In a supreme act of selfishness, she had left him -- again. She disobeyed his explicit command not to die. Rash creature that she was, she found another way to exact vengeance on the demons, pushing her flirtation with Death to its ultimate conclusion. The demons had tugged upon her like a human wishbone. She snapped, in defiance of both factions, repudiating everyone's will but her own for it to be over. Zyr and Azriok both lost.

Dirk was angry. He also felt a strange sense of loss. In a single defeat, he lost his ability to annihilate the South, lost his key to claiming the Crown before his father's death and lost the only entity in the entire cosmos he would deign to call a 'friend.' No one else had ever penetrated the darkest places in his soul - much less reveled in them. For a few months, he had been closer to her than anyone in his adult life.

He had become accustomed to his plans being thwarted in one way or another over the years, but this time was different. There was no blithely turning to the next great scheme - for there was none. Her death ruined everything.

The next twenty-four hours were a waking nightmare. Bethel came to him almost immediately, like a vulture eager to feast on fresh carrion. She insisted that he announce their betrothal to the gathered nobility. For lack of a better diversion and to be rid of them - and her - he made that announcement. To her frustration, he announced the betrothal would take place when all Camarand surrendered. They both knew that was unlikely in the foreseeable future. In his current frame of mind, he would as soon see Bethel dead as on Karteia's throne. Still, the announcement was a useful diversion.

Meanwhile, Zyrdicia's passing had other effects. Portia and the rest of Zyrdicia's staff were unable to return to Lyr, for any magic they had access to had ceased to function. Every remnant of magic associated with Zyrdicia in this world flickered out at the moment of her death. The dam above Geshna collapsed, washing most of the city away in a spectacular flood. All the arcanium trade gates closed permanently, as well. Without her to open the magical lock to her home in the cloud world, it was sealed away forever. It was as though the universe wanted to deny that she ever existed.

Vector soon learned that Traquil had returned from wherever she had trapped him. The white wizard had managed to retrieve his monocle, and the South was jubilant. Meanwhile, the wall of Castle Tronin had been breached, thanks to Astaroth's earlier meddling. Dirk's forces were under heavy attack, and it was doubtful they would be able to hold Tronin past Midwinter.

His navy was all but useless without a way to get troops to the ships for a land invasion. Zyrdicia was supposed to have transported an large force to Kirilia so that he could launch an assault from the coast. Now he had no way to even access the islands or speak to his admiral. In time, Milo would return to pirating, and the fleet would answer to no one.

III

Portia cried for days. Her world ended. Every definition of herself had been tied to Zyrdicia's life. Now that she was adrift in a foreign realm far from home, she was utterly dependent on Cai, a situation he was quite content to bear. Anthony, having learned that Charles was trapped in LA and they would never see each other again, locked the door to his room and wouldn't speak to anyone.

Philip was the most devastated of all by the death. He tossed most of the manuscript of unpublished pages of Zyrdicia's biography into the hearth - his life's work, totalling thousands of pages detailing the last fifty years of her life, was lost forever. He saved only the very end of it. He gave the prince a small satchel of the pages related to the past half year, should Dirk ever want to know her perspective on what it had meant. Dirk was unable to look at them, but also unable to destroy them. He abandoned the satchel in a closet, where it would gather dust for years. Meanwhile, the elfin scholar departed on foot. Where he went, no one knew. His role in the world was done. There would be no Twilight to chronicle.

IV

The fact of Zyrdicia's death was a closely guarded secret. There could be no elaborate funeral, no grand spectacle. Fear of her return was still a potent weapon against the South. Disposing of her remains had to be handled delicately.

Had she died in Lyr, there would have been a massive outpouring of grief, weeks worth of ceremony and mourning. Portia wanted her body returned to the Old Temple, somehow. The Priests would be able to revive her, even in death.

Dirk ignored the plea. Zyrdicia would be left in peace, protected from Sephiroth scheming now, if never before. She had no rest from the un-angels' torment in life; he could at least protect her from them in death.

Her new temple, perched on a mountain slope above the ruins of Geshna, was the only sensible place for her remains. Dirk went there alone, disclosing his plan to no one. He wanted none of them to know of his intention, lest they try to interfere on behalf of the Priests.

Reaching the hillside temple was difficult, in light of the raging floodwater still churning in the valley below. A journey that should have taken a scant hour took half a night. The ride was cold and silent.

Unblemished by association with demons, the new temple's only reason for existence had been Zyrdicia's own vanity. The elaborate, black edifice was unfinished, like everything she had left behind. In the dim moonlight, it seemed to preside over the destruction of the city below proudly, jeering at the devastation with its perfect beauty.

He placed her body upon a bed of tinder arranged on the temple's glistening, obsidian altar. Surrounded by statues of herself, she was the altar's first and only offering to her divine alter-ego. Dirk had never grieved for anyone's death, and he stubbornly refused to do it for her. He frankly did not know how. She would not have wanted it, anyway. He imagined she would have laughed at it, mocked it.

When he brought a torch to the pyre on the massive altar, and watched the flames devour her, there was no trace of lingering anger over her departure. Despite himself, he hoped she was happy, wherever she was.

She had single-handedly nearly annihilated his world. Through her, he had experienced a sense of power he had never imagined existed. He suspected he would always miss her. Destruction, torture and, warfare had all been radically redefined by her presence, but then, so had affection and intimacy. It was all inseparable, somehow. The prince had no doubt she would find a way to irritate Death and make Him adore her for it - and he envied Death.

Dirk remembered Zyrdicia asking him once, months ago in Grogan, how he could stand the loneliness of not having friends. Until she had crashed into his life, it had been a moot question. She was the only person whose company he had truly preferred to being alone. Until now, he had never really known what loneliness was. Maddening, fascinating, amusing and annoying, she was irreplaceable.

As the fire raged, a soft mist of snow began to fall through the temple's open roof. It reminded him of the first time she had seen the white stuff, when he had taken her up into the mountains just to satisfy her bizarre curiosity. His throat tightened inexplicably as he thought of that night. He touched his hand to his face, surprised that it was moist.

"Bye," he whispered. He turned and walked out, leaving her to the flames.