Spoilers for Halo: Divine Wind ahead. You have been warned.

Word Count: 726


As afterlives went, this was better than he deserved, a penance he'd gladly pay. To greet them as they pass on; to welcome them to eternity.

He got to see the fallen again, history and sentiment drawing them to this simulacrum of home, giving it meaning (and it must be that, no one from Zone 67 or Currahee's original staff are here, he'd looked). Alpha and Beta Companies, whose fates had plagued his nightmares for twenty years. Headhunters and Noble, for whom he'd only bought time. Gladius, Dante, & Holly, dead because he tried to buy them time.

They're all whole here, ageless and unmarred. It. . . helps, just a bit.

His other Spartans, at least, arrive in a trickle rather than a flood; in ones and twos and sometimes teams. Every reunion is heartbreakingly too soon. The universe continues to murder his kids, just not as thoroughly as before.

They tell of the War ending before they were deployed, saving them from certain annihilation. They tell of how their family was torn apart and scattered across the stars, because what he'd done to help them against the Covenant now made them a threat to ONI.

Mark arrives alone. He cries with Dante and Holly, at seeing them again, at leaving behind Ash, Olivia, and Mom. Kurt never had the chance to meet Veta Lopis, but he's grateful to her. For being there for them like he couldn't, for helping them grow into better people than himself.

Not-Onyx is a nexus—maybe they all are—and everyone has thresholds they know instinctively. He watches his Spartans cross them freely, or pull each other along to meet those once separated by the gulf of space and fire from the sky. He's met a few of their families, brought over by those they both raised. Not many, though; most feel the same way about him as he does Parangosky, and his Spartans don't deserve to be caught up in that animosity, to perhaps be forced to choose.

He has two, but he's never crossed them. The last thing he wants is to not be around for one of his Spartans when they arrive, he's failed them enough already.

The IIs would understand. He can't begin to guess at his blood family.

Time is linear here, but not consistent. Some days tick by like eons, some decades pass in heartbeats.

They're aging in the land of the living, moving on and healing as best they can. His Spartans now usually arrive at ease, at peace. No angry children, driven by the unfairness of reality; a few young men and women, mourning words unsaid or jobs unfinished. They're dying before their time, and he'll always think that.

Saber gathers one day, and ask him to follow them into the forest. The woman who takes Mark's hand through the threshold is small and ancient, but wraps him in a tight, sobbing hug as he introduces them all to Mom. The living learned to carry on without Mark, even brought Fred into their family ("You never got to call him Dad," she says through tears, "never got to meet the kids."), but this rips open old wounds like little else.

Veta thanks him for making her kids so hard to kill, then kicks him in the shin for training children in the first place. None of them can be physically hurt now, but he understands the sentiment.

Tom and Lucy arrive hand in hand, as they inevitably must, trailing Adam and Min, completing Beta's roster; old and gray, with laugh lines and tales of smiling children (and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren). They move with fluid Spartan grace but dress like civilians. He doesn't know if they crossed together, or if one waited for the other. He won't ask, for all that they were the closest to being his children. It's not for him to know.

Lucy says his name, time and peace and family doing what his own efforts could not. The pair talk of introducing the three of them to their namesakes, decades from now.

It's strange, to look at them and see they're older than he is. They've lived the lives he wanted them too, and more. He couldn't be prouder, couldn't be happier, even if he's crying when he puts his arms around them.

He can't think of a better way to spend eternity.