Disclaimer: Once again the end is nigh, tears have been shed, Squaresoft shareholders have been murdered in their sleep, but alas, I still do not own any rights to Final Fantasy.

Thank you everyone so much for reading. I hope I gave you all a different perspective of Celes and that it evoked some emotions in you as you read. I promise you, though, this won't be the end. There are many ideas floating around in my head, waiting to be written. For now, sit back and enjoy the finale of my pride and joy.

Following the Finale, I've decided to add an epilogue. It's a bit superfluous, but I like the imagery.

Finale: Fallen Angels

Figaro went not into celebration, but into mourning. Terra was dying. Shadow and Gogo were missing. And no one dared imagine Celes' fate.

Immediately after stopping in Figaro, Setzer returned to the Tower Ruins with a crew of volunteers to search for their fallen comrade, while his friends waited and wondered.

Nearly three days had passed, and hour by hour, Terra's strength waned. She lay unconscious, so still and pale. Her normally milky skin had become ashen and her once vibrant jade hair a now pallid and sickly hue. One could easily think her dead if not for the soft wheezing of her shallow breaths.

In the early morning hours of that third day, the Returners stood scattered throughout the castle infirmary, each secluded to his or her unspoken territory. Edgar remained faithfully seated at Terra's side, keeping gentle hold of her limp hand. Locke sat across from the king, his vacant stare never leaving the young woman's face. Sabin paced restlessly at the foot of the cot, his concerned gaze alternating between his companions and the rising sun.

Cyan stood vigilantly at the window, though whether to watch for Setzer's return or to avoid the sight of the dying woman, no one could discern. Mog was perched on one of the empty cots, staring at the stone floor, while Umaro stood mutely next to the moogle. Strago lay resting on a cot opposite Terra's, weakened from the disappearance of his magic. Gau sat cross-legged on a small table close to Cyan, silently watching everyone else.

Relm had retreated to the corner farthest away from her companions. Sitting on the cold stone against the wall, her knees drawn loosely up to her chest, the girl stared numbly into space. The only movement she made was to absently scratch Interceptor's ears or occasionally rub her temples when another migraine hit. The death of magic left her with waves of blinding headaches to accompany her mounting grief. Unlike the others, she already knew the truth. She could feel it, and the pain was like losing her mother all over again.

((ooo))

Setzer looked up into the sky, and the cerulean heavens stared down at him. The rising sun of the third day smiled on, oblivious to the gambler's dread. As each day ended, hoped faded into the world of night.

He swept his gaze across the field of rubble. The Rune Blade. That's all Setzer and his team had found. Unbroken, unbent, not even a scratch to tell of its frightful plunge into the Tower Ruins. The runes on the steel shaft retained an enigmatic glow, as if holding some secret just out of their reach.

An echoing cry sounded above him, and Setzer returned his gaze to the sky. Squinting against the unfamiliar brightness of the sun, the gambler managed to discern the silhouette of an eagle soaring overhead.

((ooo))

The Returners stirred as Terra's eyes blinked open. Emerald orbs slowly came into focus and alighted on Edgar's relieved expression.

"Hey there," he greeted gently.

Her voice was hoarse and weak as she seemed to struggle with a reply. "Hey. Is it over?"

Edgar nodded. "Yeah. It's over." The king gestured towards the window. "Look, Ter. Blue sky."

The woman turned her gaze to the window and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. A faint smile graced her lips.

((ooo))

VOICEOVER (Edgar): "How are you feeling?"

Setzer wandered aimlessly amongst the ruins, climbing over concrete boulders and absently kicking pebbles. Every once in a while, the gambler poked around the tower remains, overturning slabs of rock and plates of iron. He was rewarded by Chance when the hilt of a sword became visible, protruding conspicuously out of the wreckage.

VOICEOVER (Terra): "…I'm dying."

The gambler tugged the sword free. It was not one he recognized immediately, but the gleaming white blade looked somehow familiar.

"Search the area," he ordered the excavation team.

VOICEOVER (Edgar): "You're not going to die."

Setzer stared at the opalescent blade. Images of a blonde wielding a black sword came to mind, and he realized it was the Ragnarok. The damned weapon had been released of his curse and made sacred again by Alexander's Grace.

VOICEOVER (Terra): "I…I can see them…"

"Sir?" one of the men called. "I think we found something."

VOICEOVER (Edgar): "Who? Who can you see?"

More debris was swept aside, revealing familiar hair turned back to its normal blonde hue. Two men took hold under the body's arms and pulled it free of the rubble.

VOICEOVER (Terra): "Leo…and……….Celes."

As the two men carried her lifeless form out of the ruins, Setzer caught sight of that angelic face, battered and stained with dried blood. He dropped to one knee and held his head in his hand, unable to contain his tears.

VOICEOVER (Terra): "They're waiting for me."

((ooo))

"No…no, Terra, don't go to them…!"

Her eyes grew vacant as she stared into nothing. A tear slid from her eye as she whispered, "Bye…"

"Terra!" No response. "TERRA!"

Edgar's voice was fading fast and Terra found herself surrounded by light. The figures of her fallen friends were the only break in the brightness. With her last breath escaping her lips, her eyes closed, and her hand relaxed in Edgar's.

The king's screams went silent to the others' ears as time seemed to slow for the warriors. They witnessed the scene in flashes as if it was a skipping record. They watched a distressed Locke hold Edgar back as Sabin laid Terra flat on the floor and began attempting resuscitation.

For twenty minutes the martial artist pumped her chest and blew air into her lungs. When it was clear it wasn't working, Sabin sat back and held his head with his hands. Relm's sobs could now be heard as the sounds of the world gradually rolled back to their senses.

Hours passed. No one said a word. Whether from shock or grief or anger, it wasn't clear, but it seemed silence was the only thing the Returners were capable of. Eventually, the sound of footsteps approached, and they all looked up to see Setzer walk into the throne room. The pilot immediately noticed the somber expressions on his friends' faces.

"What's with the gloom?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

Edgar's bottom lip trembled. "Terra…she…"

"Oh gods…" Setzer lowered his head and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Not now…"

"Setzer, what is it?"

The gambler grimly met the king's gaze through strands of silver hair that fell over his face. Then, with a look of regret, he glanced over his shoulder. Two men from the search team trod slowly into the hall, bearing the fallen knight, once again clad in the armor of Genji, on a stretcher. The Rune Blade lay on her chest with her hands folded atop the hilt, and the Ragnarok rested beside her. The icy pendant around her neck no longer glowed.

"No…" Locke whispered.

In horror, the thief covered his mouth with his hand, but not before a sob escaped. Falling to his knees next to the stretcher, Locke buried his face in Celes' lifeless hand and cried.

((ooo))

At dusk, the bodies of Terra and Celes were carried through the halls of Figaro and into the desert where the funeral pyres awaited. Two columns of Figaro's Royal Guard led the chocobo-drawn carriage, while Edgar and Sabin trailed solemnly behind with the rest of the Returners. By the thousands, the people of the desert kingdom, as well as citizens from all across the world, gathered along the sides of the procession, each holding a lighted candle in reverence for the two fallen angels.

The bodies were placed on the altars, and the fires were lit. As the pyres were devoured by flames, a half circle of Thamasan women began to sing a ritual chant for their departed Magi sisters. With a heavy heart, Relm joined in the hymn, her eyes empty and her expression vacant. The innocent voice bearing the weight of grief was a razor to the souls of her comrades.

The fires burned long into the night. One by one, the Returners turned from the pyres, walking slowly back to the castle. Each left until only a solitary person remained. Locke stood on, staring blankly into the flames as though his very spirit had been consumed by them.

Two women.

Two promises.

Two pyres burning to ashes.

And so two tears rolled down his face. He had failed.

((ooo))

It felt too soon for the warriors to celebrate, but the people of the world could not be denied. With Edgar's consent, the festivities to celebrate the end of the war began. For the most part, spirits seemed to lift as the Returners rejoiced. Edgar, Sabin, and Setzer were joking around again while the king and gambler periodically hit on the young women present. Mog danced for hours, finally putting a smile on Relm's face. Umaro watched the moogle, at one point trying a jig of his own. Cyan and Strago chatted about the old days and laughed heartily as Gau chased Interceptor. Locke, however, remained apart from the others, off in his own world as he sipped his champagne.

Eventually, the thief retreated to Figaro's memorial hall, unable to stand the smiling faces any longer. Once there, he walked along the outer wall, sparing fleeting glances at the swords and shields and suits of armor from kings past. He stopped when he reached a particular display: the armor of Genji, still without a single mark to betray its wear. Nearby, two monuments of white granite stood. The one marked Terra Branford held the Atma Weapon in its stony grasp. In the other, the Rune Blade and Ragnarok lay embedded.

He traced the letters of the second name with his fingertips. Celes Chere.

"They were both incredible, weren't they?" a voice wondered.

Locke didn't look away from the shrine. "Yes, they were. Too bad it was in vain."

Sabin crossed his arms thoughtfully. "In vain?"

"For however wonderful and strong they were, they couldn't save themselves. No one could…"

"Sacrifice isn't vain. It's virtuous." The prince could tell the thief wasn't convinced. "Celes did save herself, Locke."

"How?"

"You see the Ragnarok there? It's pure, freed from the evil it housed for centuries."

"So?"

"I believe in my heart that Celes found that same salvation, that she, too, was freed from all the darkness in her. She saved us all, so don't begrudge her for making a choice."

The thief sighed. "Maybe I'm meant to be miserable."

"I think you're miserable only if you choose to be." The prince put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "You'll always miss her, Locke, but at some point, you just have to let go."

Locke was silent as Sabin withdrew from the chamber. The thief took one last look at the monument, the glowing Rune Blade and the pure shining Ragnarok shedding an eerie light upon the etchings in the white stone. He felt a cold presence radiating from the monument, and somehow, he smiled.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow

And so passes the descent of Rune
Not with a whimper