The air was clear, like the waters deep within the Gestalt Caves of the Valley of Plenty. The fields ahead wafted with a sweet floral scent as their blooms almost seemed to glow in the Spring sunlight and morning dew. Something so mundane, yet extraordinary given times being what they were. The purity with which the sun was beaming upon the once-shattered land was a sign; a new age had begun. 

Immolate reflexively inhaled, despite his lack of respiratory organs. After all these years, he still hadn't quite gotten used to that fact. Phantom feelings of his old body still lingered. What had once been unsettling had simply become a fact of life. Life... Was this what he had? Who's to say at this point, given all they had learned following the end of the War some five centuries ago; a dead memory for most.

After the first century, he noticed things felt different. The slow torturous turn of decades for the people of Perradin had felt to him like a blink of the eye. By the time the next four centuries had passed, Immolate had settled into the same twisted routine: Search, assist, fight, kill, mourn, rest, repeat. Every repetition felt like a single grain of sand slipping through an hourglass. It just was how Life was. 

But now... the clear sky overhead said that was over. The verdant fields of Vizenia were in bloom once again, something not seen in centuries. The Queen of Reborn Doctrine's hatred and oppression had lost, and the spirit of cooperation emerged victorious. He looked back to what was now being called the Cobalt Spring over a century past as he and the battered people of the Kingdom and Didacy planted seeds none of them would see sprout. Their legacy would be forever secure, even if no one remembered.

A twinge of hate bolted through his body. "You call this a legacy? You pathetic weak-willed anchorite. I should have known better than to make you a Luminary, let alone the Forge Anchor. Some day your softness is going to catch up to you and-" 

The voice almost made him jump, even though he should have been used to voices interrupting his thoughts at this point. Immolate focused all his willpower into suppressing the voice of his prisoner. Over five hundred years into his exile, and he could only keep him quiet for minutes at a time. 

A second voice chimed in. Don't listen to him, you've done so much good here, Sir.

"I didn't do it, KT, not really. It was them," Immolate gestured to the fields. He could still recall the face of every person he buried the winter after the planting. Was he the last who remembered them?

And who convinced them to work together? Who laid the century-long plans and promised to uphold them?

"They did that themselves. I just gave them a nudge." 

Even so, you were part of something greater. You should be proud of yourself. I know Quench would be.

"That wouldn't be the first time I heard that," Immolate said, as his mind flashed memories of teary conversations with Victus of changing the world; of begging his brother to consider; of laying on the cold metal of the anvil. All with picture-perfect accuracy.

I know what you're thinking, sir. You can't change what happened. We can only move forward, sir.

"I told you to stop calling me that."

My apologies, sir. Old habits, as they say. I just hate seeing you struggle with the prisoner's constant cruelty. Are you sure you don't want to take him to the new Basilica on Obsidian? My records indicate it is quite secure. 

"No. We're not having this conversation again, KT. His penance is to see Perradin recover in spite of him. Some day he will be nothing but a bad memory, and even that will one day fade. I know him better than anyone, there is no greater punishment."

Apologies, sir. If you don't mind me asking, why is that so punishing?

Immolate laughed.

What's funny, sir? 

"Nothing, actually. There's just so much about this he hates, most of it mundane."

I'm not sure I understand, sir. 

"That's okay, I'll explain one day. But today, I just want to remember them," Immolate said, as he looked out on the enormous field of vibrant reds, blues, and greens. "All of them. I can remember them now, but someday when I am gone no one will. It is only right I do my best to do so while I can."

And what happens when there is no one left? 

"Then we will be forgotten. We all meet two fates, KT. One at the end of our life, the other at the end of our memory. But they mattered once to someone. And that is all that matters in this life, at the end of all things. Even for 'life' like you and me."

Immolate clenched the necklace clanking against his chest in the wind, snapping its dry rotted strap as he pulled it away from his neck. He gently placed it on the soil, pulling a small mound atop it. "I love you, brother." 

Someone's coming, sir.

Immolate turned around, the petals from the field catching in a breeze blowing the direction he shifted toward. Walking up the faint trail was another Warforged. Not just a Warforged... The Warforged. It was Two. 

"I... the stories were true... The fields are in bloom. I don't believe it." Two stammered as he reached the crest of the hill.

Immolate examined Two passively as his cloak blew back in the spring breeze. His dark blue carapace was pockmarked with dents, dings, and scratches. The missing arm and enormous hole in his right side made in the final moments of the War had obviously been repaired and replaced. He could see where the old metal met the new, something no amount of buffing or patching could hide. 

Immolate could still see the mess of Soul Blood in the teleportation circle that Two fell out of. 

"It has been a while, Two. Still stirring up trouble in the south?"

Two paused for a moment, "I don't think you have any room to talk. From what I'm told, the last three Didacts have been cursing your name. Maybe we could stir trouble again together." 

Was he really asking that after the way they last parted? "No, Two. That era has passed," Immolate said flatly. 

"So much for a new era of cooperation," Two laughed, before turning his head downward slightly. 

"What are you doing here, Two?" Immolate said, looking back to the field before them. 

"I just delivered the last group to the Basilica. The prisoner is secure. And so are the Lost. Many send their regards, genuinely. Cobalt asks about you constantly, she's been so helpful in the resettlement project. We even managed to negotiate for a new body for Dimi-"

"Two, that's over five hundred miles away. Tell me why you're really here," Immolate interrupted.

"Immolate, I'm sorry for what I said before. I know now you had every right to kill him... But he can't hurt us anymore. He's gone." 

If only he knew. "Yes... He is." 

"I wish you'd come home, Immolate. The Didacy needs voices like yours to change. You'd also be invaluable to the Rights of the Forged-"

"You mean you want me as the Forge Anchor, not for me. I want nothing to do with the Didacy, Two. And that includes pushing back against it. There is nothing you can say to change my mind, I thought I made that clear in my letter to Cobalt."

"You wrote that letter over twenty years ago, Immolate."

The two Warforged stood in silence. Even to the two immortal beings, the mere minutes felt like a century of agonizing awkwardness. On the horizon, the distant spire of Throne danced in the ripples of warmth rising from the fields. 

"That may be, but I have many more years ahead of me and I do not see that changing, Two... I do not want to talk about this, or to you. Not now," Immolate said as he turned to face Two once again.

Two looked him in the eyes and simply asked, "How many years are left for you, do you think?" His voice on the verge of breaking.

Immolate simply stood in silence. 

"I love you, Immolate. When you're ready to talk, I'll be there. Anytime, anywhere."

"Anytime, anywhere," Immolate repeated softly before turning his back, taking his first step away.

Sir, that's no way to say goodbye.

He didn't look back.