't want to believe it. It was easier that way."

"Easier..? What do you mean?"

"Keeping my priorities straight," she answered. "For most of my life, I've only had two certainties: that Fratley was my soulmate, and that what you and I were doing was right. Come to think of it, it was an awfully simplistic mindset, but thinking outside of the box terrified me."

"Why..?"

The knight lowered her eyes and twiddled her thumbs.

"I was afraid that if I stopped pushing forward and started asking myself questions, I would realize that our world... our home... was broken beyond repair, and that we had wasted our lives fighting for a doomed cause."

Puck hesitatingly extended his arm and held Freya's hand. She sniffed once and smiled through tears as she reciprocated the gesture.

"I was such a coward... wasn't I..?" she asked.

"It's never cowardly to fight for your ideals, especially when you think you have no chance to win," he answered. "It's just sad that you forgot about yourself along the way and bottled all that pain up. I wish I could have done more to help you."

She angled a loving stare at him, and he lost himself again in her warm jade eyes.

"Help me? You gave me purpose when I needed it most. I owe you my life," she said, gently squeezing his hands. "... It's me who should apologize for not doing enough..."

Puck clicked his tongue, knowing that the subject was bound to crop up eventually.

"It's not your fault. I made too many mistakes, pissed off too much people, and that delusional bastard got me good," he said. "I know the mind probably doesn't work that way... but, please, promise me you'll try to stop blaming yourself for things that are out of your control. I mean, how am I supposed to rest in peace knowing that you're suffering because of me?"

The knight snorted with laughter, and a single tear hit Puck's index finger.

"... For the record, you didn't make me uncomfortable back in the mead hall," he blurted out before he could regret it. "I was desperately trying to stop myself from telling you how much I love you right there and then."

He didn't even have time to think before Freya pulled him into a passionate embrace.

...

Author's note:

The tune Fridgeir was singing is called "L'esperance en l'homme"; it's a beautiful French song written by Claude Nougaro, and if you can spare a few minutes I strongly recommend listening to Marc Berthoumieux's version. You can find it on Youtube for free, so go check it out!

This chapter was revised by Erica, so I want to thank her for her invaluable help. I also want to thank all the new readers, followers and reviewers who have joined us on this surrealistic journey: you're the best, guys!

Next chapter: Freya vs Berlioz!