Disclaimer: DBZ isn't mine. The plot of this story is. All original charas are mine, and even though the world was based off some elements of GW, that's mine too. After all, isn't the world in Dragon Lance (Krynn, in case you don't know) more or less based off of J.R.R. Tolkein's Middle Earth?

Warnings: High angst content. Possibly some cursing. Not much violence, I don't think. The last part to this story, but be warned: there are some short stories in the making to go along with it.

Losing Innocence

Book II

Epilogue

The sky overhead was gray, as if the planet itself mourned the loss of one of her people, and was less because of it. The blanket of clouds, blocking the sun's harsh light, was undisturbed for miles around, and those clouds could have given way to rain at any time, but it hadn't. Blowing gently, blowing ruthlessly, the wind changed its patterns without the slightest regard for common trends, and the few leaves remaining on the near bare trees rattled hollowly. He was surrounded by death, and all its morosely plentiful sounds.

He needed no reminder. The pain in his heart was enough, and his memory reached deep. Never would there be peace for him, not after all that had passed. Shaking his head and sighing deeply, Trunks stared up at the clouds, remembering. There'd been a time when he'd done just this, though the scenery was different, and his heart weighed not so much. Troubled, as all young are, he'd lain on the grassy lawn of a small island, and contemplated the mysteries of the universe.

Now, he knew all too much, and his soul was no lighter for it.

Then, he'd not had the pleasure of knowing what it meant to administer death so cruelly, nor had he felt the pang of loss quite so suddenly, or in as great numbers. But as was then, his mind could not stray from the same subject, despite all his attempts. No, there would be no relief. No chance for forgiveness.

His sins were too great.

All that bloodshed… And what had he accomplished? So many lay dead at his hands, and still more would be laid to waste by means originating in him.

Nothing.

That was the beauty, and that was the terror of it all.

He'd done absolutely nothing.

As if to echo his sentiments, the air grew chill, and the leaves that had blown aside were forced from their original trees. The ground beneath his feet trembled, and the cool earth seemed to sigh.

Despite everything. He'd tried…yet both armies were no closer to seeing eye to eye than before, and if he'd done anything at all, he'd kept them fighting. How strange it seemed, when he knew better than anyone how wrong these battles were. From personal experience, he knew neither side was right, nor was either side wholly wrong, and Trunks realized that both were terribly misguided into thinking the other was as evil as… well.

The androids.

He'd talked to soldiers and mechanics all, the beginners, and the veterans, and they'd seen something in him he could never guess. In him, of all people, they'd found hope, and because of it, he would lead yet more generations to destruction.

I tried so hard…

Pointless. He'd given so much, trying to get them to see, to realize by their own will how mistaken they were. Trunks had wanted them to realize what the only course of action could be. But they were as blind as he'd been to his mother's admonitions, seeing only what they wanted, and not one bit what he needed them to. In many ways, this world was precisely the same as he'd come to it; it was a blackened hole of misfortune and death that took everything into its embrace and left it, cold and rotting.

My fault.

Everything he did was for naught. Because of his actions, there would come yet more bloodshed, when he'd wanted the soldiers to become more than what they were. Had he been foolish and naïve enough to think they'd miraculously turn out to be the warriors he remembered from another time? Had he truly believed these people, driven to despair by a pointless war, could be  the heroes he wanted, needed, them to be?

In his mind, an image of those heroes glimmered. Like the sunset, they were glorious and brilliant, and to see them was to hold a deep longing. Bright and powerful, as was that final ending for the day, they'd lasted but moments in the history of human kind, but their mark would forever be remembered, if only by him.

All that I've done is kill hundreds, and create the means to demolish yet more lives until those weapons of mass destruction are nothing but ash.

And in twenty years, it would all be the same. Certainly the technology would change, and the legions may very well have different names or causes, but the war would go on. He knew this now, as he had when he'd come here, and he could only hope that his dream was nothing more than that, and not some freakish prophecy held to his life, his death, or his very existence.

What he'd done already was difficult on his heart, and still more would be unbearable.

None of the pilots, not one of them, knew how to repair a suit. Despite his ranting about the need for self-repair and self-efficiency, he could never fully motivate them to fix their own problems. No one was interested, save Alex, who wanted to do everything for himself, no matter how impossible it seemed. Trunks smiled sadly, remembering how arrogant the kid could be.

Kid. Trunks sighed.

That wasn't the word…not any more. They'd seen poverty, all the pilots, and all the horrors of war. Death. Oh Kami, have they seen death… Destruction. Murder, pillage, rape and fear. They'd seen all these, and experienced many. No, they were children no longer.

And even that was not enough to get them to end it all, to stop this war before it claimed the lives of all the young, precious children untouched by this hardship. It was hardly enough for them to shed a tear, much less stop their 'cause' for it. No…with suffering comes the hardening of one's heart, and when that happens, there's nothing left but a shell. No cause was worth that, for in strength of heart and mind comes true courage, and from that well of power comes the ability to do anything. These adults, soldiers all, knew nothing of the ways of a warrior.

They had not the strength, nor the endurance.

It grieved him to know this.

Regardless of everything, they would not give up their belief that they would win, no matter how feeble this conviction seemed under close inspection. He wouldn't be able to persuade them, though it wasn't for lack of trying. Like Gohan had done before him, to an altogether different boy, young and arrogant as these nine were not, Trunks tried to talk them out of their chosen courses, and just as he himself had done when he was in their position, the pilots ignored him completely. No one would keep them from the ways of war, it seemed, and in that Trunks found great sadness.

He'd thought he'd known the full extent of depression and the hardship that came with her, but Trunks had found there was always more to learn, especially when concerning the heart.

But…Gohan died to protect me. There would always be a dreadful misery with that particular thought, but…there was also strong affection, and great respect. He tried to show me all that came with the life of a warrior. Perhaps his mentor had meant for him to take a different lesson from his downfall, but Gohan's demise had only pushed Trunks further. I'd known either of us could die at any moment, but… I didn't understand any of it… not until then. The memory was clear in his mind; even now, he could taste the rain as it fell on the two of them. One alive. One dead, and the power that had coursed through him… the power of the legendary Super Saiyajin lingered still.

I didn't even try to save Alex. There was no 'but' about it. He could have done more; he could have left them all in the care of his mother, or at the very worst he could have left them all unconscious, as Gohan had left him. But he remembered well the pain he'd felt when that had happened. He'd been ridden with guilt because he'd not been given the opportunity to prove himself to his teacher, and he hadn't been given the chance to help him, so he sympathized with those young pilots. It seemed he didn't know when to allow them to help, or when to protect them. He knew neither the depths of his own abilities nor theirs, and perhaps he overestimated all of them.

Weak.

The accusation was met with no resistance. He couldn't be anything but that, not if he let the lives of children overcome his desire to protect all that needed his help.

So Alex was dead, and Trunks alive, when it should have been the other way around.

I've achieved absolutely nothing…

Yes, it was true that the two beings he'd worked his entire life to destroy were now helpless, dead to the world and unable to regain any form of life they'd known. His mother made sure of that… Even if someone managed to fix the broken circuits, and replace the  missing chips, the 'savior' would only find a bomb, timed to go off as soon as the necessary connections, those all-important passageways for the androids to function as living things, as soon as they were made. And still, with all these little precautions in place, the twins were buried deep within steel coffins, hidden where they'd landed, their graves adorned with nothing to impart the secrets they kept.

But their demise was hardly his to claim. He'd done nothing more than hand his mother the plans, those scraps of paper he'd developed in the shadow universe, and then he'd left. There was nothing else to it, and those two abominations, his foes for so long, were not really gone.

They hadn't suffered. Not like their victims had…

And his world, the place he'd grown up in, fought for and lived for… was gone. There wasn't a trace of his planet left, nothing to suggest it had ever existed. His mother had known, or at least guessed, this would happen when the problems that had created their timeline were 'fixed' in the past, yet everything as it was had remained the same. Their people were living on borrowed time. Even the androids.

It was just a matter of waiting before that gift ran out.

The people Gohan, his father, and so many others had died for, they might as well have never existed.

His life, and all the work he'd done, was meaningless.

All for naught.

Sighing to himself, Trunks stared at the simple, gray headstone that marked Alex's grave, the small thing without even a name to identify the boy. There was only a date, a few flowers, and a pile of dirt. For safety measures, the scientists had said, to ensure the body remained untouched. How many others have they buried, in graves like this one? Trunks wondered, and tried half heartedly not to cry.

He'd made his good-byes, and done what he could to ease his and the others' sorrow. He had nothing to offer but that, however, and what he'd picked up on his journey here.

From the sky, the field in which he'd found it glimmered white like a blanket of snow, radiant and lovely, and without the chill. Drawn by its beauty, Trunks had stalled his travel and landed amidst the soft, fragrant flowers that grew in abundance here. They were nothing more than weeds, really, far too hardy and strong to be considered beautiful flowers, being nothing like the delicate wisps of things that so often adorned graves, and for this, he was reminded of a boy, a man, with the ability to be strong where Trunks hadn't been, this amazing adult who was resplendent in his own right.

For Trunks, no other token would do.

As he looked around the quiet meadow, he saw not the graceful willow standing guard over his departed friend, nor the river that wound itself around them. In his memory, he watched the pilots, and the silent right that had marked the burial. Who will be the last? He wondered. Which of these brilliant, idiotic fools will be the last to stand?

The wind stirred, rustling the leaves like a death rattle.

The Mads, who made them these soldiers? Closing his eyes to the world and its pain, he tried to blank his mind, to erase the images burned into his memory. For a moment, he saw nothing, and then, he saw it…

And his heart broke.

"Trunks," a voice called, shaking him from his thoughts as he'd begun to put words to the nameless vision in his head. "We need to go, sweetheart." His mother. Despite himself, Trunks smiled. Once, I thought I'd never see her again…

Once.

Now, they were all that was left of a world that had once been great.

Lifting his eyes to the gray sky above, he prayed this world would last long enough to see the end of this Kamiforsaken war. "I'll miss you," he murmured, uncertain if he spoke to the pilots still alive, or the one who'd died to save them all.

Well. At least one person saw the significance in duty, and in the heart.

One.

*****

Actum este.

That's the last of Losing Innocence, though two specials are on their way. Slowly, I might add. I have no proposed dates for those, just before March 9th. Short stories, both, I might add, and detailing what caused Vegeta to become the way he was in the shadow world, as Trunks calls it. That fic is dedicated to UnromanticPoetess, for reminding me that I had absolutely no reason for Vegeta to be the way he was, other than some vague circumstances I never went into. The other will be in efforts to explain the mysterious enigma that is Red. If you have any plot-builders/little bits and pieces you'd like to see in either of those, feel free to tell me. I'm always open to suggestions.

That, and one comment can send me into a writing spree. *Winks*

I'd like to take the time now to thank my editor and friend, Meghan, without whom this would not be possible. She's done more editing than I'd care to remember, pushing and prodding me to be the best I can be with my (current) abilities. She's helped me with grammar, pointing out all sorts of repeated words and misplaced modifiers, and she's given me plot suggestions that turned the tables for this fic. I'd also like to thank Taise, for being a friend as well as a brother, and for cheering me up when I was feeling awful and inspiring me to write a good deal of the "advice to the soldiers" bits. He's been a support column I couldn't do without. This story would not have been possible without him, either. And of course, I must thank Felix for allowing me to 'borrow' the first part of her story, and branch off it into my own. *Smiles* very nice of her. Naturally, one must also remember the reviewers, the kind people who inspire authors to turn out more than they'd believe possible, and inspire us (me, at least) to getting things fully completed. Special thanks to you all who took the time to give me feedback…I'd like to think I've grown as an author during this journey, and a lot of that would be because of the little remarks that make us all stronger.

Thanks also go out to KB Jackie-chan and Raen for commenting on the last chapter. *Smiles*

KB-- entertainment has more of an effect on life than we'd all like to admit, ne? *Grins* and thank you for the compliments!

Raen-- need I say it again? You're intelligent, thoughtful, thought provoking, entertaining, and altogether wonderful. Especially at reviews. *Grins* thanks for a very comprehensive, detailed review! *Laughs* and I thought Seventeen's weatherman report was funny. *Silly smile* I dunno what that makes either of us, but you're not alone! (Taise and Meghan agree with us…) once again, thanks.

Good bye for now, everyone, but don't forget: comments, critiques, questions, rants and general reviews are always welcome. Almost especially after the whole thing's said and done with.