The connection between Shirell and her son was never lost and she vowed it never would be, but now a new bond had been formed with Diote. It seemed the link between both Ciroc and Diote existed since they day they'd met and perhaps destiny laid it in store since before time began. This was meant to be. She knew that. It seemed a hidden part of her always had. Now something new had been born . . . a connection between herself and Diote.

Amazingly it was ever the same as she'd had with her son. Diote's mind had been opened. She was now a gifted made, not born. She was something utterly new. Never before was such a thing possible, but something within the girl had changed. Shirell knew she'd played a part in it, but that part and much of what she'd done for Ciroc seemed to be playing itself. Not that she hadn't cared, she'd always cared, but as much as she existed as their guide, she had a hope of her own that defied explanation. It guided her as she guided them.

Then she knew. Oh so suddenly she knew . . . her wraiths! It was so obvious to her now! This was how they'd communicated. They were often silent, but this was always how they'd done it when they'd spoken. It was the only way they knew how. Now, she knew implicitly and with unequaled sorrow that her lack of understanding matched that of Ciroc and now Diote.

Ever had she felt this sadness, and endlessly berated herself for having done no better for her other children. These, who’d fought so valiantly for her and paid the ultimate price that she might “connect”, truly connect, with someone else, for whom they knew no better than to assume she'd loved more than them.

This sacrifice was utterly staggering and for the first time in eons she fell free from her eternal watch on Ciroc and saw, truly saw the eight creatures that remained. They'd not, nor ever had, possessed the means to smile beyond that of their reddish eyes, but these now shone forth with something that couldn't be described as anything other than love. She'd always considered them such simple beasts, though more advanced than any other wildlife on the island. They were so much more. And because of them so was she.

# # #

Diote’s face strained with the effort of pulling the rope upwards, or rather outwards. The tears that had fallen so freely now stained her youthful face to something far older and wiser. All onlookers thought her under the irrepressible weight of sorrow and certainly she was, but this was something more. The only one who knew better was Acissey.

The older woman hadn't known much, but something had changed. She in fact hadn't known it. Her focus was on her son, but she'd felt it. There was a reverberation within her. She felt pulled upon as if a strain upon her very heart and it did ache for him, but it had relaxed with his unexplainable healing. Not now. Not anymore. It felt as if he was dying all over again.

Nothing could define this, but the girl who knelt beside her in the bloody sand. Momentarily, she broke away with a sudden attention trained upon the girl she could tell loved her son. Here she saw so much more than a girl. Here she saw a woman bound with grief equal to her own. More than this, though, she saw something impossible. She saw the unmistakable strain of a focused mind. This was not something little Diote had the power to do; she was not of the gifted. How was she to do such a thing?

Then she considered; did it matter? How had her son healed? How had so many around her fallen dead by the power of the mind? For that's obviously what it was. How had Ciroc bested Shion, if indeed he had? How was it the witch struck so quickly? That was not her way. There were so many unexplainable events occurring in the here and now. What was one more?

This, though unbelievable, served as little more than a distraction. Her son occupied nearly all of her attention, as was needed, but something else wore upon her. It was something she'd chosen to deny, but the continued sequence of unexplainable events made it nearly impossible to ignore. Was what Achon said true? Was it even possible for HER son to really be the witch's son?

Well, HER son was NOT evil! The witch could NOT have him! She remembered her, though still she wouldn't say her name. She had been needed. Her help had made her son possible, but she'd denied all that for so many years. For he was a good boy! How was it anyone so pure of heart could've had anything to do with the witch? She'd convinced herself that though the witch was present, she'd managed to weave the lie that her help was never truly necessary. Acissey, for all these years, had actually believed she'd given birth to another child all on her own and he just happened to be gifted. It was unquestionably luck, but luck all the same.

Now, Achon shattered that simple vision. He'd died for it, which was all well and good, but what now? After all, he hadn't really died for revealing the truth. No. He'd died for trying to murder her son. No. He'd died for trying to murder the witch's son. With that truth a fear seized her. Her rage, notwithstanding, the two waged a bloody war. There was a toll, a price to pay for it all, and a part of her knew it was ultimately Ciroc who'd pay it, but she couldn't seem to break herself away.

Suddenly the pull upon her heart snapped free and a deepening sorrow overtook her.

# # #

Ciroc fell, but not so far. A strain undeniable, but not one that sent him spiraling back into the nothing. Yet he hadn't simply jerked. Something snapped free from his heart and he gasped at the loss of it. He'd not much left to lose and without even knowing it attached that lost bit of rope to Diote.

# # #

Diote shuddered with the strain of a loss not her own, but a loss still. Her heart pulled all the tighter for it and she no longer knew if she could contain it all. Part of her knew just exactly where Ciroc hung from. That same part of her felt at peace there, so long as she remained with her love, for no matter how dark a chasm, together they'd always have a light.

She felt herself falling into the blackness long before she actually did. It all seemed so utterly hopeless, but that was somehow alright. She found that she didn't want to stay if she had to do so alone. And so she let go.

# # #

Shirell turned in horror, a bloody shriek emanating from her mind. It was no less than her previous mind shear and emanated forth with equal abandon. But no. This was so much more and how could it not be? She, herself, was so much more than she'd previously been, but then she'd never been here before so couldn't know the cost of it. Though she did know and felt her wraiths come to her aid.

# # #

A new cry echoed forth, lodging deep within every mind of every creature in and around both islands. This was a mind shear unbound. This was devastating. This cry tore free life from this plane of existence and sent forth many souls to the blackness they once believed harbored Mother Sea's eternal embrace.

Many suddenly fell as had with Achon, but something here was different. This was no simple death knell, this was a trade. The life force of all who loathed Ciroc, and so many had, left them and was hence transferred to all those who loved him. Whether one was to live or die depended directly upon how deep their hatred was or wasn’t. Those who simply couldn't care less lived, but fell as if half their heart had burnt away.

Because of it all an unequaled amount of energy, now malleable in its raw form, transferred to Diote and in turn Ciroc. There was a sudden unmistakable pull on Diote's heart, keeping her from entering the void. She tore free from all such thoughts and transferred every ounce of this energy to her rope moments before the sheer power of it all destroyed her fragile heart. She was just a girl, gifted now or not, she was not built to be a conduit . . . or was she?

Ciroc was ripped free of the blackness with a sudden inhalation of breath. The guttural gasps that followed came in spasms and threatened to push him back under, but here he remained, for better or worse. Yet his resurrection came at too high a cost; so many had died to bring him back . . . so very many.

# # #

The witch laid her head down after her earth shattering cry. It was the likes of which none had ever before witnessed, nor would ever again. Shirell was dying. She couldn't have known the cost of it and yet she’d known this much. Beyond all else this much was needed. This much was necessary. All of it, even the cost, was worth it. Giving her life for her child, was that not the way it should be?

Yet from now on he’d be on his own. There were a world of decisions to make as the future dimmed in the face of so much death, but she had faith. She'd been gifted with the rare opportunity to reset her world and this time the right decisions would be made. There were no longer any wraiths to save her. All eight of them lay dead, time notwithstanding. They were beautiful, every last one, and the world would never again see their equal. A mix of sorrow and joy flitted across her face one last time before she went to join her children in an eternal embrace.

Then the witch was gone, banished forever to the nothingness. Seemingly every animal in and around Gabriel's Tear howled, growled, chittered or sang of her past glory to the twin suns that now rose well into the summer sky. It was a new dawn.