A/N: This is it! Final chapter, everyone!... Nope! This is where the story ended in the original UTCM, between chapter 37 and 38, but I have decided to expand the story a bit more. Maybe I'll write Lenneth doing some cool Dragoon stuff, or Jack taking its first steps, maybe I wrote it already and it is hidden in my backup files, I'll see what I can do. Heck, let's go until it hits chapter 100! Nah, just kidding, hehe... Let me know about what you think in regards to the story's direction. Have a nice week

Brian Eno - By This River

July 04th, 1778

…

A kid near a tree, during a storm, trying to climb its trunk to reach for its kite...

It's like a recipe for disaster, with all ingredients included. That little boy tries to jump, giving up the tree. With a single jump, I have time to grab the kite, give it back to the boy and say some word of advice:

— You know it's dangerous to stay near trees during a storm. – I said. – We never know when a storm is about to crash.

I think I've said, heard it so many times it feels like it ain't me who's talking. It's the Dragoon, source of your morals and most people's own. It's a thing I remember by memory, of all memories I've lost. No, it's something bigger than having a picnic on an afternoon together with your mom, on days without storms. We had a picnic for once and awhile, nothing important or big enough. Not enough for an empty soul.

Maybe it's my stomach. I had quite a day. Better go back home.

Jack grated me. He and his friends were playing a card game. Jack was so nice by helping me out with the stuff I bought at the market. That milk gallon weightened a lot, it was like holding a bag of stone all the way down the mountain. Honestly, I don't remember much of what happened today, I feel dizzy at times and I'm not sure if I'm okay anymore. I mean, why would I be okay? Bart might be dead or... my, don't say such things. Of course he's alive. He promised he would be. Also, despite the appearance, Bart is a tough one.

Whenever I layed on this bed with Bart, I felt complete. I could jump taller than any buildings, climb walls, avoid being hit by faster than light bullets, and call out for the Dragon Crest to bite my enemies, but... without Bart, none of these things mattered. As long as we were together, as long as I knew someone was there to believe in me, someone I knew and liked as a friend, a dear friend that made me feel docile, vulnerable, a little ashamed... They say you value something you lost more than you did when you had it in front of you, but I haven't lost Bart. He's still alive.

Just like mother. Those drawings I have found in her drawer, they bring something back to me. Something I lost as a child and didn't notice I've got back until now. Trees, birds, flowers, people... Whenever she got ill and stood at home, mother would pick a paper and draw something in it. I must admit, she had talent. A talent that has been only acknowledged by father... and me. Just two people, in a world of millions.

A children's book? Could it be? No, I don't think so. You know the majority of Burmecian kids don't know how to read, write or even talk. Ignorance is a bliss underneath a sky that's ever falling down.

Those drawings mom did... I want more people to see them. They look beautiful, they remind me of times when I thought the future days would be even better than the present ones. There's something uncanny, scary as hell about the way mom drew eyes, fitting at you, not blinking at all. Butterflies with eyes for the wings, I remember when mother asked if I could color some of them. Yellow, blue, green, red... I might have broken an arm, but I could still use the left one, and by seeing my work, I didn't feel pain anymore. I... I really liked it so much.

''Would you be happy if you were born a hundred years ago?'' I ask myself. Maybe yes, maybe not. The fact that you still remember your grandma's name is enough to make you happy. Geraldine Crescent...

Bart is so far away, fighting against the enemy. Jack and I are strangers to one another, my relatives are a kind of pain with a few exceptions, and Nora Crescent... I found your drawings, mom. It's almost like finding you again.

Guess you're the only family I have by now... Freya Crescent.

July 05, 1778

...

— ...Men truly are selfish beings. They say 'please don't come' as if anything is dangerous for a lady, no matter how big or small. Kids I understand, they are too young to deal with adult problems, like one of these last nights ago. Fratley came into our bedroom and complained that he heard sounds whenever the room was dark. Something like an insect, to which he answered monster! With a shout hard to ignore, same for that face covered in fear and innocence... Kids and their imagination. In fact, it was a monster, but not the same way my son said, because Prescott went to his bedroom and got a cockroach the size of THIS size, stepped over it and made that filth. I could tell was shivering in fear, which he didn't admit. At least, Prescott cleaned that filth, because if he asked for me to do it so, he would ever see me naked again.

The many things they say when nobody's listening...

Before, eyes stared at us through walls. A hundred soldiers to battle, a number which increases everyday for a kingdom of millions. It feels strange, a bit quiet, had not been for the rain. I feel retired, but I'm too young. The kind they like, said Sophia. She's right on her terms, but mostly I disagree for words rarely told. That's what you should expect when your tongue feels a taste of freedom, followed by a cup of tea.

— I don't think men are the same. They may be all rats inside, but rats do not have homes to stay, or want a special place awaiting for them. If you don't have peace of mind, you can't do anything at all, like killing a cockroach... a feeling which men try to fight out as much as they can. That's why... don't you think they're cute when they do that?

— For sure, Lenneth. – Sophia said, adding honey to her tea, though the bitterness remained. – They call us ladies, do they? And when you least expect it, you are chained in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.

— We are all chained in something, whether we like it or not. There is always a struggle to be free.

— Do you used to feel free while in the air? – She asked. It feels like a long time ago since I touched the skies. Only weeks passed since I got new responsibilities.

— Without a ground, I can't walk where I want to, but this also takes away my freedom.

— So in order to be free, a bit within us needs to be caged.

— That's why we don't kill each other after not agreeing with what the other said. – Sophia seemed to agree with me. Maybe what I said wasn't the right thing, but she nodded anyway.

— Do you have a name for the little one there? – She asked, looking below.

— Not yet. If it's a boy, I thought about Lucian, or was it Lucas? Lemons came to mind, but I don't think that's a name. If it's a girl, I'd like to call her, uh… either Polly, Renée, Hilda, Clara… Freya.

— How cute. You do want to have a girl, after all.

— I'm not sure it's a boy, or a girl. – I said, before taking a slurp of tea.

— Or twins... – Then I almost spilled it all over the table.

— Uh... Let's not exaggerate.

— Be fruitful and multiply, sayeth Bahamut! – I couldn't tell if Sophia's smirk was ironic or not. – Strange how I don't miss Prescott that much. But still I feel this longing for his company at my side. I wanted his hand to hold onto mine instead of the pen, and hear words brought out his mouth rather than ink written on paper.

— At least, you know he's alright. As for Bart... I don't even know. He may be dead, but if that was the case, I should have been feeling something. – Other than my feet rattling ceaselessly.

— If Prescott is said to be dead, and for a reason comes back alive, I swear that I'll kill him. – Said Sophia, frowning and with a clenched fist. She tried to look tough. – Had it not been for the kids...

— Hope Mother Reis listens to our prayers. It's what we can do in the meantime for them to come back safely.

— I can't tell they won't come without wounds.

— As long as there is someone awaiting their return, someone who cares... all wounds can be healed, Sophia.

I miss the days I held that spear in my hands. Moreso, the days I held Bart and Jack close to my heart.