CONTENT WARNING: major character death
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This and the next few chapters will jump around a lot chronologically and between characters as it discusses what the characters got up to over the years after the main story. I will try to make the points where things happen as clear as I can. Also the names of these sort-of-epilogue chapters are a playful little parody on common modern fantasy book titles, so I hope you'll enjoy them, haha.
Daniel
Six years after the Magic Realm was created
Father has had a long life full of action and adventure, and now the years have caught up to him. He doesn't have much longer left. I'm at least thankful that of all things that could have taken him from us, it will be natural old age.
Josiah has had the most relaxed reaction to all of this, but he deals with death all day and his emotions are more finely tuned than mine or Edwin's. Edwin is trying to hold back his tears, but I'm not able to.
"Thank you, and thank you, Daniel, for what you did for me. If it wasn't for this family, I'd likely be dead or back on the streets. You saved me from being swallowed whole by Volpe and his witchfinders, and I appreciate all you've both done for me."
"And we appreciate all the help you've given us with our work, Edwin. You're a wonderful boy with a good head on your shoulders - I'm glad you got out of witchfinding. Josiah, you've come so far and worked so hard. You've always been such a smart boy. I hope you know how proud I am of you."
"You saved all three of us, Father. You completely changed everything for yourself and you did everything you've ever done entirely for us." I don't hide my tears as well as my brother does. "I don't know how to thank you." I try to calm my shaking voice. "Ruth would be more than proud of what you've done for us."
"You two saved me from witchfinding. Of course I'd save you both from it. You both made me a much better person."And Ruth would be more than proud of her two perfect sons. I love you all so much - more than I have the words for."
"We love you too," we all say, in perfect unison.
* * *
"I expected it to be easier."
"I'm sorry, Josiah. I'm sorry to get like this. It's just that..."
"I thought this would be easier. We led a happy life with him, he was old...I don't know why it feels like this."
I thought I was prepared. Right up until he drew his last breath whilst I was making him more comfortable, I thought that I was prepared to say a final farewell to my father. After that, grief bludgeoned me. I feel like I'm a nine year old child again, worried his father was going to die as a witchfinder. I wanted to be well enough to care for Edwin tonight, but I can't. Josiah is trying to comfort him.
"Grief is never easy, Dan. Don't be so hard on yourself. It's going to be painful for some time - only time and the good memories we have of him will heal this."
I throw myself onto my brother's shoulder and don't hold back. Despite his social awkwardness, he does what he can to comfort me. I almost feel selfish - he's grieving too, but if I don't let it out now, it will only hurt more later.
"It'll be okay, Dan - like Josiah says...it'll take time. We'll be alright. We know what we're doing, and we have each other to rely on."
"You have enough going on, Edwin," I say, barely audible through my sobbing. "I don't want to put extra pressure on either of you."
"I'm your brother., Dan," Josiah replies, in a soft voice. "It doesn't matter how busy I am - I'll always have time for you."
"And so will I. As your...as your brother, I'll be there for you if you need it - the way you were there for me when I needed you the most."
I know we'll be okay, but I can't feel it. I feel as if I've died with him - completely hollow and cold all over. The worst part about grief is it does get better - but there's little you can do other than wait. Josiah and Edwin both need to be awake early tomorrow. They offer me to come with them, but I tell them I need more time with Father and that I'll see them later.
The nights have been quiet of late - nowhere near as much screaming and clashes of steel. I think we have you to thank for that, Father. I have you to thank for almost everything.
When you see Ruth, I hope she's as proud of you as your sons are.
Gideon
Six years after the Magic Realm was created
Roses.
Roses are far as the eye can see, and little else.
How my darling Ruth loved roses - she called herself predictable, whereas I called her passionate and cheerful. Ruth had a lot of love in her heart for just about everything.
What is this place? Could it be - could it be life after death? Is there such a thing?
The path of roses feels endless, and yet I cannot stop following. There must be a reason for this. If this is a path lined entirely with my dearly beloved's favourite flower, could it be-
The bed. That bed, I could never forget it. It was her bed...it was the bed that my sons were conceived in, where...
"Where you and I lay together for the first time. I remember, too. How could I forget?"
It's her. Either it's her, or it's an illusion projected by whatever is going on in my head at this moment...but either way, it makes no difference to me. It's my Ruth, beautiful as the day we met and sweet as the roses that lined my path to her.
However, the love for her is dwarfed entirely by remorse as heavy as steel.
"It feels cruel, my love. I lived my entire life, and you...yours was cut so short."
"Do not worry, my dear. We have little understanding of what fate has in store for us. I've been waiting for so long to see you again, and here you are, all these years older and still as handsome as I remember. And our boys...I wish they knew how proud I was of them. Not being able to hold them or cherish them..."
"They know how much you would have loved them, Ruth. I can promise you that. Myself, however - I've not been the man you would have wanted to be my dear. I have to tell you everything."
"Gideon, I-"
"I killed people. Mostly women. Hundreds of them. I did it to earn money for our boys, but all I was doing was leading them down a wrong path. I slaughtered so many people. I-"
"You saved both our boys from the clutches of Volpe. You defied a dangerous man who could have killed you, twice - once for your sons, once to spare the life of a man you hated. You helped to stop a foreign cunningwoman from being eaten alive over a rich Henfordian man's lies, even when she tried to trick you..."
"...So, you mean-"
"Yes, I saw you drink it." The embarassment is offset by the way I seem to warm up when she laughs.
"You have done terrible things, Gideon- and they hurt me in ways I cannot describe. But what matters is you sought to fix them. I felt so guilty, Gideon - I felt so guilty when I realised I would not survive. I wanted to be there for you as well as my children. I watched you struggle to raise them all by yourself. You did what you could with what you had, and I'm so sorry-"
"No, my love. It was not your fault. Please, do not apologise for anything. You mean everything to me. You have done all these years - both when you were by my side and long after."
"Come on, my love - get up. You needn't wallow in remorse. You're here with me now for eternity. Remember what you said to me that night we danced under the stars? It was exactly what you wanted."
Ruth sits on the bed, the blankets covered in more roses - and she holds me.
"I say that it sounds like the perfect way to spend an eternity, Ruth."
Clementia
Five years after the Magic Realm was created
It's been a long few years, and they've almost ground me to dust. Years of fighting off Jacobans and witchfinders alongside my father and brother, years of trying to keep up being the abbess of the monastery...it has to come to an end.
Five years ago, I told High Priest Thorne that both of us had damaged our religions beyond repair - that we'd both broken away from the rules and expectations so much that we'd made them mean nothing at all.
Eventually, I paid three reformed witchfinders to help defend myself and the monastery. For long after, I did what I could to spread the word of hope and to attempt to return Peterism in Withernham to some semblance of peace, but the damage had already been done.
Thorne was too powerful to be held accountable, everyone knew that. I could do nothing about him. Even Owen Annorin, the richest man in Henford from one of the most intimidating families this side of the oceans, lost his entire life's dedication and career to being vocal about his support for magicfolk. Thorne was the one true victor of the era of witch-hunts. He'd lost nothing, and he knew it. All it had done was net him more rears on pews and more revenue.
The cycle of violence was not going to stop with Thorne - and so it had to stop with me.
I knew that what I was about to tell them would be controversial. They all gazed at me with sweet, trusting smiles, and I was about to break a good chunk of that trust.
Three years ago, I declared that I would no longer be their abbess - and that this would no longer be a monastery.
People panicked. The regular Peterans thought that they would not be free to worship here or continue practicing the faith. Others questioned what right I had to change this place since it had been a monastery for hundreds of years. Others suggested I should not give in to the expectations of Thorne.
There were plenty of different reasons that influenced my decision. First, the meddling of myself and of Thorne within our religions made me question whether anyone would care for either of these faiths in the future. Abbots, abbesses, High Priests and Eyes of Jacob would all do their bit to render their religion a mess of justifications and loose rules that nobody would know what to do or follow. I considered it a sort of future-proofing.
Second, I had found out that whilst many used the charitable services we offered, others didn't because they thought that if they were not Peteran, we would not help - which couldn't have been further from the truth. With the witchfinder numbers slowly dwindling, the people suffering the destruction the conflict had left in its wake would need to access all they could, and I didn't want people who needed us to be put off because they did not follow the spiritual beliefs we followed.
Third, a part of me had hoped that there were some Jacobans that wanted to break away from Thorne's grasp without feeling like their only option was conversion. I wanted to have a space that would have a level of understanding for those who wanted to get away from Thorne's version of Jacobism or witchfinding without feeling like we'd only offer support if they were one of us.
I also wanted to sort out the courtyard and transform it into a graveyard. The only people buried there were Mother Joyce, Shepherd Julian and Shepherd Juniper, and so many people were looking to bury their dead that I wanted to use the little space we had - and rarely used - to help people not have to resort to a potter's field.
My brother and I had designated ourselves not leaders, but as 'friends of the people'. This place had always been a central part of the community, but I wanted it to be truly welcoming to all.
Today, two years after I made the declaration and about five years after the creation of the Magic Realm changed everything... the Withernham House of Friends, as it's now called, is a place that still spread hope and joy, only without the Peteran name - and we had a lot more people come to us because of it. The courtyard and gardens were now a graveyard blooming with flowers and colour.
About a week or so after Róisín's murder, a witch contacted the Peteran monastery as a trusted place to say she had recovered the body of Reynold's daughter and had hoped to give it to him. She had been taking charred bodies from the stakes for many, many years. It was rare that she could ever reunite them with their families, and though she had little money, she maintained a field where she buried them and planted flowers. She had heard all that Áine was doing, and that's how she knew. She was glad to reunite a body with a family for the first time, and so we wrapped Róisín's body and buried her in the graveyard at the former Peteran monastery. The closure lifted something off a weight off both Reynold and Áine. Their daughter - my niece - she was at least laid to rest, something many witches considered a luxury for their kind. Reynold has asked that we bury his remains next to hers, though I don't like to think about losing him.
We decided to keep a lot of the Peteran artifacts and turn a part of the basement into a Peteran worship room for the likes of the Peteran regulars. The main hall has been changed drastically, now including a little reading corner, an art corner, a long table for socialising and for the feast days and the giving out of food, and a children's corner full of toys. Local elderly women made the teddy bears, and the wooden toys were made by Áine's younger brother Eli for specifically for us for no cost at all.
As you can imagine, it can get pretty rambunctious with the children running about - but the Withernham House of Friends has become a place of safety and of happiness. It has become a place of recovery in a time of dwindling conflict, a place where we can help to get society back to some level of normality. We still offered counsel to anyone who needed it, and this could be anyone from witches to ex-witchfinders wrestling with guilt and the sense of feeling foolish for being lied to.
There's no doubt that Reynold and I are completely exhausted, but this is at least a good way to spend the little energy we have.
Reynold
Five years since the Magic Realm was created
Clementia and I have really turned Withernham around. Her decision wasn't without its controversy, but we've attracted a lot more people since we made the changes. The way the Withernham House of Friends brought everyone together in a way that even Peterism couldn't was proof that she made the right decision. Some worried that Jacobism would take over Henford entirely, but I know that won't happen. If anything, less and less people believe in a Watcher at all these days.
The refuge space is still there at the House of Friends, but it has not been used as such for years - most witches have fled to Glimmerbrook, Abigail's village near Withernham or to the fancy Magic Realm. We now offer those rooms to rent mostly for those visiting, and the money goes towards the charitable efforts of the Friends, who include as well as myself and my sister the last of the Peteran regulars. They were a little upset at the change, but what we are doing is at least in the spirit of true Peterism. Susana, Elias, Julius and Liliana help us all of the time, and are the reason Clem and I can get a day off in if we're lucky.
Myself, I remain devoted to Lunvin, and whilst I spend time with people at the House of Friends during the day, usually telling life stories to curious (and downright nosey) local children, I still prowl the fields of Henford in the form of a wolf.
I knew I couldn't separate myself from the wolf - I've known it for countless years. I know I've killed plenty of witchfinders. I know I've contributed to the cycle of ongoing violence that everyone these days hopes to break entirely, but there's little I can do other than devote myself to community and peace whenever there isn't a full moon.
There aren't as many witchfinders about these days, thankfully, so I don't really know what I get up to. A local said she'd spotted me 'frolicking' around by the woods the other night and described it rather interestingly as 'an adorable sight'.
Áine and I did try to return to the way we were before we lost our daughter, but we couldn't muster those feelings for one another no matter how much we tried to. Nevertheless, we remained close friends. I don't get much time to see her these days, but she's found some time to chat at the coffeehouse with me.
"Most of the students are well-behaved, surprisingly, even the Wild Magic ones. Kat's still causing havoc in her own little way and is having a brilliant time meeting fellow Mischief casters, Tsuna is enjoying teaching five hundred years of arcane history to the students, and Owen, well...we appreciate Owen. And how are you keeping?"
"I've...been better."
My issues with melancholy haven't improved much. The Withernham House of Friends made things a little easier - those children's smiles are enough to make anyone's problems go away for a short while, no matter how dire. They're a wonderful bunch.
"My father isn't getting any younger, and when he passes...I'm going to potentially be the last of the Lunvinchenaîné."
I'd reached out in little ways over the years in the hopes of finding others like myself, and I had no luck. I had no idea if they were in hiding in other countries, or if they existed at all. There is a growing likelihood that I truly am the last of Lunvin's children.
"Don't forget, you have all the books and documents you gave to me for the Magic Realm's library. The students are fairly curious about the likes of vampires and werewolves."
"I understand that, it's just...it hurts more than I can describe to you, my lov - I'm sorry. I forget sometimes."
"That's alright. Carry on."
"It's a lot on my shoulders, knowing I am the last of them in Henford - maybe even anywhere. It horrifies me to imagine that the future might forget we ever existed. They'll only know us as blood-thirsty monsters from their damned penny dreadfuls and nothing else."
"I won't ever let anyone forget, Reynold - not about you, and not about the Lunvinchenaîné, for as long as I live."
It's surreal to see she hasn't changed at all. She still looks exactly the same as she did five years back. The only difference is the faint hum of magic coming from her necklace, supposedly the 'anchor' of the Magic Realm. She believes that creating it cost her some of her life force - but there's no knowing how much that really affected her, not when she has the life forces of hundreds of people within her.
"How are you feeling, Áine?"
She stares into her coffee mug. "Their memories still torment me alongside my own almost every night, but I'll be okay. I have goodness-knows how many years; I'll find a way. I promise."
Reynold
Ten years after the Magic Realm was created
Our father decided he wanted to spend the last of his life back in his home in Lunvik. With the Peteran regulars in charge of the House of Friends until we get back, Clem and I have decided to go with him and spend time with him. Alistair is not at all fearful of death - never has been, not during the Bloodmoon and not now...so he says.
As it turns out, it seems the wolf pack we're friends with has been seemingly guarding this place in the hopes that we'd come back at some point. there's a few dents in the soil which are rock-solid and almost in the shape of where a wolf has been sitting there. They didn't step foot into the house at all - it's exactly as we left it before.
Father gave me quite a fright when he took off to the cliffs on his own - he's always loved the view from up here, but this place gives me no pleasant memories whatsoever, yet I am comforted by my feelings here - I feel no urge to do anything drastic like last time.
"Father, will you go careful? The last thing I want is for you to trip and fall off the cliff!"
"Son, why do you think I didn't ask you to come with me?" he says, in a gruff tone. "I came here alone to protect your emotions, that's all. I'm just admiring the view. Far more beautiful than Withernham, isn't it?"
Looking out across the dense fir trees, I can see an area Father pointed out to us as children. It was called the Wolf's Fang Wood for the way the fir trees bent over slightly, resembling them a little.
"There's something I want to discuss, Father."
"Of course, son. Whatever is on your mind."
I take a deep breath before I speak.
"What do I do when I end up being the last of our kind?"
I seem to have hit a nerve there. He looks a little caught out.
"My son, I...you can do whatever it is you want to do with your life. All I ask of you is to never stop telling our stories, never stop talking about us. Plenty of our books and written works are preserved in the Magic Realm, at least. Just make sure no-one forgets about us. That's all I ask."
"Of course, Father. I must ask, are you telling the truth when you tell me you have no fear of death?"
He cackles in his throat at that one, leading to a coughing fit.
"Does a Bloodmoon veteran have any fear of death, Reynold? Of course not," he says, with a playful edge. He puts a calloused hand on my shoulder. "No, if anything, I'm curious. If I had it my way, I would love to see them all again...all the others who perished in the Bloodmoon, the werewolves from before my time, your mother... and, of course, Lunvin's great wilds...and Oskar. How I miss him... To be perfectly honest, I'm rahter looking forward to it. I'm not looking forward to leaving my children behind, but I'm a man in my seventies who needs his rest. These bones don't work the way they used to."
It's hard to describe my feelings about it all. I have already died once before, yet I still fear when my time comes; I don't want to deal with night-wraiths again. Clem and I found a way to live without our father's guidance for such a long time, yet he'd spent so much time fixing the issues he caused us that I don't know if I'm ready to lose him. I was lucky enough to have a father who was willing to change for the better. That, I will always be thankful for.
* * *
Over the last week or so, he's been getting a lot slower. We thought we might have had a month or so more with him, but the wolf pack have arrived in their entirety - a surefire sign that he doesn't have much longer left. My sister was nervous about letting them in, but I told her it was fine - they just wanted to comfort him.
"I don't deserve you two at all. I caused so many problems for both of you, and I didn't do anything about it until it was far too late. I can't begin to describe how sorry I am to both of you...There isn't a day that goes by where I'm not wracked with guilt over it."
"Father, please," Clem utters, her voice trembling. "You came back. You helped Reynold. You helped guard the monastery. You were there for me at the last month of mourning there. I forgive you. Thank you."
"As do I, Father. You did what was right eventually. Most fathers never get to that point. We both appreciate you dearly."
The wolves whine amd whimper towards him, and the pups let out a shrill howl.
* * *
There's a cool breeze through the trees as we lay my father down against a large rock. The wolves sit in a circle around him. I tell Clem she can stay inside if she wants, but she insists on coming along. The mooncaster burial is not pretty, but it is our way of giving back to the wolves. Even I'm nervous, and I've always considered it a fascinating, if not somewhat-grim tradition, but it means a lot to us.
Alistair's breaths catch in his throat. A wolf pup nuzzles at his hand, wagging his tail at him.
"Whatever I can do to make this more comfortable, Father-"
"I'm with my two wonderful children and with the wolves, far from civilisation. What could be more comforting to an old dying man than that, my son?"
I lift his cold, rough palm into my own, and he reciprocates with a weak, smile. His wrinkles frame his soft expression. The scar on one side of his reminds me:
"You told me to never let anyone forget about the Lunvinchenaîné, Father. I won't let anyone forget about the Bloodmoon, either. I'll carve your name into the memorial before I leave. I promise you."
He lays his head back against the rock and closes his eyes, his hand still in mine.
"It's okay, son. You can leave now, if you'd like-"
"No, Father...just give me another minute or so."
I'd spent a good couple of years in my youth thinking I'd never see my father again, thinking that he'd died or been killed in the witch-hunts. In these last moments with him, I just want to make the most of the fact that we were lucky enough to be reunited with each other. The warmth of it pushes the chill of anxiety out of my insides.
"Is there anything you'd like to say, Clem?"
"I'm not dead just yet, Reynold," Alistair says in a wheezing voice, letting out the closest sound a dying man could make to laughter.
"I've said all I needed to say, Reynold. Farewell, Father. Wherever you end up next, I hope you will be with Mother and Oskar and everyone you have ever loved."
The wolves being to howl their strange chorus, with even the pups joining in. Clem covers her ears for a moment, removing her hands from her ears shortly after and trying not to grimance. Wolves howling is the kind of song that is only beautiful to the moon-shackled.
"Should we go somewhere else, Reynold?
A wolf puts its paw on top of my hand. I lower my father's hand down to the grass and let go of it - and of him.
Ten years after the Magic Realm was created
