Dart took a slow, deep, wavering breath. His knee bounced, and his closed eyes could only see faint images of the past. They flashed before him – innumerable and unbearable. How could he do it? How could he go back?

He opened his eyes to the dark calm of the evergreen forest that covered most of Mille Seseau's acreage. After several days on the road, he'd grown accustomed to the towering pines, bushy cedars, and low spruces. It was no wonder that he loved the woods so much; he'd grown up among the branches, ever a canopy over him as they stretched their comforting shade over his youthful play.

Had he ever been in this spot before? He turned his eyes up to the needles and the faint beams of moonlight that felt through them. Had his father ever sat here?

He sighed. His hometown lay just over the horizon. Less than an hour of travel tomorrow, and they would arrive. Neet was waiting for him, like a trap ready to pounce on his emotions and strangle him.

It was all he could do to keep from vomiting. Having offered to take first watch, he'd seized the first opportunity to escape the confines of his sleeping companions and make for the solitude of the trees. And now Dart sat on a fallen log, fighting his own anxiety, hoping that tomorrow would not make him a fool. Surely, seeing his home wouldn't break him again. Surely, he would be able to hold it together.

Suddenly, an odd feeling came over him, and he felt another's curiosity emanate from his dragoon spirit. He focused on the sensation until he realized that someone was asking where he was. But who?

The query had come vaguely at first but now seemed more pointed and jolting. He sensed a tense spark, and the idea of Haschel settled in his mind. Rather than trying to focus well enough to respond, he quietly raised a tiny ball of fire into the air until it hovered fifteen feet over his head. A minute later, Haschel's footsteps approached from the camp, and Dart dismissed the mote.

"Hiding, are we?" came Haschel's unusually quiet voice.

"Can't sleep?" asked Dart.

The old man approached and stood just past Dart's peripheral vision. "Not much, anyway."

"What's got you up?"

Leaning forward, Dart rested his elbows on his knees again and stared off into the trees as Haschel slowly sat on his right. Just on the edge of his vision, he thought he saw the white glow of rocks reflecting the moonlight.

"Don't you think this forest is a little creepy at night?" said Haschel. "At any moment, something could jump out and try to eat us."

"Not really."

"Well, forgive me for trying to lighten the mood."

"Sorry," muttered Dart. "I'm just… a little nervous."

There was a long pause until Haschel spoke again.

"Are you ready?"

Dart sighed and dropped his forehead to his palms. "No," he breathed as his voice wavered. "I don't know if I can do it."

"Come on, don't do that to yourself. Don't sell yourself short."

"I'm not, I—"

"Yes, you are. Dart, you're the strongest person I know. And that includes the other five people currently snoring over there. You can do this."

For several seconds, Dart said nothing. The quiet forest offered no comfort besides the gentle breeze that drifted over them. Maybe there really were rocks in the distance. Part of Dart wanted to go find out, but it wouldn't do to leave the camp so far behind.

"Gods, I should have brought a blanket," muttered Haschel as he folded his arms over his chest. "Any chance you could do anything about that?"

"I didn't notice how cold it was," replied Dart as he pushed waves of heat toward Haschel. The old man sighed in comfort and muttered his thanks. "Do you ever miss your home?" he asked suddenly, eager to dive into another topic.

"Every day," came Haschel's solemn reply.

"Tell me about it."

Haschel sighed. "It was… warm. We lived on the ocean, you know, and it was always warm there, but not like Tiberoa. We had our days of intense heat, but most of the time, it was just temperate. And we didn't need any fires except on the rarest of evenings. You would like it."

"A fishing village, right?"

"Yes, for the most part. The people of Rouge had two great loves: the ocean and martial arts. There were other towns around, too, but we had the best martial arts school in that part of the sea. People would come from the other islands every year to participate in a competition, but someone from Rouge won every single time except maybe twice. At least, that's how it went in my day. My dad told me that when he was a boy, it was usually Hotto Island who won."

"I bet you won every year, didn't you?" smiled Dart.

"Not at first, believe it or not," chuckled Haschel. "It wasn't until I was—" his face fell "—Claire's age… that I finally won. But she won every year, ever since she was twelve. Always the top of her age group from the very beginning."

"How old was she when she left?"

"Seventeen."

"So, how old would she be now?"

"Forty-two. I think… she would have been forty-three next month."

Dart peered at Haschel. His voice had grown stale and grieved, and his eyes had filled with a weight that Dart had never seen there before. He opened his mouth to say something, but Haschel shook away whatever hidden feelings and spoke first.

"Listen, I know that it's going to be hard to face Neet, but you need to do it. Seeing where it happened will be good for you. It'll help you process. Help you move on."

All at once, Dart's worry came rushing back to him, and he turned back to the trees. Moving on felt like such a distant concept. He'd thought he'd moved on when he was only a teenager, but that had proved false the moment he'd seen Seles again. And what would happen if he did? Would he forget his parents altogether?

"Am I supposed to move on?" he asked quietly.

Haschel paused, then said, "I don't know."

Footsteps came up behind them, and Haschel swore as Rose emerged from the trees.

"Don't sneak up on us like that!" he scorned.

"I didn't sneak at all," replied Rose flatly. "I mostly came over here to figure out why we don't have someone keeping watch over the camp."

"That's my fault," admitted Dart. "I needed a minute alone."

"Nervous?" she asked as she came and sat on his left.

He nodded.

"And was Haschel making you feel better about that?"

"He was trying, anyway," laughed Dart.

"I thought I did a decent job, but whatever," said Haschel. "What are you doing up, Rose?"

She sighed. "A squirrel was burying a nut about a foot from my head."

"Oh, no," said Dart, feigning a panic as he threw his hand to his chest. "Did the squirrel make it?"

"Relax, I didn't kill it."

"Honestly, I'm a bit surprised," inserted Haschel. "You've killed for less."

"That I have," whispered Rose in an oddly serious voice. Then she drew back her shoulders and started anew. "Tomorrow will be difficult. But it's necessary. And you'll come out of it better."

"Sorry, Haschel already beat you to that one," said Dart with a smile.

Rose chuckled and shook her head. "I can't even comfort you properly anymore. You have too many people who care about you."

"But you were one of the first." He bumped her shoulder lightly. "So, thank you. And besides, your comfort is usually more along the lines of slapping me, anyway. Either way, this is better."

"Would a hard slap make you feel more confident?"

He laughed. "No, I think I'm just fine."

"Sounds like my work here is done," said Haschel as he pushed to his feet. "Shall we head back and get some sleep?"

"I guess you two can sleep," replied Dart as he stood. "My shift still has at least an hour left."

"Maybe I wasn't talking to you," replied Haschel in a mocking tone.

"You were looking directly at me when you said it."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"It normally does."

"Well, it didn't this time."

"Wait, where's Rose?"

They looked around, but she was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, they meandered back to camp as silently as they could.

When at last Dart's watch was over, he swapped with Kongol and lay down to sleep. But as he'd suspected, sleep proved elusive. For at least an hour, he rolled around on the forest floor, hoping to drift off but only able to think about what he might find in Neet. In the end, he was able to fall into an uneasy slumber filled with images of shadow and fire.

The next morning was slow and deliberate for Dart, as he was eager to postpone the inevitable. With eyes or words, everyone checked on him constantly, and while he was grateful to have such friends that cared so deeply, most of him wished that they would treat this day like any other day. In the end, he made an announcement before they left detailing his desire for a normal hour of travel to Neet, and after that, they tried their best to ignore his plight.

Setting their sights on the road, the group fell into a silent swirl of thoughts befitting the cold, gray day that faced them. Most of the dragoons were bound up in coats they'd purchased in Furni, as the air had turned quite chilly during third watch. Only Dart and Meru were comfortable. Dart's red dragoon spirit spread warmth through him in defiance of winter's chill, and he wished that it was warm enough to burn the tension from his soul. As the horses plodded along, Dart could not help but think back and wonder if this was the way he'd come that fateful day after leaving the ashes behind.

As he ran through the events again, he vividly recalled the attack itself and the morning following, but after he'd left Neet, the memories grew fuzzy. Again, he recalled being on a boat, and he realized that he must have sailed across Illisa Bay as a child. Unfortunately, this only raised more questions about why he would have been transported somewhere like Seles, so far away from this place. Why had he not been deposited in Tiberoa? Why had he never asked his adopted parents how they'd found him?

He shook his head. That didn't matter now. What mattered was that he was about to see the place where his real parents had died.

Would the town be different? He scolded himself. Of course, it would be different. But how much so? Had the people of Mille Seseau rebuilt Neet? Did people live there? Had they left the ruins completely untouched? Would he be able to see his home again?

"Dart," whispered Shana next to him, and he turned to her to see her nodding forward. Turning his gaze, he saw a tall archway a hundred yards ahead stretching over the small road. Beyond it lay the vague shapes of old buildings, each of them destroyed.

A jolt ran through him, and he stopped abruptly. His breathing quickened, and he couldn't seem to tear his eyes from the sight, though most of his view was blocked by the trees.

"Do you want us to go with you?" asked Shana.

"Yes," replied Dart stiffly.

She nodded, and he urged Luna forward at a slow walk. As they approached the arch, Dart stopped again and dismounted. The others followed suit as he stepped up to a sign nailed to the right post, and he read it aloud.

"Here lies Neet and the fated victims of the Black Monster. May the fallen rest in the peace of the gods."

"I'll stay with the horses," announced Haschel. "You all go on ahead."

"I'll stay, too," said Rose.

"Is that okay?" asked Shana as she turned concerned eyes to Dart.

He smiled and nodded, and Haschel and Rose rounded up the reins as Dart turned with shaky breath to the tragic village of Neet.

Admittedly, it looked different than he'd expected, but he suspected that was because it wasn't blanketed in snow. The road stretched into town, and on either side were aged, burnt frames of buildings. Most eerie was that none of the remnants reached over his head; nearly everything had been burnt to the ground. Crumbling stone edifices and charred beams were all that remained. Again, he was struck by the complete destruction; the fires of Seles had at least half of most buildings intact.

From what he could see, almost nothing here had been touched since then. Debris had been moved from the road, but the buildings themselves had not been cleaned out. From where he stood, he could see burnt and rotting vestiges of furniture, but most of it was unrecognizable. Various plants had tried to take over much of the area, although the onset of winter had slowed their growth. Still, it appeared that someone tended to the place; no large trees had threatened to take over the broken cobblestones even after almost two decades, and the road was clear.

With slow steps, Dart moved forward into Neet. Every step felt heavier than the last, and he soon felt overwhelmed by the burden weighing him down. Still, he pressed on until he came to a place slightly familiar. He stopped and looked around before his eyes settled on a small divot between worn cobblestones on his left.

"This was… where I found my dragoon spirit," he said. "Right over there."

He pointed and knelt next to the spot. He pressed his fingers into the dirt, so changed, so different from eighteen years ago. He recalled having collapsed here, overcome by the pain of his loss. Dart sighed as his grief returned to him, and he wiped his eyes before pushing off the ground and continuing as sparse, tiny snowflakes began to flit down from the skies.

It was not long before he noticed a structure towering over the ruins, and they rushed forward to find a pavilion that had been erected in the town square. Around the edges of the square were distorted remains of the market stalls where he'd gone shopping with his mother, and on the other side of the pavilion lay the remnants of the small church he'd attended with his parents. But his attention was drawn to what lay under the tall pavilion – a granite monument just taller than him, capped with a golden image of an angel. Dark plaques were attached to each side, each of them scrawled with endless words. With a sharp breath, Dart realized that they were names.

He froze and stared at the distant letters with trepidation, but then Shana's cold hand slipped into his.

"I'll go with you," she whispered. "If you want me to stop, just let go."

He nodded and squeezed her hand before slowly approaching the monument as Albert, Kongol, and Meru stayed behind.

For several seconds, Dart drew strength from Shana's touch as they crossed the square. With every step, he had to force himself to breathe. With every breath, he had to force himself to take another step. And then with great effort, he stepped onto the wooden platform and stopped. Shana stood next to him in silence, and then he took a deep breath, dropped her hand, and moved forward.

At the base of the monument was another plaque that read, The Names of the Fallen, and Dart steeled himself before he began to scan the plaque. As he did, he came across name after name that felt vaguely familiar, and with each one, a pang sprang into his chest as he remembered. The faintest of memories revived time and time again, but he could not find his parents. After realizing the names were alphabetical, he skipped to the next plaque and continued scanning until, at last, he found them.

His breath left him as he reached out and touched the names of the two people who had been taken from him almost nineteen years ago. These were the two people who'd loved him unconditionally from the beginning. The only ones who had made him feel truly safe. The ones who had been murdered by the Black Monster. And this was where they had died – right here in this town. He stood in the same place where they had drawn their last breaths.

His throat caught, and suddenly, his legs gave way beneath him. He fell to his knees, and sobs and tears escaped him. Bowing his head, he buried his face in his hands as he wept. Somehow, the pain felt alive again, as it had all those years ago. He felt like a broken child, forced to face life as an orphan, swept away into the world with no way to stabilize himself. Ever since then, he'd been flailing about – trying, fighting, struggling for any semblance of solid ground. But it had never been found. His broken heart was laid bare to the world as he wept.

It was not long before Shana fell beside him and pulled him to her. Comfort came to him through her touch, and he clung to her as his grief escaped him.

When at last his sobs subsided, he stood with Shana and embraced her tightly before whispering his thanks. As they drew apart, she held his hands and smiled.

"I'm proud of you," she whispered.

Placing a hand to her face, he wiped a tear that had escaped her eye. Then after a moment, she asked, "Do you want to go anywhere else?"

Sniffing, Dart nodded. "Yeah, I wanted to go… I want to see where I hid. If I can find it, anyway. And… my old house. I want you to see where I was born."

"Do you want the others to come?"

"Yeah, I just…" He looked at the trio standing awkwardly fifty feet away. "I just wish Haschel and Rose were here."

"They both love you, but they both have trouble with these things."

Dart nodded then paused as he looked at her. "Thank you for being here."

"Always," she assured.

Knowing that the pain was far from over, Dart strode to the others with a weight no lighter than before. They stood respectfully silent, and Dart avoided their gaze as he announced his intentions.

"I came into town… and then turned left. So, it must be that way." He pointed south, and everyone nodded. Clasping Shana's hand once again, he turned from the square and led them down a small alley that led out of town, just as he remembered. The walk was longer than he expected, however, and it was ten minutes before they reached the edge of town and the forest that ran up a low hill. All too clearly, he could see himself walking this path alone back to the destroyed city.

Another memory sprang into his mind, and he reached out to touch a large tree to the left of the meager path.

"This tree," he muttered. "I know this tree. My dad… carved into it. For my birthday."

With sudden fervor, he swung around to the other side of the tree and found his prize. There on the side were the overgrown remnants of a carving burned into the bark. Within a circle were three letters: C and Z on the top, and D on the bottom. Dart traced his initial as the others shuffled around to see it.

"This was your birthday present?" asked Albert.

"Yeah, we didn't have much money. My dad mostly made me things for presents. But this was… different. He said that our family would leave a mark that would last for generations. He wanted to put this somewhere so that we could always come here and remember each other."

"I think it worked," said Meru with a smile.

"And it seems that your father was right," added Albert. "You are affecting generations."

"I only wish he could be here to see it happen," mourned Dart.

An idea came to him suddenly, and he placed his finger on the bark before focusing heat into it. Then just below his father's carving, he left his own mark as he added seven initials below: D, S, A, M, K, R, and H. He drew another circle around these additions before standing back to admire his handiwork.

"I am pleased," said Kongol. "You are kind to do this."

"I think you should add one more," smiled Shana.

"Yes, I would agree," confirmed Albert.

With a light chuckle, Dart nodded and then added an L near the bottom.

"Now all the people I love will be together forever," he whispered as a lump formed in his throat.

Shana took his hand once more and nodded gently. With a smile, he turned and continued down the overgrown path.

It was not long before they reached the fallen tree that had been his shelter that night. It had rotted further and was now little more than splintered pieces of bark.

"This was the last place I ever saw them," said Dart. "I hid there in that log, and they told me to stay there until the fire was gone. They talked for a while so I couldn't hear them, and then my dad told me that he had to go help others in town. That he would be back. He hugged my mom, and then he left. It was only a little bit later when she left, too. She promised me that everything would be alright."

He sighed, wiped his face, and sniffed before turning around.

"Let's head back," he said before charging down the hill.

As he traveled, he fought the tears that escaped him, burning them away as they appeared.

"Haschel, you should go," said Rose. "You need to see it, too."

"No, I don't," scorned Haschel. "This is Dart's thing, not mine."

"It's just as much your thing. Claire was your daughter. Bring some closure to yourself. You've been looking for twenty years. You deserve that much."

"I don't deserve anything," he spat. "It was my fault that she left, and it's my fault that she died here in this pit stain of a town!"

"It's not your fault."

"What do you know about it, anyway?"

"I know that you did not kill Claire. The Black Monster did. It's not your fault. Her death isn't on your head."

Haschel paused. Rose might not have noticed, but ever since their travels in Tiberoa, she'd become much easier to read. It was easier to tell when she was hiding things and when she was lying, when she cared and when she hated something. And now, it was plainly obvious to him that she was deeply upset, possibly ready to cry.

"What has you so on edge here?" he asked. "Since when did you care so much about this?"

Dropping the reins, Rose crossed her arms and scowled at him.

"I've always cared. You've just been too distracted and juvenile to see it."

"Oh, so we're throwing insults now. That's just great." He waved at her and spun around. "And here I thought we were friends."

"Are you really oversimplifying this like that? Why can't you just go in there and deal with the fact that your daughter is dead?"

"Because I don't want to!" roared Haschel as he rounded on her. "I can't face the truth! I have dedicated a third of my entire life to this, and now I've learned that it was for nothing! There was no point! She died nineteen years ago. Nineteen!" His voice faltered and shifted into a hoarse whisper. "There's nothing I can do that will ever change that. There's no memorial that will ever bring her back."

"I see where Dart gets it," said Rose sourly. "He runs away from his emotions just like his grandfather. You're always cracking jokes, always pretending that everything is fine when inside, you're falling apart. It's okay to be broken, Haschel. All of us are broken. All of us."

He shook his head and turned away again. "You seem to be patched up nicely."

"Then I guess my façade has worked."

"Why do you get a façade and the rest of us don't?"

"Because I don't want you all to have to deal with the weight of trying to keep one in place."

Haschel sighed and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Alright then, Rose. I'll make you a deal. I'll go into Neet and find Dart and try to deal with this if you tell me one thing that you've had bottled up since I've known you."

"I've already told you people most of it."

"But not all of it. Oh, no, there is much more to Rose than meets the eye. I know next to nothing about you, and I've been fine with that. I know you've been hurt, and that's natural. But if you think you have a right to tell me how to handle my own emotions, then I think I have a right to do the same to you."

Sighing, Rose closed her eyes for a moment. "Fine," she said. She eyed him carefully as he waited and watched her work up the nerve to say something. Her expression shifted from irritated to determined to fearful, and all at once, Haschel felt a wave of guilt. It only intensified when tears began to pool in Rose's eyes, and he felt as though he was speaking to a young girl who had lost her way.

"My mother died when I was very young," she said quietly. "My father was abusive. After I finally left him behind, I found the love of my life, and then I lost him. I watched him die. And on the same day, every one of my friends died, too. The only people who ever made me feel safe. There was nothing left after that."

"Gods," swore Haschel. "The same day?"

"The same day."

"What happened to them?"

"They were slaughtered. Beheaded. Gored. Crushed."

"By who?"

Rose simply shook her head, and Haschel sighed, but decided not to press.

"How did you survive?"

Her eyes grew distant, and she shook her head again as a single tear fell down her cheek. "I've asked myself that question more times than I can count. Year after year, all I could think was, 'why me?' Why did I survive when they didn't? Sometimes I wish I hadn't."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Because we need you. I don't know why you survived in a practical sense, but if there really is some kind of fate in the works, then you survived for us. There's no way that we could have done anything that we've done if you weren't with us. Without you, we'd have no hope of stopping Lloyd."

She paused for several seconds before saying, "Thank you." Then she took a deep breath and nodded toward the arch. "Now it's your turn. I got the horses. Go in there and see what you have to see."

He nodded and turned toward the archway. Then with a deep breath, he plunged into the little town.

For several minutes, he cast glances side to side, wondering if one of these old, charred buildings could have been Claire's home. He swore at himself for not following Dart earlier. Surely, he would have pointed out something like that.

In time, he came to the monument, but he dared not approach it. Shaking his head, he diverted to the side and looked around.

Clearly, this was some type of town square. Without warning, he imagined Claire walking around with a basket, eager to buy some herbs or meats or fruits. She'd always loved grapes, but he supposed that they didn't grow very well in Mille Seseau. He followed her as she walked, and he began to weep. As he envisioned her, she was happy and carefree, unbound by the strict demands of her father. Then she turned and beckoned to a young, blonde child behind her, and Haschel laughed at his imaginings of such a young Dart.

"I bet he was just as much of an idiot back then," he mused. He paused in silence for a moment before sniffing and wiping his face. "What if I had been there to help raise him? What if I had found her before all this?"

"Haschel!" called Dart, and Haschel spun in surprise to see him and the others approaching down a small alley to the south. "You came." Dart hurriedly wiped his face.

"Yeah, I, uh… figured Rose could handle the horses."

"Are you okay?" asked Shana as they drew near.

He sniffed again and nodded. "I'm fine, just trying to get used to this cold. Even with a coat, it's just bitter!"

"You should stay close to Dart, then," inserted Meru. "He's basically a blazing bonfire over there."

"I find it quite nice," said Shana.

"Quite rude, from my perspective."

Haschel studied Dart and saw that his eyes were swollen and red, and Haschel's stomach sank. He placed a hand on Dart's shoulder and smiled. Dart offered a weak grin in return, revealing the bit of Claire that lay hidden within him. She'd smiled that same weak smile whenever she was upset. Unable to stop himself, Haschel forced back his own tears as he pulled Dart into a tight hug.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered.

Dart chuckled but accepted the embrace, and when they separated, he said, "Thank you for coming. I was hoping to try to find my house, if you wanted to see it."

He hadn't missed it, after all.

Forcing out a grin, Haschel said, "Lead the way."

"Maybe." Dart grimaced. "I'm not really sure where it is."

"If you left town to the south upon fleeing," offered Albert, "it was most likely south of the square."

In agreement, the group began to meander south, waiting for something to jog Dart's memory. Just as Haschel was beginning to give up hope, Dart snapped to attention and beckoned them down a side street until he stopped before a small house nestled tightly between two others. No distinguishing characteristics could be discerned anymore; only a couple beams and some stones that were once part of a fireplace remained. Dart stood before the threshold, staring and panting in his sorrow.

As Haschel might have expected, Shana stepped up next to him, ever a silent yet present support. After a couple moments, Dart gritted his teeth and stepped over the remains of the outer wall. He stood amid the rubble of his childhood home, less than ten paces across in either direction, and slowly took it in.

"The kitchen was over here," he said as he pointed to the left. "It was really small, but I remember my mom cooking there a lot. But I think my dad did too. Maybe they took turns, or… something. I slept over in that corner on some bedding in the floor, but my parents had a proper bed that they set up in a room that was over there. The table was there, and I would usually play here, where I could watch my parents while they sat together in the evenings. We had two chairs in front of the fireplace. I sat on their laps a lot and just watched the fire most evenings before bed."

As Dart detailed the layout, Shana, Haschel, and Albert entered the house. Haschel meandered to where the kitchen would have been and tried to imagine it. What was now little more than dirt and some stones had once been a workplace of his daughter. Claire had stood in this very spot and made dinner for her family – her family that hadn't included him. He smiled despite himself; Claire had always loved to cook. She'd had so many talents, and yet he was never able to learn which ones she had pursued.

He spun and blurted, "Tell us about your parents."

"I don't remember a lot," admitted Dart, somewhat taken aback by the query. "I'm pretty sure that my dad worked at the lumber mill, but I don't remember what my mom did. She was home some days, and some days she'd take me to another house where a little girl lived. I'd stay there while she worked, I guess."

"What were they like?" encouraged Shana.

"They were both strong, fierce, and kind. My dad loved people, but my mom didn't. I remember a time that he tried over and over to get her to go somewhere, and she refused. They always found comfort in each other, though. I used to find them hugging or dancing when they thought I wasn't looking." Dart smiled. "I think I caught them kissing once. It's strange how I can suddenly remember things that I've never remembered before."

Haschel turned away and tried to force away his springing tears. To know that Claire had found such happiness and love brought him a horrid mixture of joy and pain. His hand flew up to cover his mouth, and he prayed for some distraction.

"Wait," said Dart, and Haschel took several breaths before turning to see Dart kneel next to the weathered, vine-encrusted wall. "Impossible," he muttered even as he lifted a small object from the floor. "I remember this. My dad made it. For me."

Dart held it aloft and revealed a tiny wolf carved from stone, small enough to fit in his palm. Tears fell down his face as he beheld it, and Haschel fought to control his reaction to see his grandson cry. Never before had someone's grief affected him so deeply, but he forced himself to stay in place. Now was not the time.

"What a lovely trinket," muttered Albert. "He carved this himself?"

"I think so," nodded Dart as he wiped his face.

"Something else to remember him by," said Shana.

Only a minute or so later, Dart decided that there was nothing else for them and led the way back to the heart of the city. Passing the monument, Meru forced them to stop as she pointed north toward the horizon.

"There's a building over there!" she called. "Do you see it?"

"Fascinating," muttered Albert as he peered toward the edge of the city. "Did something survive?"

"No, I think that's new," replied Dart. "Should we go check it out?"

"If you want," offered Shana.

Dart sighed and then nodded. "Let's go."

With a determined step, they traveled until they reached the northern edge of Neet. Fresh cobblestones had been placed that led to a two-story building with a sign above the door reading, "Neet – The Pieces of the Past." A small house lay just behind it with smoke rising from the chimney.

"Curious," remarked Albert. "A museum, perhaps? It seems that someone lives here to curate it."

"There's a river over there!" announced Meru, nodding west. "Pretty big one, too."

"How can you tell its size?"

"I'm the water dragoon, duh."

"I can sense the riverbed," nodded Kongol. "It is deep."

Haschel exchanged an amused glance with Dart, who shook his head before saying, "Maybe let's go inside and see what's there."

"Good idea," chuckled Shana.

While Kongol waited outside, the others entered the building and were surprised to find a middle-aged man on a ladder hanging red, black, and purple streamers from the ceiling. He jumped as they entered, and for a moment, Haschel feared that he would fall, but he steadied himself and exhaled to see the guests.

"Sorry about that," said Dart as they looked around the room. It appeared that Albert had been right; countless artifacts decorated protected shelves and stands around the room, and each appeared to be from the small town.

"Not to worry!" said the man as he descended. "I wasn't expecting anyone until next week. You're a bit early for the festival!"

He approached them with a jovial grin and shook their hands in turn as they introduced themselves. After identifying himself as Kaden, curator of the museum, Dart explained their reasons for coming. This explanation, as was becoming the custom of the people of Mille Seseau, took the curator by surprise, and he became supremely interested in Dart. Without much prodding, Dart submitted to Kaden's lead as he began to guide him around the museum and talk in detail about each of the artifacts.

For what seemed like an hour, Dart and Kaden – with Shana close behind – discussed almost every piece in the museum. From a reassembled stained glass that had hung in the church to a stone relief carving, Dart reminisced about any faint image that remained in his mind after all this time. While Dart seemed to enjoy the attention, Haschel's and Meru's interest waned after only a few minutes. It was not long before they began their own survey of the pieces and presented more and more outrageous descriptions to each other as they moved along.

"If you will follow me over here," whispered Meru as she walked backward and gestured to another artifact: a wooden beam that had disintegrated without charring. Her voice had adopted a falsely posh tone that was becoming increasingly laborious for her to uphold. "This is our most astounding piece in the museum. You can see how the edges here are not burnt. That's because this piece of timber was used in an ancient ritual to resurrect a fallen demon. Rather than use fire, as we might have suspected, it was the sheer might of the cultists' will that caused the wood to be used up."

She shuffled farther into the corner.

"And here we have a magnificent ship. This particular ship is a bit smaller than most, as you can see. Rather than carrying people, this ship was designed to carry fairies up and down the forest river. Yes, it's as amusing as you might assume."

"Forgive my interruption," whispered Albert as he approached from the side. "This ship… don't you recognize it?"

Meru and Haschel glanced down at the model ship, only two feet across from bow to stern.

"Wait… That's impossible," said Meru. She reached out and gently touched a closed hatch on the main deck that would have led into the ship. "But it is, isn't it?"

"Yes, I believe this is the phantom ship that we encountered in Illisa Bay," announced Albert in a hushed tone. His expression was one of worry and trepidation, and he glanced nervously at Dart.

"There's no way," breathed Haschel.

"It has to be," insisted Meru. "Look at the carvings on the bow. Albert pointed them out. They're exactly the same!"

It was true; intricate carvings of a tree and its branches extended along the front of the ship and up to the point of the bow.

"Why would this model be here in Neet?" wondered Haschel aloud.

"An excellent question," nodded Albert. "But I think we already know the connection."

"Look!" Meru pointed to the plaque just below it. "It's called the Saint Louvia. You know what that means?"

Albert and Haschel stared at her in confusion.

"The princess! That's the name of the princess!"

"What princess?" asked Haschel.

She huffed. "The princess on the boat, dummy. The one who died?"

"The child who was murdered by the Black Monster," nodded Albert. "Clearly, the two attacks are connected. But how could they be? Why would the Black Monster attack both places? What is the piece of the riddle that we are missing?"

"Maybe we should ask the curator about it," offered Meru.

"He seems a bit busy at the moment," noticed Haschel.

They turned to see Kaden listening with rapture as Dart explained something about a metal cup.

"Perhaps we could gather his attention on the way out," murmured Albert.

They waited for many agonizing minutes as Dart and Kaden made their rounds. At long, long last, they seemed to be finished, and Meru stepped forward, snagged their attention, and pointed at the ship model.

"Excuse me!" she called rather loudly. "Can you tell us about this ship?"

"The Saint Louvia, yes!" replied Kaden as he joyously approached their small group. "This ship does not exactly fit into the scene of the destruction of Neet, but its downfall was close in its timing. The Saint Louvia was a royal ship commissioned just before the good queen discovered that she was with child nearly twenty years ago. It was to be the king's primary mode of transport across the sea, and they named it after what they would have named their child. Alas! On its christening voyage, which took place mere days before the tragedy of Neet, it was swept away in a terrible storm and never returned."

"With the king on it," muttered Dart as he eyed the ship closely. He glanced among Meru, Haschel, and Albert, and they each nodded to confirm his suspicions.

Kaden, however, was oblivious to their communication and merely replied, "No, of course not. The maiden voyage of a vessel is never taken with royalty on board. Not only is it bad luck, but they have to test the ship and make sure it's seaworthy. You can't risk a monarch's life in such a venture!"

They all exchanged glances again.

"Forgive me," said Albert. "But if the two events are not related, why keep the model in this museum?"

"The ruins of Neet are left standing to honor the victims of evil and chaos," explained Kaden. "We would be remiss to ignore the lives lost on the Saint Louvia mere days later just because the events are not related. In reality, the festival is itself an honoring of all dead, not just those lost to the Black Monster."

"I see."

"I have to say, Kaden," inserted Dart, "this is a really amazing place. Thank you for showing me everything. It really means a lot."

"Of course, of course! Anything for a Neet native. Will you all be heading on your way, or will you stay for the festival?"

"We have business in Deningrad," replied Albert.

"Yes, of course. Be sure to speak to Luanna, who I told you about. She will be eager to meet with you."

"I'll make sure I find her," nodded Dart.

Night fell over the camp as heavy snow drifted from the sky, and Rose stood up as quietly as she could manage. She'd chosen second watch knowing that Haschel would fall asleep quickly, and her predictions proved true as his loud snores began to fill the clearing. She wrapped herself in darkness and inched her way toward the horses. Untying her dark mare, she led the horse to the road until they were out of earshot of the camp.

In one swift movement, she swung herself into the saddle and shot off into the darkness.

Mere minutes later, she reached the archway and came to a stop. She dropped from the horse, tied her to the post, and stared into the ruins as her heart pounded.

"What is this?" she whispered to herself. "Hesitation? And for what?"

She took a deep breath, but it did little to still her erratic heartbeat. At long last, she placed a foot forward, and then another, and then another, and walked into the city. Despite the dark of the cloudy night, the fresh snow offered some vague visibility of the ruined shapes around her. Feeling through the darkness, she sensed every corner and cobblestone and tried to memorize the layout. She wanted to remember everything. From what she could tell, nothing had changed.

Reaching the monument, she stood at the edge of the pavilion and stood frozen for several minutes. At long last, she stepped onto the platform and eased herself toward the tower of names.

She read the first name and spoke it aloud. The words pierced the oppressive quiet of the snowfall with their melancholy, and Rose was forced to pause and breathe before she moved on. Then she read the second, and the third. On the fourth, her voice cracked, and she was forced to swallow before reading the fifth. Her fists began to tremble on the sixth, and by the tenth, tears were spilling from her eyes. On the fifteenth, her voice left her altogether, and she slid hopelessly to the ground and wept.

She could not remember them all. She may never remember any of them except one. She wasn't sure if that was good enough, but she repeated the name in her mind over and over, mourning the loss of innocence. She grieved for herself, she grieved for Dart, and she grieved for Haschel.

She swore that no matter what, she would always remember Claire.