Artemis Fowl, grieving once more, struggled to stand at attention in the pouring rain. He looked much the same as he always had. Black tailored suit. Pale, smooth, youthful skin, hair that was still largely jet-black.

The difference today was, everyone around him was dressed in black as well. And the clouds over the funeral were of the same color as well.

To say that this funeral was the hardest he'd attended wasn't true. They were all the hardest, as they all hit differently. But this one had an undeniable finality to it.

"He was the last one," Artemis muttered. The group of assorted fairies surrounding the burial plot nodded sympathetically.

Beckett Fowl. The last of Artemis' links to the human world. Gone at 101 years young.

Beckett was, unfortunately, but the latest in a long list of humans to perish to old age while Artemis himself still felt as youthful as ever. For this was the curse of surviving the ages like the fairy folk did: watching the mortals, the ones you leave behind, slowly die before your eyes.

The group which was here to honor Beckett was diverse. Among them was an elf, a centaur, a dwarf, a demon, a tiny troll, a pixel... and a few human-elf hybrids.

The pure elf, Holly Short, at Artemis' side forever and always, wrapped an arm around his waist. Her usually fiery red fringe of hair was weighted down by the rain and its color muted, matching the mood of all present. "I'm so sorry, Arty," she whispered, so that only he could hear her. Her words were nearly lost in the downpour of rain... and the downpour of grief.

In the center of the ring of allies, sprawled across Beckett's plot, was Myles Fowl. He was still the spitting image of Artemis, and he was crying like he never had before. Myles' tears were those of someone who had bottled up their emotions for the past 100 years and not let them out. Because that's what Myles had done. Father's and Mother's deaths, and the Butlers', as they came one by one, were handled by Myles with stone-faced stoicism, as were most of his life's events. He had felt he had needed to put on a brave face for Beckett, who was always inconsolable at these things. Now, there was no one left to put on the brave face for, nor would there be for the remaining centuries of Myles' life.

For Myles, too, was on the journey of the ages with Artemis. Obsessed with eternal youth ever since he was a boy, Myles had, in effect, actually managed to cure the pesky problem of aging. He'd accomplished it only through many years of intense laboratory study and hard work, using the effects of troll venom that Lord Teddy had stumbled onto as a starting point. Myles had safely replicated the process largely thanks to some intensely focused and determined assistance from his brother Artemis, who had had a vested interest in being around for a few extra centuries himself. That vested interest's name was Holly Short. Artemis and Myles had put their heads together, and no problem in the world is unsolvable when that happens.

Tragically, it wasn't until well after Myles had indulged himself in the fountain of youth, when the twins were 20, that he had offered the treatments to Beckett, who responded, in no uncertain terms, "thanks, but no thanks." After Myles had picked his jaw off the floor, Beckett explained the problem. He had fallen in love with a human woman. Which wasn't news to anyone, they were married after all (and were now buried together, reunited at last), but at the time, Myles, in the biggest miscalculation of his life, had simply assumed Beckett would be coming with him on this latest journey, as he always had.

At the stormy funeral, the pixel Lazuli Heitz, who had herself grown quite fond of Beckett from day one, held her ceremonial LEP officer's cap in her hands, wringing the rainwater (and her tears) from it. From time to time over the years, she would think of the day Beckett had refused the life-extending treatments, and today was certainly one of those days.

Artemis had understood Beckett's position immediately. The prospect of one lover outlasting the other by centuries had been one of he and Holly's biggest stumbling blocks. It was the reason he'd worked so hard with Myles on the solution in the first place. Artemis and Holly would have been together with or without it; they couldn't avoid it, try as they might. Their relationship was not contingent on his expiration date. But matching his lifespan to hers was a passion project for Artemis, borne from his selfish desire to be with her for longer than humanly possible. Holly did not object to this concept.

"We'll simply give the youth treatment to your wife, too," Myles had frantically suggested to Beckett, desperate to avoid the inevitable heartbreak. To which Beckett had pointed out, with far more maturity and rationality than anyone expected from him, that that wouldn't do either, and Myles knew it. Because then he and his wife would outlive their own children that they wanted to have someday. If they gave the treatment to their children too, then they would outlive their children after that, and so on and so on.

The chain had to break somewhere. Beckett insisted it be him. He knew that, in the end, this decision would hurt the least amount of people and expose the least amount of crucial secrets. Beckett's wife, and his eventual line of Fowls, should know nothing of the existence of fairies, or magic, or mythical treatments that could cure aging. The fairy People needed it that way. There were too many humans running around with forbidden knowledge as it was.

And Artemis, ever the environmentalist, knew that the secret to anti-aging could not become public knowledge. Mother Earth was hurting as it was with 8 billion humans constantly replacing themselves with new ones. To uncap the planet's population would have been a disaster. The only humans that could know about the fact Artemis and Myles had discovered the secret to youth were the three brothers, their parents, and the Butler siblings, which meant letting Beckett go... or else force him to abandon his human wife. There was no decision-making process for Beckett. He ended up outliving his wife by many years as it was, a fact that had not sat well with him. He had blamed the residual magic from when he was a toddler.

Now, Myles' designer suit was ruined as he lay atop his twin's grave, giving the rain a run for its money. "Why..." he kept repeating. "Why couldn't you come with us?" It was rhetorical, of course. He knew why. But the pain at facing down the next several centuries without his other half was almost unbearable. The scar on his wrist, where the twins had been conjoined at birth, ached as if it knew its counterpart was gone.

Beckett's human friends and family, apart from Artemis and Myles, were nowhere to be seen. The several successive generations of Beckett's kin, and other humans who knew him, had had their own funeral service that morning, knowing nothing whatsoever of the fact that the long-lost brothers Artemis and Myles Fowl were in fact alive, living with a magical fairy folk, and were planning on visiting the grave with said fairy folk that evening.

Naturally, Artemis and Myles Fowl had had to mysteriously disappear, and be publicly presumed dead, when they were in their forties and thirties, respectively. It wouldn't do to have two perpetually youthful vampire-looking men living on a hill somewhere while human society aged around them. So they moved underground, to live among a society of people who lived similar durations and had reluctantly allowed them in. Their parents and the Butler siblings were the only ones who had known they still lived (aside from Beckett), and all of them had declined the extended lifespan offer, too. Mostly for reasons that were variations of Beckett's, with more than one "I'm too old and tired to live for another thousand years" thrown in there.

At the gathering, Myles beat the ground. "Why did I have to be so obsessed with youth? Oh, what a fool I was..." Myles had accomplished so much, telekinesis even, but he couldn't even save his own brother. Lazuli Heitz now knelt beside Myles to lay a hand on his back in comfort.

Artemis was eternally grateful that Myles had been so obsessed. The fruits of the genius' labor were buying Artemis centuries of time with Holly. Today, though, his heart broke for Myles, who was not enjoying such benefits. He wondered if Myles would have taken back his decision to extend himself through the ages if he'd known from the outset that Beckett wouldn't be joining him.

Artemis knew that Myles would have had to attend many a painful funeral, perhaps even Beckett's funeral too, even if Myles had only lived to eighty. But Artemis wisely judged that this observation would not help much. No thought would probably help much when faced with one's twin brother's tombstone for the first time. Not many thoughts were helping Artemis, that was for sure.

Holly looked up at her husband, who was obviously trying to prevent himself crying. "Come on, Artemis, it's okay. You can cry." Holly had shed a few tears herself. Now, though, as she looked at Artemis, she had the terrible thought that perhaps he was having doubts about his whole extended lifespan thing. Beckett's funeral was something he probably wouldn't have had to experience if he'd lived a normal life.

"He was the last one," repeated Artemis dumbly. Father, Mother, the Butler siblings, and all the other humans he'd ever met in his life save for Myles, were now gone. No one living on the surface anymore knew of Artemis' continued existence.

The dwarf Mulch Diggums, across from Artemis in the circle, was regaling to two of Artemis' children, human-elf hybrids who were young adults themselves now, the story of the time their uncles had been possessed by fairy ghosts. The story had been told to them a hundred times by now, but they listened politely. Naturally, Mulch's role in the tale was being greatly exaggerated.

The demon N°1 held another of Artemis and Holly's children in his arms, this one still quite tiny and fussy. N°1 whispered synonyms for various words to comfort them both. He could have magicked away the rain, but knew that despite its gloom, it also had a sort of cleansing power sometimes.

The toy troll Whistle Blower hung his head sadly, half-heartedly beating his chest in tribute.

Myles looked up at the familiar sound. He beckoned the creature closer, where a group hug was shared between the three surviving members of the Regrettables. Whistle Blower had always enjoyed seeing Beckett whenever he'd come down to secretly visit his brothers in the Lower Elements. Beckett couldn't exactly have a pet troll in his family life, after all. Some suspected that Beckett had shared with his wife the tales of his magical adventures he'd had as a boy, but no one ever pressed the issue, and in any case, she'd evidently taken whatever she knew to the grave.

"I'll take good care of Whistle Blower for you, Beck," whispered Myles to the ground.

Whistle Blower punched Myles' shoulder to show him what he thought about being considered a housepet, but there was no heart in it.

The centaur Foaly trudged over to where Artemis still stood in shock, and patted him on the back. "Come on, Artemis man. Don't be the only one not crying at your brother's funeral. It's okay to cry. At least, that's what Caballine tells me."

"Myles needs me strong," offered the Irishman lamely.

Holly squeezed his hand. "Foaly's right, Arty. Stoutness isn't good for you. Myles will understand."

A realization hit Artemis then. "Oh," he muttered. He looked down at Holly. "You're the last person alive who calls me Arty."

The memory of Beckett always beginning phone calls with "Hey, Arty," even when they were both centenarians, was what finally broke Artemis.

Myles, still on the ground, now found himself being tightly embraced by his sobbing brother then, which served only to reignite his own cascade.

Foaly, still standing by Holly, counted on his fingers. "Wait, really? No one else calls him Arty anymore? I thought I called him that."

"Not since he was 15, Foaly," chided Holly quietly. "That was a hundred years ago."

"Oh, wow. Time flies, huh." Foaly scratched his horns. "What about Mulch? I remember him saying Arty at some point."

Holly frowned. "Again, that was a hundred years ago."

"And Myles?"

"Maybe when he was a toddler? It's always Artemis or Brother now, or Dr. Fowl when he's in a bad mood."

"What about your kids?"

"No, Foaly, our kids do not call Artemis Arty. He's lucky when our oldest one calls him anything at all."

"Oh." Foaly took in the sight of Artemis sprawled over the grave with Myles, still crying. The centaur gestured to the broken Fowl men, who were beyond listening to idle conversation. "He needs you, you know. Now more than ever."

Holly nodded. "I know. It's scary sometimes. What's even scarier is how much I need him." Seeing him broken down on the ground with Myles, she again had an inkling of fear that Artemis was regretting his lifespan decision.


At long last, the two remaining Fowl brothers and their fairy family and friends returned to safety deep within the earth. Myles wanted to stay at Beckett's grave, but there was no telling who would be visiting it during the day. Beckett was very popular.

Myles had his own custom house in the Haven City suburbs like Artemis and Holly did, but he found himself wishing not to be alone right now, so he was crashing on his older brother's couch for tonight, and for as long as he needed.

"The kids are asleep. So is Myles," Artemis reported, entering the master bedroom he shared with Holly, who was still awake and sitting on their bed.

"Good. That's good, right?"

Artemis shrugged as he changed into his nightclothes. "I guess." If he doesn't have nightmares.

"You ought to follow suit, then. Rest," ordered Holly. She motioned to the space on the bed next to her.

"I don't feel like sleeping," he confessed. Even still, he climbed onto the bed, sliding his legs under the covers, coming to rest sitting against the headboard next to Holly.

"Do you want to talk about it, then?"

"Not really."

Holly absently lifted a hand to brush the unkempt, still slightly rain-damp hair out of Artemis' eyes. "I think we both know it would do you good, Arty. You don't have to be stoic with me."

Artemis caught her hand mid-motion. "I know I don't," he sighed, kissing her hand. "And I'm grateful. But tonight I just need to process it. I've already had my good cry. I'll be able to talk about it eventually, just like with all the others. Don't worry."

Holly gulped. All the others. "I'm sorry," she blurted, taking back her hand.

Artemis frowned at her. "What for?"

"Well, I know it's silly, but I'm sorry I had to be... you know. An elf."

Artemis looked at his wife with some concern. "Why on earth would you be sorry for that?"

Holly gestured to herself. "Because. I'm not human, so I... I couldn't grow old with you unless you went for this crazy, brilliant aging scheme, living for centuries, which, you know, meant you had to watch your brother age like that. You had to watch your whole inner circle of Fowls and Butlers and all your other human friends grow old and... die." She choked a little on that last bit, but pressed on. "All because of me. And... I'm afraid you're wondering whether... whether it's worth it."

Artemis went wide-eyed, momentarily forgetting his fallen brother. "Good god, Holly, that's never been a question! I mean, think about it. I would have had to bury most of my inner circle even if I'd lived a human lifespan. Except Beckett, yes, and perhaps Juliet, despite her being seven years my elder..."

"Yeah," chuckled Holly despite herself. "She was outrunning you when she was a senior citizen and you had the body of a 30-year-old."

"True." Artemis smiled at the memory, then he sat up straighter, gently placing his hands on either side of her face so she couldn't turn away. "Holly... Look at me, Holly."

In his voice, Holly heard a level of tenderness Artemis did not often employ. She could not look anywhere but into his eyes.

"Believe me when I say this. You are worth everything, Holly. Yeah, so I had to bury my younger brother when it's usually the other way around. That's unfortunate. But I wasn't living with Beckett, making love to Beckett, waking up every day next to Beckett, or raising a family with Beckett. Those things, are things I do with you. You and I are going to be growing old together, and I wouldn't trade this life together for anything. Understand?"

Holly wiped rogue tears from her eyes, nodding eagerly.

"Good." Then, Artemis' tone slipped into more bashful territory, as he continued, "And, I assume... Well, rather, I hope... that you still feel that same way, about me?"

Holly let out an ounce of laughter at that, her first since the start of this awful chapter. Still, it was enough to make Artemis momentarily forget his worries. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, of course I still feel the same way. I always will."

"That's... good to know."

"I haven't been carrying your children out of boredom, you know."

"Wait, really? I thought for sure that that was why."

Holly playfully swatted his arm. Then she remembered how this conversation had started, and couldn't help the guilty look that appeared on her face. "Artemis, I'm so sorry."

"Oh? What is it this time?"

"I'm serious. I shouldn't have doubted your resolve, even for a second. I don't know why I said what I said."

Artemis ruffled her auburn hair. Its fiery aura was slowly returning as it dried. Artemis' smile was also returning. "You said it because you're honest to a fault. And don't worry about it. Rumour has it, I've had my fair share of insecure moments in this relationship myself."

Holly chuckled once more, glad to be back to this comforting space of shared wit, even for a few moments. "Yeah, you have." She intertwined her fingers with his. "Thanks for the reassurance, Arty."

"Any time. And, about the way you often call me Arty..."

"Yeah?"

"You're the only one who uses it now, as I mentioned earlier..." Artemis tried to put the reason for that fact, Beckett's death, out of his mind for the moment. "And, well, I'd like it if you were to keep using it, for as long as you're willing." He again seemed almost bashful, even after all these years. Close to a century. "If that's okay with you, of course."

Holly smiled. "No worries. I'll keep the term of endearment alive for as long as we shall live... Or until you get sick of it... Arty."

Artemis smiled back.