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The sun rose over what was once a country.
Vines trailed down from a once-foreboding grid of obsidian. Their leaves shimmered dimly, already losing their luster with the coming of fall. Tree roots twisted over jagged stone, their branches reaching precariously over the hollow and at its bottom, a faded flag hanging in the water, no longer flying proud and bright as it once had been.
Phil stood on the ledge of the bridge passing over the crater, watching the leaves flutter down as they were pulled off their branches. He looked up and– there– that must have been the button room. The explosions from that day have all but faded from memory, as none but he were left to remember it. Another gentle wind blew by, ruffling the scraggly feathers at the ends of his wings which had never grown back quite right.
He drew in a deep breath, and found that the soot that had hung suspended in the air for so many years was all but gone. In a way it saddened him, losing a memory, albeit a painful one, of his son and his mark on the world. So much had happened since then, but this is where it had all started: reckless children determined to wage wars much bigger than themselves.
It was rather futile to think about, the passage of time. Especially for one destined for eternity. Generations had come and gone, but… as he looked out at the birds that chattered merrily as they nestled their homes among the branches, he felt… different somehow. In the past, after some time spent away from the rest of the world, traveling, exploring, hiding away in his constant movement, he’d eventually return, and begin his story anew.
This time, he felt there was nothing left to experience. He’d traveled to every last corner of the world, seen every mountain peak and valley, seen the rolling plains and freezing tundra and dense rainforest. He’d fought in so many wars, advised so many leaders, watched kingdoms crumble to dust. Now he’d even had a son.
But all that had come and gone. Here he was again, floating in the uncertainty that came at the end of one story and before the next. Except this time he knew his choice. He spread his wings, battered and worn as they were, and with a single step off the ledge, they caught the air in a way no bird’s wings ever could.
He soared over memory and ruin, tales long gone by and new beginnings he wouldn’t get to see. Even so, there was no loss there for him to feel.
He eventually landed on a glass island, suspended in the air overlooking what was once a bright monument of coral and flowers. It’s pillars had all but disappeared, their remnants dissolving into the amaranthine abyss. With a deep breath, he spread his wings, and dove in just as the last of the monument disappeared. For a moment he was falling, weightless as he felt the portal’s pull, then suddenly he rose through the clouds, a blanket of stars wrapping around him, welcoming him.
Through the dissipating clouds, he could see her face. She gave him a warm smile and held out her hand.
“Welcome home, my love.”