ver hill and under tree the jolly winter sun shone, welcoming the bite of morning as he opened his eyes, half-puzzled and half-irritated. Birds chirped in a distance, huddling and nesting in hazel thickets, dousing the air in might and melody.

As he spanned his hand about, he touched the moist soil upon which he rested: an inch of water between him and the ground. The light of the sun blinded him, almost lulling him back to sleep even if he was in water.

But he was not alone, someone else walked around, he could hear footsteps. From the corner of his eye he could see a tall figure draped in black approach him, extending his hand out.

"Rise and shine, Legate Vilyánur," the aged voice called to him, "rise and shine."

Vil struggled to open his eyes, yet he could make out the figure's hair: long curls of platinum blond draped over a fair yet aged face – a face he well recognized from illustrations and statues, laced with a gallant smile, grandeur unmatched, welcoming yet daunting, blinding like a solar eclipse. Vil was caught off guard.

"Lord Darrian!" he sprung up, a fearful chill running down his spine. "Is that really you? This is but a dream, is it not?"

"Life is but a dream, is it not?" he whispered. "What difference does it even make anyway? Aren't all pleasures and pains temporary: shadows on the wall? What use is struggle anyway?"

"I do know, Lord," Vil lowered his head, "I do not boast to know the answers."

"Then you are as wiser than half your comrades," Lord Darrian replied. "It takes far greater wisdom to not know than to know. You are a brave hero, Lord Vilyánur, do not undermine your own strength. By the way, congratulations, your actions have saved the world of Alledoria."

Vil tried his best to crack a smile, ignoring the irritating his wet clothes had on him.

"Come with me, we need to get you some new clothes and warmth. It would be a shame for a fabled hero like yourself to die of hypothermia."

Vil nodded, following Darrian into the forest.

From what he gathered, he had been lying in the swamp for who knows how long, in the middle of a forest no different from one you'd find on Alledoria, yet there was something innately bizarre about it. Was he dead? If yes, do dead people feel cold? Because Vil did, the water dripping from his clothes only boosted the wrath of winter's skeletal fingers.

"Welcome to my humble home," said Darrian, as the two neared the cottage: a little hut of wood and stone, sitting idly between a road and river, and nothing more.

Vil drew a sigh of relief, mingled with awe at the levels of humility of a hero of legend. Following Lord Darrian inside, he huddled beside the fireplace in the centre, allowing the warmth of it to rout the cold and bring in the heat of day.

"Keep those garments on and you'll surely get cold," Lord Darrian replied, tossing a heavy blanket upon Vil.

Vil nodded, taking off his beige shirt and brown trousers, carefully wrapping himself in the blankets to not let the cold air bite his nimble skin as he changed clothes, where he got the beige and brown from though, he could not say.

...

"Excuse me, Lord. Where am I? Is this heaven?"

"If this is heaven, then not very luxurious, I'd say, if you are in the realm where pain is non-existent, and still you have to huddle by the fire to not die of cold."

Vil looked down, "maybe it is not meant to be luxurious, for luxury cannot exist without labour. Maybe that is what life is."

Lord Darrian watched, listening to him ever so silently.

"Maybe," Vil reclined back, "just maybe, I think heaven would not really be an endless pleasure, for such a thing cannot exist. I mean, if I was a god, I wouldn't do it, for you cannot feel pleasure if you do not feel pain."

Vil stared into the flickering embers, Lord Darrian kept his vision fixed on Vil, ever so slowly smiling and nodding. He wasn't dead, Vil was sure of that, how he didn't know.

"You are not dead," said Lord Darrian at last, "you would've been had you remained on Mundus, fortunately for you I snatched your spirit just in the nick of time, sparing you the pain."

Vil nodded somewhat neutrally, "so I can still return?"

"Of course you can," said Darrian in happy mood, but Vil looked into the fire with dead eyes, "do you not want to?"

Vil made no reply.

"I know what bothers you," said Darrian, Vil looked at him in question, "I have been watching you for a very long time, from corners unseen and unmentioned. Amongst the many trees of Angdor, amongst the pillars of your academy, amongst the veiled folk of Vyro, I have been watching you."

Vil was lost in thought, he was not surprised, though he should've been (or so he thought). "Lord Darrian," he questioned: "What do you think of what I did to Morthaur? Did I doom the world with my deeds? Did I achieve the impossible?"

'Well," Darrian replied darkly, "firstly let me say I did not expect you to win, but you did so that's good." But there was no joy in his eyes. "Your deeds are praiseworthy, true. But your killing of Morthaur, well . . . let's just say your actions disrupted the balance of nature. Fret not, for 'tis temporary, but still, there will be consequences."

'Consequences' – the very word of it made Vil shudder, he couldn't imagine what he had done. Maybe the very spell he used to stop Morthaur is the one he came for, and now that he was no more, who would ensure the decay of dead worlds? Will they all float through a cosmos of deathlessness? What else?

"At least for now, you are safe and the world is stable. But it won't remain so forever. In the absence of Morthaur, the world will decay and stagnate, scarecrows will walk amongst us and we will not differentiate, droughts will peak and famines spread. Should Morthaur not return, the next time a spark glides the wind, the world will be consumed by a pillar of fire."

And Vil was happy no more, but rather afraid.

"Do not fear. Over time the universe will heal itself, and not like it was entirely your fault anyway, some things are just beyond our control," said Darrian, much to his relief. "One thing I will say: Your uniting the two realms was change enough to evade his full wrath, for you broke the stalemate and pushed your kinsmen into a new age. For Morthaur is not only a force of evil, but any change – good or bad."

Vil nodded, a jolly smile etched upon his face.

For a couple hours the chat continued, Lord Darrian served Vil with pierogi and tea, lading his hungry stomach with a filling meal that was enough to put in mental unrest to ease.

"Oh, there is one last thing: your actions left quite a mess back there."

"I am aware," Vil nodded, "so I'm guessing I should repent for them?"

"Oh, no, I didn't say that," Lord Darrian replied, "the word 'repent' implies you've committed some sin whose penance you seek, whereas it's not that. I'd want you to do something else: a task, which may take a heavy toll but will most definitely bear a fruitful result. To do or not to do though, is your choice."

"I am the Sarmäcil," Vil replied, "I can see through your illusions, so attempt not to cast them on me. I know 'tis but an illusion of choice, and would prefer instead if you tell me what to do."

Lord Darrian smiled, "I knew you would, very well. Here's the task."

*****

The sun climbed high into the noon as Vil alongside Lord Darrian positioned himself in the middle of the highway, one side going uphill and the other downhill. "Travel up the road, and you'll reach where you should be," Darrian instructed, "it is the road most people take anyway – under the hand of fate."

"And what if I travel down the road?"

"Then you'll be where you want to be," Darrian smiled, "fewer people take this road, but I don't know about you. I must go now; it is up to you to decide what you'll do: fate or desire, to do your duty or go with the flow, you must choose."

"Thank you, Lord," Vil replied, "you've helped me a great deal."

"Just one thing," Darrian said at last, "you have my sword (or rather my ex-sword): Amolrië. I do not seek it back, but ask instead of you to honour the tradition: make sure to pass it on to whoever you think it should go to once you've retired, that is all this old hermit asks of you."

"I will make sure of that," Vil replied. "Thank you."

Lord Darrian smiled, taking a few steps back. Vil looked up and down both roads, both of them no different from one other, diverging off into different directions, one taken oft and the other not. "I don't know what to do, my lord," he lamented, "can you-"

As he looked behind him, Darrian was nowhere to be found, he and his shack had disappeared, leaving behind Vil, garbed in the same beige and brown he entered this realm with (all dried up), alone on the road.

Vil lowered his head, stroking his hair aside. He knew which road he was always meant to walk, his decision was clear to him. "I do not want to know," he told himself, "for once in my life, I would like to hope, I would like to hope."

"Lord, help me stick to my decision," he wished as he started walking.

...

For what he thought of as heaven, this place was fairly desolate. Trees of great height flanked the cobblestone road, mountains much taller flanking the skies above him.

The road was long yet beautiful, passing through dense forests and over a stream, disappearing into the undergrowth on many occasions. And longer he walked, walking through a flight of singing nymphs now and dancing flowers then, and they all called out to him in wordless song.

From falsehood, lead me to truth,

from darkness lead me to the light,

from death lead me to immortality.

And most of all, help me carry on, he thought to himself as he carried on.

For hours he travelled, until at last the forest around him grew thin, he heard gulls calling in the distance, mingled with the sound of the sea. He rushed for it, a joy singing in his heart.

A light peered over the horizon, dazzling the lands with beauty indescribable, merry waves crashed against the sandbanks and broke apart, washing away all the beached kelp and crabs.

Two people hauled their boat into the waters, pulling on the ropes to bring the boat adrift. "Ahoy! Lord Vilyánur!" one of them called aloud, "we're leaving, are you coming?"

"I am," he shouted back, rushing to the boat.

"Just in time, lord," the other told him, "a little too late and we'd have left."

"I don't trust you'd be," Vil replied, "let me help you oar this thing."

He got up the boat and took hold of the oar, rowing alongside the other as they sailed off the shoreline and into the seas that lay before them. Now there was no going back, he had made a decision, and had to stick to it.

Gulls called, whales echoed, the ocean sang songs of glory to them. And from them arose more voices as the sailors joined them with shanties of their own.

On the prowl I look to seas calling,

looking for a way to go back home;

only if my family would accept me,

oh, my lord, how happy would I be.

I know well the price of my mistakes

please look now, for I have changed.

How could we ever convince you so,

on our gods, I have really changed.

Long the seas hearken to my calling,

and give me a way to go back home,

only now that I can prove to you,

I will not make same mistakes again.

On a note long and deep the song ceased, and the world around him faded to white, a humming noise taking over him. The sound of water stayed constant, but the voices did not. One moment he saw, and the other he did not.

*****

As Vil opened his eyes, his eyes beheld the wooden roof, his body nicely tucked under fur blankets. The whole room rocked as the waves crashed against it, conveying to him his location in the middle of the sea.

A number of bandages were wrapped around his body, bloodied and painful, but he could not be gladder to feel the pain of life once again.

"Mey," he let out a whisper, yet no voice replied much to his dismay. He sat upright, his hand pressing against his throbbing head; half from the wound, and the other half from Mey's absence.

"Now I'll learn you gave up your life to save mine," he said to himself, trying to get up.

To be honest, he wasn't all glad of it. The disorienting motion of the ship made his headache even worse, and it was cold. What kind of fool leaves a casualty naked in the middle of winter?

He quickly donned on his clothes: the same beige and brown he wore in his delusion, and walked out onto the deck.

...

It was a mesmerising view: the sun shone bright in the sky, dolphins played in the waters below and around them, sailors worked their way around the riggings and sails, singing shanties as they sailed through the rough oceans.

And there stood his beloved Meneldir, perched on the railing, looking out into the great blue beyond, unmoved by Vil's awakening it seemed. "Happy Solstice," he wished him, "I see the Ice Gods honoured my wish."

"Mey," Vil approached him, "this is the second time I woke up from a deathlike state and you didn't come running to me, are you alright?"

"I am," Mey replied, "I just had faith in you, I knew you'd come back to me."

Vil moved his head towards him, leaning in for a soft kiss on his cheeks, trailing down to his neck. Mey purred, kissing back. They spent the next half an hour in each other's embrace.

"So tell me," Vil said to him, "what happened after I was gone?"

"I was sad, I thought you had died," Mey sobbed, "yet there I was beside you, holding your lifeless body in my arms until help arrived. They took care of you, your uncle and my father asked for their best physicians to look after you, and treat you they did for six days, and today, on the seventh day, you awoke."

"Wow," Vil shook his head, planting another kiss on Mey's forehead. "And what of Raucion?"

"I'm sorry, Vil, but we could not save him," he replied, pointing to a dinghy with a coffin in it. "He, Vareth, and Aeresil died as heroes, and so did everyone else who fought in this battle, regardless of which side they fought on."

Tears rolled down Vil's eyes, "so what kept you so unnaturally nonchalant?"

"I didn't know," Mey shrugged, "I guess I believed you'd never leave me, I didn't break down knowing you were just resting."

"Well, what happened to me anyway?"

"You were struck by a bolt of arcane energy," Mey answered, "the wound could've been fatal, but you're very strong, so we knew you'd endure."

Vil dragged Mey towards him, kissing him on his forehead. "But I was afraid," Mey continued, "for even the slightest moments I thought . . . you might leave me." He started to sob again, "I didn't know, you did lose a lot of loved ones, and I thought I'm not worthy of your lo-."

"Hush," Vil placed a finger on Mey's lips, "I love you the most, and will continue to love you; I can never leave you."

They embraced again, this time tighter than before.

"Remember the day I used blood magic to save you? I gave you a part of my soul. For long I thought this hole will remain forever in my heart, but I was wrong. As I gave you a part of my soul, you gave me a part of yours. I will never abandon you."

"I won't either," Mey replied, looking onto the horizon. "Also what about Morthaur? We did kill him, but didn't that disrupt the way of time?"

"Aye it did, and we won't be spared its consequences, but don't worry. Sooner or later, the universe will fix itself. Don't worry about it, or at least worry later."

"Right," Mey nodded, as they both turned to the horizon now.

And thus it was: they sailed off into the west and towards home. Once they returned, they were to be hailed as heroes by their people. They had finally succeeded: Morthaur was defeated, the world was saved, and most importantly: the two elven races were united.

They embarked from the Kingdom of Alinor, and they'd disembark in the Alledor-Alinor Commonwealth.