Light yellows shot through the gray cloud cover as Dunban watched the sun rise over the Eryth Sea, his heart still bruised from the evening before. Though he knew the landscape that unfolded in front of him was beautiful, he found it difficult to feel the normal tranquility that accompanied such a sight. After the confrontation with Melia the previous evening, he could think of nothing but the tears in her eyes and the heartbreak in his body. It was impossible for him to leave Alcamoth without seeing her again; maybe she would change her mind if they saw each other once more. Her denial had wounded him; he didn't know if he would ever get over it.

Nonetheless, he would respect her decision to not engage her in any more discussion regarding a romantic relationship. However, his lack of knowledge regarding the after effects she experience alarmed and disturbed him. Every bone in his body itched to do something to alleviate her pain, even if he were not able to support her on a deeper, emotional level. It had never occurred to the Homs that she was still reeling from the experience a year and a half later. And the fact that she had kept it a secret from everyone...

That in itself must have been very lonely.

Clenching his hand, the man turned away from the waking sun and trudged up the hill. How had he been so blind? Had he truly been oblivious to her suffering, so concentrated on reaching her that he failed to take into account what other emotions lay beneath her masque? Such deep emotions that she imprisoned and never wanted them to see the light of day, like her sorrow and grief over the deaths of her father and brother.

Brushing the sweat from his forehead, Dunban walked up the shore towards the teleporter, his muscles sore from his run. Considering what James had said to him yesterday morning, it all made sense: her withdrawing, the lack of communication between Melia and those closest to her. The Empress didn't want them to worry. And maybe she was partially ashamed. It was not his place to speculate, though from what he knew of her, he thought it were a possibility.

I know not what I am.

The waver in her voice caused a pang of distress to vibrate through him. Fear of the unknown was a powerful motivator. And perhaps that was the key of why she had pushed everyone away; that was the underlying reason for giving up the crown.

Regardless, someone had to know. He stepped onto the teleporter and materialized in at the entry gate. As he produced his papers once more, merely a formality at this point, the Homs considered the probability. Yes, he knew that Melia could bear the weight of heavy secrets and the hopes and dreams of hundreds of souls, but there was another factor at play. If she were scared for herself, she would want to ascertain the status of her health and wellness.

Bella.

He paused just as he reached the end of the entryway. Melia could know about her childbearing abilities if she had seen a medical professional, for as far as he knew, Melia had only rudimentary knowledge of humanoid anatomy. And the only one who would keep the Empress' condition a secret would be Bella, especially since the healer was already apprised of Melia's history as a Telethia. If anyone had any knowledge of how to possibly alleviate his ex-lover's condition, it would be Bella.

Half an hour later, the man was in the clinic, hastening down the halls, looking for the Homs Entia. Thoughts racing and blood humming, Dunban hoped that the healer would give him something he could do to help Melia. Anything at all, even if it meant traveling once more to find a solution. Finally, he found her on the second floor in the far corner office, bent over paperwork.

"Bella."

She looked up, eyebrows raised and adjusted her glasses. "Dunban. I did not expect to see you. Is there something you need?"

He walked in and stood in front of her desk. "I want to know what's happening with her."

"Please, sit."

Taking a seat in the chair opposite from her, Dunban forced himself to stay rigid; it was difficult as his body was alight with adrenaline, making him want to fidget this way and that.

"I assume you mean the Empress?"

He nodded.

"You know I cannot discuss with you anything that specifically pertains to her bodily health. Patient-Doctor confidentiality." Bella leaned back in her chair and crossed her hands on her lap. "She did say to me that you would come for answers."

Clenching his jaw, Dunban ran his hand through his hair. Melia knew him too well.

"Is there anything that can be done?"

"Easing or erasing her symptoms? Not that I know of at the moment. When I am not administering patients, much of my time is spent researching and experimenting to answer that very question."

"Have you found anything?"

"Not yet."

"Can you at least tell me when these cycles started?"

The healer pursed her lips for a moment. "No, I cannot."

He exhaled.

"There's nothing that can be done at the moment, Dunban. It will take time to understand how her body has changed."

Rising from his seat, he said in a flat voice, "Thank you for your time."

"There is one thing I can tell you as it does not directly relate to the Empress' health and more to my experiments." She took out a folder from her filing cabinet. He gave her a questioning look. "I have been running some tests with her blood to understand its molecular structure and how it differs from the general Homs Entian's."

"I assume you found something."

"After some tests, I have determined that the blood has regenerative capabilities. We know that only a few Telethia have this power. It seems Melia's blood has it as well, though much more powerful. Enough to replace all kinds of cells, living or dead. I injected a sample of the blood into a rat's body. The rat had previously fought another rat and its leg was broken. The injected blood repaired the leg in half an hour and it was able to walk as if the leg had always been there."

She fell silent, as if waiting for him to respond. However, the man did not, only returned her stare. He knew what she was intimating. His heart trembled in his chest, but his face remained impassive. It was too fantastic a concept, and hardly tested.

"Granted, I need to run quite a few more tests. But these results are promising."

"I must go."

Bella nodded. "I will keep you apprised of what I find."

Hesitant, he departed. A thousand more questions popped up in his mind, wondering if it would be possible...But he refused to entertain a single one. False hope was not something he needed now. And he had more important things to worry about.

For the next four days, the Empress avoided him. Every time Dunban asked Serenity if he there were any spot in her calendar for him to meet with her, the young woman regretfully shook her head and said there were none. Melia was solidly booked up; all of her efforts focused on making the transition as smooth as possible (regarding every other matter unrelated to the elections). Once or twice in the late evening, the man went to her apartment and knocked, each time hoping she would answer the door, but she did not. He suspected that the woman would not be in any of the places that she generally frequented as to avoid any sort of interaction with him. She had stowed herself away so effectively that Dunban knew he would have no way of reaching her unless she called for him.

But that would not stop him from trying, though he knew there were only so many more attempts before he had to let go.

The man only wished to see her face once more, even if it were to mark the true end of their relationship.

On the fifth day, he found Serenity in the Great Hall (again), and asked (again) if Melia had any openings in her schedule.

However, instead of the usual sorrowful, apologetic gaze the young woman gave him, hers was fully of worry and tears.

"Serenity, what's wrong?"

"The Empress...she's gone." The young woman whispered.

His heart stopped.

"What do you mean 'she's gone'?"

"She is gone. Do you not understand?"

From behind the young girl, Elrich appeared, looking grim. The bodyguard turned his head to the side, checking to see if any passersby heard him.

"Where did she go?"

Elrich did not respond.

"Elrich. Where did she go?" Dunban demanded.

"We don't know."

Dunban turned to see James walking towards the growing group, his expression also knitted concern.

"She didn't tell you?"

"She left us a note saying she'd be alright. And that she'd be back in her own time." Serenity sniffed, her voice quivering.

"Where is Tyrea?"

"She's gone off." James said, looking nervously at Serenity.

"When she found the Empress' note, she just left." Serenity said. "I don't think the Empress told her she was going to do this."

Melia did not share her plans with Tyrea? That could only mean she truly wanted to be alone.

A pang of sadness hit his heart. Was this because of him that she was rejecting her closest friends?

No, that was selfish to think. After all, she had shown him her scars last night. The image of the green seared into her arms was hard to forget; Melia had started another cycle. Regardless of her reasons, it didn't change the fact that she was gone.

Murmuring his goodbyes to the others, Dunban turned and headed back to his quarters. It was no longer avoidable; the man truly had to let go.

Melia had made her choice.

The small candlelight of hope in his heart flickered and died.

Her answer was no.

"Dunban, would you please focus?!" Fiora nagged.

The man looked up from his writing and found himself starring into the irritated gaze of his younger sister. Her eyes were narrowed and gloved hands settled on her hips. Even in such a delicate dress she mustered an intimidating air.

"I don't know why you think that I can give any advice on this sort of matter." Dunban said, unamused.

It had been a week since he had returned to Colony 9. Though his heart was heavy when he left the Diamond City, the man was comforted to return to his second home and his sister. Upon his arrival, Fiora welcomed him with a scream an a hug and quickly proceeded to organize a gathering consisting of Dunban, herself, Shulk, and Reyn. It was a small dinner, but enough to cheer him and lighten his mood. At dinner, the guests adeptly avoided the subject of the Empress and instead discussed the happenings at the Homs Colonies, to which he was grateful for. Dunban assumed Fiora had coached toher fiancée and friend to not speak about the Empress; her skills of perception were impeccable, and the young woman was able to deftly evade any conversation that involved her best friend or the High Entia as a whole. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly and soon he was back in his own bed, falling asleep, mind blank for the first time all day.

After a few days, Dunban felt it was time to share what had occurred between himself and the Empress. He invited Fiora to take a walk with him that morning, and proceeded to inform her about his last interaction with Melia. Fiora had listened intently, showing signs of both sympathy and sensitivity. Once again, as he had been many times before, the Homs was grateful that his sister had inherited the emotional acumen from his parents that he had not.

Shortly afterward, Fiora set herself on a mission to distract Dunban from any sort of emotional turmoil and rumination. Which was exactly why he now found himself in the middle of a situation he would rather not be in: assisting Fiora pick out a wedding dress for her upcoming nuptials. Currently, the man was sitting in a faded, plush chair in the corner of a brightly lit parlor, skeptically eyeing his sister, who stood on a small circular platform in front of a large floor length mirror.

"You're my brother. I trust your judgement." The young woman said, turning back around to face the mirror and examine the dress she wore. It was fairly fluffy: the skirt was entirely taffeta with the top layer made of silk cinched like hanging curtains all the way around the dress. It had two very large puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Additionally, she wore a set of gloves that extended all the way to her elbows.

"What do you think?"

"It has...very large sleeves."

"Dunban!"

He looked quizzically at her and sighed. "Honestly, it makes you look like a cake. And the gloves are unnecessary. You aren't attending a ball."

"See? That's more like it!" She clapped her hands together. He wasn't sure why she was excited by that criticism. "I'm going to try on another." The young woman bounced off the platform and trotted into the dressing room, pulling the curtain behind her.

He returned his gaze to the journal in his lap and the scribblings he had been making before the interruption. The previous day, Dunban had inquired about a teaching position at the local middle school, an institution that he had helped put in place during Colony 9's reconstruction after the Fall. As luck would have it, the school's principal was looking for a history teacher. School was set to begin in a month, and Dunban knew he had his work cut out for him considering he was a first time teacher. But he was grateful for his new purpose; it required his full concentration and additionally added some much needed excitement.

The swish of the curtain prompted the Homs to look up once more from his work and found himself staring at Fiora in a dress that was vastly different from the previous one. It was short, coming up just above her knees with an illusion neckline. It was more of an ivory than a stark white, which he liked, but it was too short for such an important occasion.

At least, in his opinion.

Stepping onto the platform and giving herself the up and down in the mirror, Fiora glanced over her shoulder and asked, "What do you think about this one?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's not fitting for a wedding."

She whirled around. "It's my wedding, Dunban."

"It's my money, Fiora."

"Really? That's your response?"

"Yes."

"That's so unfair!"

"And that is inappropriate."

"Ugh, you are the worst."

"You invited me here."

"Fine. I'll pay for it myself." Pivoting back to the mirror, Fiora twitched her nose back and forth, dismayed. "You sure? I think it's amazing. My favorite one so far."

The guilt trip. He could hear the whine in her voice.

An attendant wandered over holding a garment on her arm, the woman's platinum blonde hair a severe contrasted against her mocha skin tone.

"How are you both doing?"

"She'll take this one." Dunban nodded.

Fiora whipped around again.

"But you said—"

"You like it, Fiora. As you said, it's your wedding."

"And you said it's your money."

"Which I want to spend making you happy."

As if she hadn't known that already.

Clasping her hands together, she grinned, the smile reaching one ear to the other. Her eyes sparkled with delight, and he couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Dunban!"

"We'll need to get you a veil and some shoes to go with that. Would you like gloves as well?" The attendant asked.

"Oh no. I'm not going to a ball."

Suppressing a grin, the Homs male went back to his outlining.

"Would you be interested in adding this robe? It's made out of the finest High Entian silk. We just got a few in yesterday."

Dunban stiffened and kept his eyes downward. Fiora shook her head vigorously and shot a glance in Dunban's direction, her brow knitted together in concern.

"I don't need that."

"Fiora, if you want to try it, you should."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Hesitantly, the Homs woman slipped into it and stood in front of the mirror. Peeking, he saw that it fit her well, though he wasn't sure if it matched the dress. Perhaps if the dress were longer, but he knew Fiora already had made her decision.

As he watched Fiora sway with in the robe, he was reminded of how Melia had looked in her own set of robes: elegant, regal, exquisite.

Where was she now?

He locked his jaw and continued writing. He had to let it go.

He had to let her go.

"I'm sorry, Dunban."

The man looked up at his sister, who wore a mournful expression. The robe was gone along with the attendant.

"Don't be. Are you ready?"

"Thanks for helping me out, Dunban." Fiora said as she deposited the dress box on the coffee table in the living room. "I know it wasn't the most fun thing in the world."

"Of course. It was no problem." Dunban shrugged off his coat and hung it up on the hanger next to the front door. "Are you hungry?"

"A bit. How about that meaty potato and blue turnip soup?"

"Alright. I didn't know you liked it so much." He said as he went into the kitchen and began to collect ingredients for the soup.

"I've been missing it since you left. I can never make it right." Fiora said. Hesitating, she began to fidget with her hands. "Do you want to talk about what happened in the shop?"

"I'm not sure there's anything to say. You bought a dress. We came home."

"Okay." She shrugged and walked into the kitchen. Picking out a knife from the drawers, she joined him by the counter and began cutting the cute parsnips as he cut meaty potatoes.

They stood in silence for a moment; all that could be heard was the crisp slicing of vegetables.

In response to Fiora's intimation, his thoughts focused on Melia as he fell into the rhythm of chopping the meaty potatoes one by one. It had only been a week and a half since he last saw her. Where was she now? Was she alright? Was she safe? There were too many questions and no answers.

Was this how she felt when he was gone?

"You know, I've been thinking about it."

"Fiora."

"Just listen, okay?"

He grunted, not taking his eyes off the cutting board.

"I dunno, Dunban. From what you told me, it doesn't really sound like she rejected you."

"She said she couldn't do it. And then she left without word."

"Okay, first couldn't isn't wouldn't."

"Semantics."

That was something she would say.

"No, it's not. Melia is careful with her words." Fiora replied pointedly.

Silent, he dumped the chopped vegetable into a bowl, grabbed the blue turnips and put them on the cutting board. Being caught up in the moment of that night, he hadn't heard that difference. All he heard was a lack of 'yes'. Maybe Fiora was right.

But he could not believe it was true.

"She's had a lot of stuff going on. First, all of these health problems you've told me about. Second, the government transition. Third, you. Sound familiar?"

Glancing sideways at her, he met her gaze. "How do you mean?"

"First, the health problems. It sounds like hers are extreme. When you had your...accident, it was pretty painful." His sister's brow furrowed and he felt himself stiffen as the memory dug itself up out of his unconsciousness. "Your arm still hasn't recovered even though it's been a few years now. I know you're able to function without using it. But it still bothers you. I know it does."

The man turned back to his cutting board and resumed his slicing.

"Second, the government stuff."

"I'm not sure how that relates to me."

"Let me speak." Fiora said, annoyed. "It's not exactly the 'government change'. It's the fact that she doesn't really know where she fits anymore in society. You know, now that she's kind of no longer leading the government."

She waited but he did not react. He understood enough of what was unsaid.

"And third, you appear out of nowhere."

"You agreed that I should go."

"I'm not criticizing that. It was just another thing to pile on her that she already was dealing with. I bet she's still nervous about you leaving again." His sister said as she dumped her parsnips into a different glass bowl.

"But I won't."

"Doesn't mean the fear isn't there."

"Alright, Fiora."

"Anyway, my point is, I think she went away to find some answers for herself. Like you did."

"So you're saying I should wait?"

"I think so. I mean if she comes back and doesn't come to see you...then it's probably over." The young woman said carefully. "But as long as she's out there, wherever, I think you should stay hopeful." Fiora eyed him uncertainly. "I hope that was okay to say."

"You're quite wise, Fiora." He managed a weak smile.

"I got it from you." She winked at him.

It was three days later when Dunban heard a tapping on the balcony window. Morning had come and gone, and the sun was now high in the sky to signify the arrival of midday. The Homs was spending the afternoon working on a carving based on a sketch he had drawn during his travels. Although it had no bearing on his lesson plan, he believed his students would enjoy seeing such a thing on their first day of school.

The tapping broke his steady concentration and he dropped his carving tool to the ground. Irritated, the man looked up towards the origin of the sound. A small drone was flying on the other side of the balcony window. His heart stilled; the only place he had seen these flying...things was in Alcamoth. They were exclusively used by the High Entia.

Again, it tapped against the window.

"What's that?" Fiora asked as she came down the stairs.

"A drone."

"From where?"

But he did not respond. Instead, he rose from his seat and went to the window. As Dunban opened it, the small flying contraption skittered in, its silver surface glinting in the sunlight that followed it inside. It landed on the nearest table, buzzing and beeping. The drone had an ovular center, two antenna sticking out of what presumably was its head. Four small titanium rods supported it as it perched on the table. Four metallic parts — he wasn't sure what to call them other than wings — stuck out in all directions from the surface of the ovular body. In a flash it unfolded itself into a flat surface, all the parts collapsing into itself. In the center was a note.

His heart skipped a beat as he picked it up. On the front of the envelope, in perfect cursive, was his name.

It was her handwriting.

Dunban felt his fingers tremble as he held it. Was it as Fiora had said? Was this Melia's way to reach out to him?

"Do you want me to open it?" Fiora whispered.

Quiet, he looked into her eyes and nodded. Gently, she took it from him and undid the seal. Without looking, the young woman pulled the note out of the envelope and handed it back to him.

Hastily, his eyes scanned the written script.

You were right.

It's extraordinary.

The only thing missing is you.

His heart leapt. She wanted to see him.

Melia had called for him.

But where was she?

"What's it say?"

Mind racing, Dunban handed Fiora the note.

"What does it mean?"

The man shook his head and began to walk around the room, contemplating this very question. He wanted to go. Now. But that was impossible until he figured out her riddle.

What did it mean?

You were right.

About what?

It's extraordinary.

What was she describing?

Closing his eyes, Dunban thought back to his many conversations with Melia. He tried to remember every single thing she said about any places, locations, landscapes, anything at all. What places meant the most to her? What places did she treasure and cherish? What places did she—

He stopped mid-stride and opened his eyes.

He knew exactly where she was.

Early the next morning, around 7:00am, Dunban found himself boarding a shuttle in search of Melia. As the aircraft rose into the blue sky, he watched Colony 9 grow smaller and smaller until it was only a speck on the earth below. Leaning back in his chair, he exhaled. It had been easy to ignore the general feelings of anxiety associated with the ascent, as his mind was purely focused on his end goal.

Melia.

She had called to him and now he would find her.

Sitting up, he looked to his left at Shulk, who piloted the aircraft. The younger man grinned at him and sped the shuttle forward, streaking through the clouds. Although Dunban had given him sparse directions, the younger man didn't seem to mind; he liked flying and was simply happy to be up in the air. But that didn't mean Shulk wasn't curious. Casually, the younger man peppered his soon-to-be brother-in-law with questions, but the older man refused to reveal any information. The only person he told was Fiora, who would disclose the information only to Tyrea (who Dunban knew was out of her mind with worry). It was selfish, he knew, to keep the location a secret, but the man wanted to be alone with the Empress with no distractions.

Four hours passed and finally the Homs Hero was satisfied with their progress. Although it was still far from his ultimate destination, he decided to deplane in a mountain pass. Flying in on a shuttle would be conspicuous. He wanted to surprise her with his arrival.

As Shulk flew away, Dunban looked down the barely there path. It looked as though it hadn't been used in ages, grass overgrown the dirt that had once been well defined by hundreds of footfalls walking through the passageway. Not that he expected it to be; no one had any reason to come this way. Swinging his pack over his shoulder, the Homs trudged down the mountain, butterflies filling his stomach. With each step, he came closer to Melia. The anticipation both thrilled and alarmed him.

It took the man a good hour and a half to hike down the mountain. Though he was impatient to reach her, he knew the extra time afforded him the opportunity to control his hammering heart and think about what he would say. And yet, when Dunban reached the base of the pass, he could feel his pulse quicken once more and all potential speeches erase from his mind. The reality of their imminent reunion was drawing made it difficult to concentrate on anything save for putting one foot in front of the other. In the not so far distance, he could see the greenery disappear; a signal that he was drawing ever near. He estimated it would take him another hour or so to reach his destination and would arrive around 14:30pm.

Not that exact timing mattered. It was simply another way to cope with his agitated nerves.

Squaring his shoulders, Dunban traversed the landscape, his gait one of determination. Grass crunched under his feet and the bright sun shone down on him, reminding him of the paradise it once — and still — was. He passed a large ruin of a stone building on his left and the remainder of another building foundation on his right. He side stepped a pile of rocks and burned wood that he could only assume was a home, and then jumped over a long row of dilapidated fence. Memories threatened to pull him in, but he forced them away. He had one goal in mind and would not be distracted.

As the grass turned to sand, and palm trees began to appear on either side of his path, the Homs felt the heat of the sun on the back of his neck. Between his anxiety and the warmth from above, the man felt overheated. Stopping, he removed his shoes and quickly resumed his course, savoring the feeling of the soft sand beneath his toes. It had been a long time and he was glad to be home.

Minutes passed and he sped forward, his pace quickening with each footstep. He was impatient; he knew he was reaching the journey's end. He took a deep breath in and out, but it did not quell the adrenaline electrifying his body.

A sound reached his ears and he slowed his stride. It was melodious, sweet. The beautiful notes flew through the air and into his ears, calm and soothing. The words were foreign to him, but the serenity infused in them was not.

And then he saw her, standing on the shore, facing the ocean. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her; he stopped in his tracks. She wore a summer dress, light blue to match the sky. Her arms and legs were bare and her hair fluttered in the breeze.

Crossing the sand, Dunban struggled to keep his composure. As he neared her, now only a few feet away, he dropped his bag.

Melia turned around, her song halted by the sound of his footsteps. His breath hitched in his throat.

Those eyes.

They captured him and he fell willingly into their blue depths. She too, gazed at him, a small gasp escaping her mouth as the corners of her pink lips turned upward.

"Dunban."

He reached out and pulled her close. The feeling of her body against his made him shiver; it were as if a piece of him had finally returned. The woman wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face in his chest, breathing him in. He laid a kiss on top of her head and shut his eyes, yearning giving way to relief and bliss. How he had dreamed of this moment, longed for it. And now she was here, in his arms, neither fantasy nor illusion. He felt her beating heart match the rhythm of his and his breathing match the tempo of hers, both perfectly in sync. Neither moved, finding solace in one another as the moments passed, locked in their embrace.

"Melia."

She turned her face upward, cheeks rosy, a shy smile on her lips. "You were right. I love it here."

Hesitantly, Dunban leaned towards her and she towards him.

As their noses touched, she whispered, "I knew you would find me."

"I would have never stopped looking."

And their lips met: a vow of forevermore.

~The End~

A/N (2/8/17): Thank you everyone for reading this story and joining me on this journey! It's been a long one, well over a year, and I appreciate you sticking with me. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.

A shout out to Shinenite, who has read this story from its inception and reviewed almost every single chapter. Thanks for cheering me on and being very verbose in your reviews. I loved getting all of your thoughts and emotions on each part of the story ^_^

Thank you to all of my reviewers: every single review has meant so much. I cannot say how incredible it's been to have received such a wonderful reception for this story. I was fairly nervous when I first posted this fic online. But the fact that you have all been so supportive and excited by the story has made me very happy.

In case you're curious, I will be writing another Dunban/Melia story because I cannot get enough of them. I've actually got two on my mind, so if you'd like to know when they come out, please follow me. One will be set in the Xenoblade Chronicles world post-game, and the other will be a crossover with Xenoblade X. Stay Tuned!

If you have any questions, or are curious about any remaining mysteries or outcomes or aftermaths of this story, feel free to PM me. Chances are, I'll have an answer for you :)

Once more, thank you for joining me on this journey. It has been absolutely wonderful and I hope to hear from you all again.

~The Rose Duelist