I hope I never see you again as long as I live.

Most nights, Gael heard those words echoing back to him in a nightmare. He'd be standing in a pitch black void, scouring this way and that for Polnareff. And every time he'd find him, Polnareff would scowl at him and turn his back, walking off into the darkness until it swallowed him whole. No matter how much Gael pleaded and screamed his name, he wasn't coming back. The deeper he'd go into the gloom, the more despair began to pang in his chest, and all he could do was drop to his knees and cry.

I need you to believe me! Please! I didn't do it. I didn't steal from you. I'd never...I love you.

Sitting with his knees brought up to his chest, and head buried in his arms, the insensitive words he told him that day, lying face-up in the grass, resurfaced and cast the cumbersome weight of guilt.

You never stop and think for even a second before jumping to conclusions. If you had, you would've been able to hear my side of the story and draw your own conclusion from that, yet here we are. Here I am. Lying on the ground because of you.

It's not like someone as dumb as you would understand anyway.

Gael wept. "I'm sorry! I'm so , so sorry!"

"Gael?" The voice in front of him was meek - innocent. Gael lifted his head, peering past the tears swimming in his vision. Sherry was standing there in her bright, blue dress, holding her large, brown teddy bear.

"Sherry?"

Sherry kneeled down in front of him, placing her dainty hand over his. Her soft, blue eyes looked up at him and she smiled warmly. "Eirigh suas a stoirin. "

"What?"

Sherry beamed. "Rise up, my love."

Taking ahold of both of his hands, she stood and gently lifted Gael to his feet. He looked at her, speechless. How did she know that phrase? She didn't even know what eirigh suas a stoirin meant; he never got the chance to tell her. Gael and Sherry looked into each other's eyes, intertwining their fingers. She was all aglow to him, the only light radiating in his dark world. But shouldn't it have been Polnareff? He was in love with him, not Sherry.

Sherry rubbed the top of his hand with her thumb and smiled at him. "Can you see me now?"

"Sherry..." He didn't understand what she was trying to tell him. Not even a little bit.

He'd seen her often in his dreams. The most recurring of all involved Polnareff abandoning him, leaving him in the dark, or in a dry, desolate landscape. Instead of abandoning him along with her brother, Sherry was coming to save him - telling him the same phrase over and over again: Rise up, my love. What did it all mean? How could he decipher its meaning?

Shortly after his return to Galway, Gael's heartbreak swamped over every inch of him. He never wanted to hear the word France nor see a pair of scissors again. Explaining to the Parisian paramedics about Polnareff's aunt and how violent she'd been was useless. He didn't know a lick of French, and apparently they didn't speak English very well. That was when he took matters into his own hands and begged to use the hospital phone using odd gestures he thought they might understand if they tried. What a pain in the ass that was.

Gael was more than willing to forgive Polnareff for scarring his face. Hell, before he made the phone call to the Polnareff residence, the idea of having a badass scar made him feel tougher than what he actually was. After Polnareff broke off their friendship over the phone, his view quickly changed. The scar would do nothing but haunt him – hurt him.

The longer he stood there staring into his mirror in his bedroom, the more his self-loathing sank into the core of his being. Silver Chariot's scar brought memories flooding back to him, both good and bad.

Polnareff's silver hair shimmering in the sunlight, his dorky laugh, his unique sense of humor, the art that he refused to share with anyone but him; after all, Gael was his co-writer, he said so. Then he recalled their first meeting. Gael received his first kiss, even though it wasn't an official kiss kiss. Cherished most of all, he thought about the night Polnareff opened up to him on the roof of his house, confessing to Gael about what a wonderful friend he truly was. Those were his favorite memories of him. But the events that unfolded during his last visit shook him. Part of him shoved those beautiful memories into the abyss of his mind, telling him that they mean nothing. They will always mean nothing - Gael had no friends, and that's how it would always be.

Polnareff would never forgive him, just as he would never forgive Jean-Luc.

Gael confined himself to his room, rarely ever leaving his house other than to stroll around Galway Bay and run errands for his mother. Writing was the only way he could express himself fully, as there was no one he felt he could truly talk to about what happened to him. That's what his poetry was for. He lived in a time where people wouldn't approve that he had fallen in love with another boy. Masking his feelings was what he had to do, even though he wished things didn't have to be that way. He'd have confessed to Polnareff a long time ago if that were the case.

But alas...writing vague love poems was all he had.

At first, they were poems about his facial scar. Poems filled to the brim with self-hate so searing, it would set the papers alight and incinerate every last sheet he had.

At the edge of seventeen, Gael turned to alcohol and cigars. Cigars that, to begin with, were his dad's. Guilt sank in and he knew he couldn't keep snitching his father's cigars, he didn't want to be reprimanded to hell and back by the old bastard.

Dr. Callaghan had made the complaint that Gael did nothing but sit in his room all day, and that he needed to get out and get a job. Brilliant idea. That way Gael could pay for his own vices. Although he had to do so via sneaking money into the hands of one of his co-workers, who was of legal drinking age. Everyone in town always bragged about what a hard worker he was. How he pulled others' shifts when they didn't feel like busting their asses. What they were aware of was their own perception; if only they'd seen the broken heart Gael was masking underneath his playful nature and work ethic.

If keeping busy would make him forget about Polnareff, then hell yeah, he'd work everyone's shifts. If smoking and drinking made the burden he'd been carrying a little lighter, then it was worth it.

Ever since he came home from Paris, it became evident with Gael keeping his distance from his parents that something was deeply wrong with him. But every time his mother asked about it, Gael always dismissed it and told her it was nothing. She didn't believe him. And it wasn't like he could just come out and tell her a man at work was buying alcohol for him, a minor. His dad would kill him.

Gael had lost count how many times he and his dad had gotten into heated arguments over his reclusivity. Fuck him. What'd he know about his problems? Gael threatened once to walk out on his parents and move to Dublin for all the badgering his dad was doing, and the pushiness of his mother, constantly trying to get him to confide in her about his inner turmoil. Feelings that made him wish he had the worst case of amnesia. Maybe then moving on wouldn't involve him feeling as if his soul was being torn asunder every time he'd get a moment of peace, only to think of Polnareff all over again.

God damn it all to hell. It was over. When was his mind going to process and accept that? There was nothing left for him in France. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't care about Polnareff at all. And Gael was no liar, he always said. However, he made the exception at the expense of protecting someone else. The same went for keeping promises. He'd sooner break his back than break any promise he ever made, no matter how stupid it was.

The promise he made Jean-Luc nagged him at the back of his mind constantly throughout his teen years. He said he'd be there for Polnareff and Sherry until his dying breath, and he meant every word of it, god dammit. He promised himself he'd protect them - that he'd willingly give up every ounce of life force in him if it meant they could live long, happy lives. With or without him. It was like he was taking over in Jean-Luc's stead.

Gael did his best to push those thoughts out of his mind entirely, convincing himself time and time again that he could no longer fulfill his promise to Jean-Luc, nor to himself. For that, he hated himself so much more. His wish to die far outweighed his will to persevere. All he could do was linger on those thoughts and drown away his burdens with whiskey. Soon, he'd become no better than the local drunks walking up and down the street in the late hours of the night, shouting god knows what. Only when Gael was drunk, he walked out to the bay as the sun departed in the horizon.

His bare feet stood upon the rocks as the waves crashed on the shores. His breath drank in the salty sea air blowing in his face as he chucked an empty whiskey bottle out into the ocean and shouted over the waves. "What's the matter with you!" his words slurred. "Damn you, Jean, you stupid son of a bitch."

The few locals that overheard him always shot concerning glances, and others sneered in disgust, wondering who in the hell he was shouting at out there.

Gael's sleeves as well as his shirt fluttered in the wind as he outstretched his arms to the sea. "Fackin' arsehole!" Gael sank to his knees, his loud laughter turning into loud sobs. " I love youuuuu! "

Usually during sunset, he did this. Standing on the shores, shouting his deepest feelings out onto the sea as if it were a friend willing to keep his darkest secrets safe from the rest of the world. In his inebriation, he felt liberated beyond his wildest dreams. Almost as if he was a bird, flying aimlessly in the clear, blue sky without a destination in mind. He could say whatever he wanted. To hell with the disapproval of others that heard him. To hell with bottling up his truths. His spirits were high – higher than the midday sun.

But with his buzz of liberation came consequences. Gael wandered into town late one evening, slurring his words, swapping laughter for tears erratically, and laying all his issues out for the world to see, making many strangers uncomfortable to be in his presence. One of the older women that knew his parents, phoned the garda who then arrested him for public intoxication, underage drinking, and disturbance of the peace.

While he was in custody, Gael ruminated on his behavior, wondering what his dad was going to say. Was he going to light into him up one side and down the other? Probably. To his shock, it was his mother he should've worried about all along, because his dad didn't even get in the first word before she let him have it.

Gael promised himself he'd never drink in excess again. Seeing how upset it made his mother helped him realize the errors of his ways. Great. Another reason to hate himself. Just lovely. What a wonderful life he was living. She'd done an amazing job raising him and because of his stupid actions, she was being talked about behind her back by people who were supposed to be her friends. Eileen was being accused of doing a piss poor job at raising her only child.

Fuck those gits , Gael thought. I know my mum better than they ever will. She's the best mother on the planet earth and if they don't like it, they can go stick their heads up a cow's arse and eat shit.

It eventually got harder for Gael to hold a job down. His mind was too rife with irritability and depression to focus or muster up the energy to take care of himself, let alone fool with the machinery at the textile company. After quitting, Gael decided it best to pursue a writing career instead. Thanks to his falling out with Polnareff, channeling his emotion into writing had made the craft grow on him even more than when he was a kid. With practice came improvement. Gael's writing skill progressed further than he expected, and for a while he was confident this was the job he wanted. Unfortunately, it went without saying that his decision made Dr. Callaghan furious.

"You empty-headed eejit! Here you are with brains in one hand, and you go and put a rock inside your head! The hell are you thinking, quitting your job at the factory?"

"Dad –"

Dr. Callaghan pounded his fist on the dining room table. "You think you can sit at your desk all day spouting fairy tale shite and earn a decent living? Are you dumb?"

Eileen reached for Dr. Callaghan's shoulder. "Now, Johnny –"

"Ohh, don't you now, Johnny me. Boyo's gotta learn he's not gonna get far just sitting at his goddamn desk. I oughtta burn the damn thing and be done with it."

"Now, you listen here!" Eileen balled her fists, pressing them into her hips. "Gael's a smart one, smarter than most."

Dr. Callaghan scowled up at her from his chair. "Really! If he's so smart, then he can come work with me for the Speedwagon Foundation and forget about this storytime bullshit." He shifted his attention back to Gael, directing his words at him now with a finger pointing at his face. "With the potential you got spillin' over, you need to quit wasting so much time in your damn room. I didn't raise a sack of potatoes. You wanna good job? Take up the Callaghan tradition – actually get your hands dirty."

Gael bit back the need to retort, squeezing his fist shut under the table. "I'm not working for Speedwagon."

Dr. Callaghan sat up in his seat and eyed him, pissed off. "The hell you're not!" he bellowed.

Gael shot up out of his chair, skidding it across the floor as he did so, and bit back at his father. "Why can't I? Isn't Ireland known for its literature? What, you think I can't do it?"

Eileen gave Gael a shake of her head, warning him that he'd best shut up if he didn't want things to escalate.

Gael was too infuriated to acknowledge her. "George Bernard Shaw did it, Oscar Wilde – fackin' Bram Stoker!"

"But ya ain't them, are ya?!" Dr. Callaghan's voice was harsh, booming. Eileen flinched as he shouted across the table. "You're an eighteen-year-old boy living under my roof, and I'll be damned if I see ya off just to hear you've gone and starved to death in a pungent alley! Dreams don't pay the heatin' bills!"

His hand graced his brow and he let out a quiet sigh. His eyes wandered over to Gael, studying the look on his face. Several emotions combined together inside of Gael; he didn't know which reaction to his father's anger was the correct one. Breathing in through his nose, Dr. Callaghan spoke calmly.

"I'm not telling ya you can't write stories, I'm just sayin' that making a career out of it ain't a good idea. Do what you want, I don't give a damn, but as far as you going off to a university for writing, the answer is no."

"Johnny –"

"Shut it, Eileen!" he snapped, then redirected his attention to Gael. "Gael, you're a damn good boy. I just don't want to see you throw so much potential away. There are better options, son."

Gael's eyes leered up from the table. "I don't want those options, though, dad. Why is it so wrong that I want to have a job I'm passionate about? Because I won't be making much money? I don't give a shit about that."

"You will when your stomach's empty!" Dr. Callaghan thundered.

The room went quiet. Gael's chair fell back against the floor as he stormed away from the table and made his way upstairs to his room. Eileen outstretched a hand to him, calling his name as the bedroom door slammed shut.

Gael seethed in silence behind his door, glancing to the mirror that served as a heart wrenching reminder every time he saw his reflection. It was no use trying to get his dad to understand him; he was far too set in his ways to consider adapting new perspectives. Sadly, this included Gael's. If the thought of being denied wasn't enough to trigger him, it was that damn scar.

Again Polnareff entered his mind, fueling his emotions like gasoline to a blaze. Staring at his reflection, they grew to new heights, overwhelming his mind and creating a sensation that felt like his heart was being squeezed like a lemon.

The answer is no!

I don't blame God for abandoning a worthless piece of shit like you.

I trusted you! What happened to you being my best friend?

But ya ain't them, are ya?!

When are you going to wake up and realize you're fucked up in the head?

Gael clenched his jaw and stepped over to the mirror, giving it a good sling across the room.

CRASH

Glass shattered, tiny fragments sprinkled all over the floor. Gael's sorrows burst through the barricade he'd been keeping over them for too long. Years of repressed pain bubbled up like a mentos in a coke bottle, pouring out of him with no signs of stopping any time soon. Gael collapsed to his knees, his forehead leaning down to the cold floor as he pressed his palm to it and released hushed sobs.

…fight back if you wish, it's useless. Just like you!

I didn't raise a sack of potatoes.

Gael, I don't want us to ever stop being friends. I don't care if we disagree sometimes, you're my best friend and that's the way it's going to stay.

I hope I never see you again as long as I live.

Gael lips pulled into a wide, frowny smile and he heaved up a loud sob.

I hope I never see you again as long as I live.

I love youuuuu!

I'm Jean Pierre Polnareff. And you are?

Gael Callaghan. But you can call me the Northwind o' Galway.

Kisses fix everything. She told me so.

I promise you, , I'll do my absolute best to take care of them. I'll be there every step of the way from right now to my dying breath.

Gael's closed eyes winced tightly at the heartache cutting through his chest as his tears dripped into the floor.

Jean's never going to be alone, because I'll be there with him every step of the way!

Whether I'm there with him in the end or not, I believe in him. He is my best friend – my only friend.

…my best friend…

…my only friend…

And like that, he couldn't take it anymore. Gael's eyes shot open and he sat up, sniffing back his runny snot as he wiped his face. Gael crawled over to his desk and climbed up into the chair, pulling out a drawer filled with cigar packs. He stuck one between his lips and fished a lighter out of his pocket to light it.

Giving it a few puffs, he inhaled and savored the sweet, smokey flavor seeping into his lungs. The itching and burning gave him a good raspy cough. He was getting used to it, though. Soon, there would be nothing to inhaling cigar smoke. Gael grabbed his pen, pulled a few sheets of paper across the desk towards him, and went to work. Another night, another worthless poem.

🔸️ 🔸️

Jean-Luc met with Dr. Callaghan and Merlin in Marseille shortly after leaving home. With every step he'd taken away from Polnareff and Sherry, the bigger the ache in his heart grew. Dr. Callaghan had gone through the trouble of contacting a notary for Jean-Luc a few days prior to their meeting. It was the least he could do. Jean-Luc's determination wasn't letting up. But there was one problem – just one.

Adel could no longer be a parental guardian, and now Jean-Luc's plans were a mess.

He realized too little too late that she was unfit to raise Polnareff and Sherry the way they deserved to be raised. This put him between a rock and a hard place. Sitting there in the lobby of a hotel, Jean-Luc went over his will, erasing Adel's name from the document.

"What am I going to do now?" he wondered out loud. Merlin and Dr. Callaghan glanced over at him. "I don't know anyone else that would be a fitting guardian. Johnny. Could you…?"

Dr. Callaghan shifted in his chair. "As much as I like your kids, I'd gladly say yes in a heartbeat. But my wife is already getting up in age and having problems with her back. Shite, raising the one we've got is stressful enough, let alone two more."

Jean-Luc sighed.

Sitting quietly between them, Merlin ran his finger along the sapphire stone in his ring. Dr. Callaghan couldn't take on that responsibility, nor could Adel. There was clearly no one else left to choose from. Merlin lowered his gaze, resting both hands over his cane.

"Choose me."

Jean-Luc looked up, unsure he'd heard him correctly. "Master Merlin?"

"Make me their godfather." he repeated. "I may be confined to my valley in the Hohe Tauern mountains, but since Mordred's first betrayal, I took an oath to always assist your family whether I must do so from afar or in their presence. It matters not. You know as well as your father did that I always manage to find a way."

It was better than having no one to watch over Polnareff at all, but for Merlin to put himself at risk of being found by Mordred, as well as his kids? Jean-Luc couldn't bear that. "Master, no. What if –"

"Dear boy, if I could spend centuries looking after your ancestors until their dying breath, and their children after them, then what makes this any different? I watched your father grow into the man he became, and so watched over you. It goes without saying that the time to carry on this legacy has again fallen upon my shoulders. I may not be able to come and go to your home as I once did, but rest assured, Jean-Luc, your boy and your daughter will be taken care of. You have my solemn word on it as a hamon user."

Dr. Callaghan nodded, concurring with Merlin. "Boudreaux and I will work with him."

Jean-Luc swallowed. His offer was more than generous – it was a godsend. And it wasn't like he couldn't trust the man that spent years training him to use hamon; the same man he looked to as a pillar of strength in dark times. Merlin was the very man Jean-Luc sought for wisdom. He was the only parental figure he had left after his father passed. Indeed, he would make a fantastic godfather for his son and daughter. Seeing his options were minimal, Jean-Luc agreed. Taking up his pencil, he scribed Merlin's alias onto the document taking the place of Adel's name.

Dr. Callaghan made doubly certain to meet with a notary in affiliation to the Speedwagon Foundation, ensuring that Merlin's identity would remain confidential. Callaghan's ancestors, namely Galahad himself, had always worked with Merlin in order to keep him safe. Relocating him was sometimes necessary as one of Mordred's followers would discover his whereabouts, and not long after, so would Mordred. In the case of Nimue, Merlin's beloved wife, Mordred trekked through heavy snow and many miles on foot to reclaim Stigmata for himself only to find Nimue alone with Stigmata nowhere to be found. The dire consequences of finding Merlin's home brought her an unfathomable death committed by none other than Mordred's stand, Primal Fear.

Jean-Luc's will was notarized that morning. All was finally set in place for when he didn't return, and he suspected as much, as grim as that was to think about. Jean-Luc's heart grew heavier after leaving the hotel and driving off to Munich, Germany with Dr. Callaghan and Merlin at his side. And he wouldn't show it. Not to anyone. He'd have that determined twinkle in his eye, carrying his unswaying resolve tightly against his soul. Merlin and Dr. Callaghan were astonished at his bravery and willingness to run straight into what they proclaimed was a death trap.

Part of Jean-Luc knew that's exactly what it was, but another part of him clung to a hope that he would succeed. He had to for Polnareff and Sherry. Jean-Luc's final wishes, when involving Dr. Callaghan and Merlin, was to say his goodbyes to them in a holy place – a place he loved to visit each time he'd be returning to Austria for more hamon training. Asamkirche.

Jean-Luc got a good long look at the frescoes above and around him. The gold statues, the ornate designs, and who could forget the symbol of death cutting someone's lifeline with large scissors? He'd definitely be remembering that one. The three men sat on a pew, side-by-side, with their heads bowed and eyes closed. Merlin uttered a hushed prayer for Jean-Luc, placing his hand to his shoulder. Dr. Callaghan did the same in silence.

"May God be with you." Merlin finalized. "Amen."

Dr. Callaghan pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and took a swig, making Merlin's eyes go wide. "Must you bring your debauchery to a church, of all places?"

"I'm Irish. I drink at funerals for cryin' out loud, whaddaya expect?"

Jean-Luc managed a smile amidst his inner struggles. He was going to miss them. Merlin's eyes stayed glued to the altar, taking in the silence all around them.

"Can there be no other way?" he spoke, nearly whispering.

Jean-Luc lowered his gaze, stomaching his guilt. "I'm afraid there's not. Merlin, there is one last thing I need you to do for me."

"What might that be, Master Polnareff?"

Jean-Luc inhaled through his nose, bringing his eyes to the pew in front of him. "Teach my son hamon."

Merlin turned his head, stunned at his request as they looked at one another. "You would have me continue down this path…"

Judging by the tone in his voice, Merlin was offended. Jean-Luc sighed, regretting asking him at all, but with this being their final meeting, knew he had to be upfront. "I left a message for him."

"A message? What message?"

"I told him everything. When he finds it, he may decide to go to your house in Tal Hoffnung and begin his journey as a hamon user."

Disbelief filled Merlin's eyes as a dark revelation rained down. "You spoke the oath to him…"

Jean-Luc remained silent, keeping his eyes to the pew.

Merlin scowled. "You reckless man. Have you any idea what fate you've put in motion!? Your boy will surely suffer!"

"I am doing what any father would do." Jean-Luc retorted.

"I hope you are aware, Master Polnareff, that all those deaths before you are on my hands. Your father's, yours, no…no! I refuse to train anymore of your kin!" Merlin shot up from sitting, tapping his cane loudly on the floor. "It is one thing for you to fight Mordred and bring Ouroboros to ruin, but I cannot stand here and allow you to pass this damnable curse onto your child."

"Merlin –"

"I won't hear of it!" Merlin thundered. "With the defeat of Mordred, there is at least a sliver of hope – a chance. What happened to preserving your children's future? A future without wasting their lives away?"

Jean-Luc rose from his seat to meet his mentor's gaze. "Everything I am doing is for them! Can't you see that?"

"You tore your family apart. Tell me: was that done for them? Will it not impact their lives to be without a father?"

Dr. Callaghan rolled his eyes and grumbled lowly, taking another swig from his flask.

Jean-Luc glowered back at Merlin. His words cut him deeply, but he understood where he was coming from. Still, what other choice did he have? They stood a greater chance at Mordred's cult discovering that Jean-Luc was the holder of Stigmata. He couldn't put his children in that sort of danger.

"I embarked on this mission with the utmost optimism." Jean-Luc spoke solemnly. " I would slay Mordred and find a way to destroy Stigmata. You know that's always been my goal since I was a boy in training." His eyes lowered as he looked away. "How foolish I've been. It wasn't until after I met Rhiannon that the truth began to sink into the very pit of my soul. Before, it seemed easy. I pushed myself to my limits and became the best because I believed it would be me that would end this family's perpetual cycle. Me! And then…" He gazed up at all the angelic faces on the frescoes above him, feeling his sadness surface. "...and then I fell in love; I made a family. That's when I realized it wasn't about me and what I wanted. I finally had something precious to protect. My goals changed. And now...I understand that there me be no escape for my son. It's going to continue to eat this family's future generations alive, ripping away all that they hold dear because our fate is forever tainted."

Merlin eyed him judgmentally, but allowed him to continue.

"This conflict inside of me has been tearing me apart for decades. Decades! When Jean and Sherry were born, that conflict grew bigger. And the only questions I asked myself were: Do I do what's best for my loved ones and leave to put an stop to this, even if it means hurting them? Or do I grow complacent and lose them by Mordred's hands on account of my selfishness?" Jean-Luc clasped a hand over his heart and looked at Merlin. "Either way, I have lost them forever."

A single tear shed from Jean-Luc's eye as he closed them and bowed his head. Merlin just stood by him and said nothing, unable to find the right response. "Please, Master Merlin," Jean-Luc pleaded, "I'm not asking you as your student…I'm asking you as your godchild – teach my boy everything you know. Tell him what I've done for him."

Merlin hesitated, taking a breath. "Oh, Jean-Luc. For nearly 1500 years I've versed your family in the art of hamon. And in those 1500 years I've had my fair share of revelations…" He paused, placing a hand to Jean-Luc's shoulder. Brown eyes expressing empathy looked back into his. "...one being that no matter how hard you train, no matter how adept you become, neither you nor your boy will wield hamon as hot as the sun. That is the only means of destroying Stigmata."

He didn't want to accept that – could not accept that. Jean-Luc frowned.

"I understand what you're trying to do," Merlin continued, "you are the best father that boy could ever hope to have. And I love you as if you were my own. But it's been so many centuries, and I have grown so very tired."

In the blink of an eye, all the hope that Jean-Luc had held onto slipped like sand through his fingers, leaving him with nothing. Polnareff wouldn't be taking on the family legacy in his place. In a way, Jean-Luc was relieved. But that means Stigmata would still exist and Mordred would always be hunting it as well as Merlin. Who was to say he'd never cross paths with Polnareff or Sherry? It was just as he said: either way, they wouldn't win. Hope was never theirs to have, and so, would not be following Jean-Luc into battle.

An eerie coolness seeped into the church, making Dr. Callaghan shiver. "Goddamn it's cold in here. Hey, you two feel that?"

Jean-Luc gave him an impassive look, then noticed Merlin jolt as if a chill ran up his spine and tingled his senses. "Good heavens! What was that?"

"Oh, you jumping like that? Means someone just walked over your grave." Dr. Callaghan teased.

Merlin shot him an incredulous look. "I must say! What nonsense."

As they went back and forth, Jean-Luc felt a presence lingering in the back of the church. Looking back, no one was there, though he picked up on an eerily familiar feeling in his gut. The feeling that Polnareff was standing near the gold skeleton by the entrance. There was no dismissing it, his entire being sensed it clear as day. Odd, as there was no one there. And yet…

"Jean?"