So here's the epilogue... it's told from Ragnarok's point of view, rather than Lightning's. And, no surprise here, we're actually continuing this series. We have the sequel... sorta close to being done. Anyway, thanks for reading our epic crossover-crossover series!

Valhalla. Palace of the dead. City of dying dreams. This is where I long to rest. But I cannot depart the living world, for I made a promise I don't dare break.

I promised you that I would protect all you loved… yet how can I protect them when they choose to leave their humanity behind? How can I, a mere god bound to a cracked Stone, protect anyone? How can I love what you loved?

How can I love when you are dead?

'I tried'—that is all I can say when they ask why I could not stop you. 'I tried'. I tried to save you, to pull you back from the Door… but your soul was never mine to claim. You did not love me, not like you loved the damned.

I am not damned. I live… but you are dead.

What is it you long for, rose? You found your distant shore. That is what you wanted, isn't it?

I have seen that shore, long ago. We both caught a glimpse that day when the serpent stole your life—I, too, died that day. Yet here I still stand in my garden of mist. Why is it you could pass on so swiftly while I could not—no, cannot?

I am afraid, rose. I am afraid of lies behind that Door.

He is afraid, too, yet he would never dare challenge the goddess to revive your pure soul. He searches for you, even now. I cannot help but wonder if we had both tried to stop you… would you have stayed?

Not for me, of course. For him.

Them? Yes. A heart encased in gold, a soul torn apart by madness… Two minds, one body. One soul. One soul that loves you more than you could ever know.

I am but one man. I grow older as the days pass by, and soon I will join you on your distant shore. I will walk where he cannot. But I know your heart will not be sated with my love—it never was, no matter how hard I tried. There are others with you beyond the Door, others that died while you lived. Some died in your arms, others in battle—but all were taken from you, or so you believed.

'The goddess of death is cruel,' the mad one tells me. 'She takes what she desires: the humes she created so she might be loved. Love, yes, love! What is it? Do you know, old man?' he asks me. 'You love her—but you cannot have her. You are old; when will you die?'

Can you see him? Can you look beyond the silver glass, beyond the cold Door, and see what he will become?

He has changed. His eyes look through me as if I am a ghost; he whispers to the dead and asks if he is worthy. He wanders hopelessly, murmuring apologies that the dead cannot hear. I fear that I have failed him. And in turn, that means I have failed you. Have I?

'Get you to the Door,' the mad one says to no one important. 'Get—get! Leave me here, so I might rot in the ground and feed the worms.'

The serpent smiles at this. Smiles and laughs. I cannot bear to look either of them in the eyes.

'A trick,' the serpent hisses in my ear. 'Trickery at its best. Come, old man. Join us, would you?'

I am afraid, rose. I am afraid of what I cannot see.

Are you blind to us? The ones you left behind to chase after lost dreams. The ones who loved you… no, still love you.

Are you content, rose? Are you content with your distant shore, the people you love and the hearts warmed by your smile?

'The dead do not have hearts. I do not have a heart. She is gone—gone away like my mind. Am I mad, old man?' he asks me. 'All the best people are mad. Are they? Why won't you look at me? No, don't! Don't—don't look at me, old man.'

I cannot protect him. I cannot fulfill your dying wish because I am weak. That is what they, the serpent and the mad one, tell me.

'Get you to the Door,' the mad one purrs. 'Get you to a land where fools are kings and monsters are praised. Get you there, old man, and tell them what I have done.'

I can only watch as he retreats within himself and continues to mutter. The serpent slithers about my neck and sighs.

'Our time grows short. Why not make it last? Why not, say… visit an old friend?'

I think I am dying, rose. The mad one feels it, I know—why else would he tell me to see you?

'Curse her name,' he sobs one night. 'Curse the white lady for taking my heart—heart! I have none…'

The serpent sighs again; he sighs just like you, losing a bit of his life with every breath.

'We best leave,' he tells me. 'There is naught else we can do.'

I am trying to save him, just like you asked. Even then, with all my efforts, he will fall into madness. If even fools cannot make him smile, what can I do?

I am old, rose. I pray that the white lady will be merciful and let me see you one last time before I am cast into the sky.

'There is much to be done,' the serpent says to me. He is looking rather bleak these days. 'So much. So little time. We will wait and see. Won't we?' The serpent smiles. 'You look weary, old man.'

He is right. But I will not leave; not yet.

There is much to be done.