It was a starry night, a darkened sky filled with the wonders of a beautiful cosmos that Peter often watched and daydreamed under. But the atmosphere that shrouded his heart was solemn and contemplative. He sat on the rooftop of the Sauraine Lake Compound, arms wrapped around his tucked-in knees. He rested his chin on the crest of his knee caps and looked out at the massive glistening lake before him. So many bodies lay to rest at it's depths, many more further out at sea. As a Funérailles, he felt a shift, an imbalance in the world. Ever since the comet, he had witnessed unimaginable suffering and death. Death and life were an inevitable, essential part of a balanced world, but...now...more people were dying far before it was their natural time.

Just within the last few months, Peter had performed Mer de rêves (The Sea of Dreams) more than he had within the previous year combined. It was getting worse--the chaos, the destruction, the decay. Children, so many children. He wiped at the tears that weld and fell from his earthy brown eyes. Only a soft sniffle had escaped him, when suddenly, he shot up from his position and outstretched his hand toward the other side of the roof. A glittering golden light emanated from his palm and he just stood there in a wary, defensive posture. No one ever came up to the rooftop, especially not this late at night. So he couldn't help but feel cautious.

"Whose there?" he called out calmly, "Reveal yourself."

There was only silence and the rippling sounds of a peaceful lake. Then, tepid creaking on steel could be heard. It was moving upward, as though ascending a rustic ladder. Peter stared at the location of the noise as it seemed to approach closer. Eventually, a head popped over the roof edge. It was a young man, notably handsome as he fully lifted himself up and hopped on the rooftop in one smooth motion. He was tall, at least a head over Peter, and he wore the kind of dingy uniform you might find on a mechanic or engineer. Once he came into full view, illuminated by the moonlight, Peter recognized him and let his hand fall to his side. A while back, Peter had buried this man's sister at Sauraine Lake. Peter gave the fellow a puzzled look.

"Milo is it?"

The handsome young man showed him a charming grin and Peter nodded. "Right. Well, you can't be up here. And my services are no longer available until sunrise."

Milo took a step forward, and instinctively, Peter took a step back. "Actually, I wanted to thank you again, for what you did for my sister. The burial rites, they were beautiful."

Peter gave the man a feeble smile, a knowing look in his eyes, "Think nothing of it. However...." A misty silence lingered between them for a brief moment, "you really can not be up here. I'm not allowed to have visitors."

"Says who?" Milo asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your UDF captors?"

Peter regarded Milo's words and then looked away, a feeling of shame washing over him. It was true in a way. He was an Aeon, but, most didn't know that his life under the UDF had always been highly micromanaged. Where he could go, who he met from day to day, it was always hyper-regulated. Peter had tried to escape before, to fly away from the UDF and their omnipotent hand. He had tried on more than one occasion in fact. But they always recaptured him. Eventually, Peter lost hope that he would ever be free from their web.

"The Angel of Bellfort..." Milo continued, a sleek tone that was equally annoying as it was slightly enchanting. He placed his hands inside his trouser pockets, and moved a bit closer to Peter, "...a bird trapped in a gilded cage."

The reality stung and it made Peter feel more frustrated as Milo spoke so cavalierly about it. He clenched his fists and squeezed tight until his vessels mapped his flesh, "Please, leave. Before you're caught and jailed for trespassing." Peter said sternly. Milo shook his head, rebelliously non-compliant.

"Not yet. I--ugh..." Milo paused, showing a shyness he hadn't yet presented until now. Peter noticed too, the sudden flush of Milo's cheeks and the way he pulled down his hoody and rubbed the back of his neck, "I've been watching for a while now."

If that was supposed to be romantic, it had the opposite effect. Peter became leery again of Milo's intentions and his body language showed it. He furrowed his eyebrows, "Why?" he asked, a tone of distrust seeping through, "Are you here to hurt me?"

For a moment, a surprised look appeared on Milo's countenance, almost as if he were hurt by such a ridiculous notion. "Never." he said with no hesitation. "I'm just...I don't know...fascinated by you."

Peter titled his head a bit, inquisitively. "Fascinated?"

Milo nodded, "Yeah." He took a few steps closer until they were only a few feet away from each other. "For some reason, I have this overwhelming desire to protect you. To...set you free."

Rightfully so, Peter was confused by this sudden confession of interest. But the idea of being set free--the words replayed in his head.

Set you free...

"Please, you have to stay quiet, or those monsters will find us."

Peter had his hands pressed firmly to the festering wound of a young girl, no older than 12 or 13. She whimpered in pain as his palms filtered a warm glittering light over the infected gash on her leg. It was healing, thankfully. Further down the path were two bodies, a man and a woman, their innards eviscerated and strewn about like the contents of a busted pinata. Most likely the young girl's parents. Peter hadn't arrived in time to save them from the monsters. It was a miracle that this girl somehow escaped and was able to hide inside the large hollow of a tree.

Before this moment, Peter arrived at Steelwater during the early hours with a small squad of Aeons, four in total, himself included. As was the nature of these SWARG missions, teams and squads and platoons came and went with the demanding whims of UDF military officials. Not the most efficient method, but a strategic tactic to maintain control over Aeons and discourage group loyalty, because, in their eyes, loyalty was reserved strictly for the UDF higher-ups. At some point during the battle, Peter got separated from his team in the forest and stumbled upon the young girl fleeing from minor stigmas.

Loading up his crossbow, he had managed to dispatch the beasts with his piercing arrows of light. But surely, more would come. He had to somehow get this girl to the UDF ResDiv Portable Research Station. He could heal her wound, but the stigma infection that bloomed within her, his magic was no good for that. He had been fighting for hours at this point and didn't have enough spiritual energy to carry her mid-flight. Snapping out his revelry, Peter looked back to the girl as her wound finished sealing. She continued to cry out for her parents, knowing full well she would never see them again.

"Where is my pa? My mama? I want to see them..." she whined, a bit dazed. Peter could only watch her, overwhelmed with enough pity to choke him. He placed a hand to her forehand, feeling the unnatural warmth that filled her. Fever was setting in.

"They have left this world. I'm sorry."

"No! No!" she screamed, mucus and tears spilling from her face. "No!"

Peter looked frantic, unable to get her to quiet or calm. He could hear more of the beasts coming, carried by the girl's cries. He knew he had to make a quick decision. With a flick of his wrist, a spritz of glittering dust released from his hand and filled the air around the girl's face. Her eyes with drowsy, her head titled back and forth, and then she was out in a dreamless slumber. He caught her head as it went limp and then gently laid her to sleep on the floor. But his efforts to remain hidden proved fruitless. Peter exited the hollow of the tree to witness the approach of those disgusting insect-like creatures.

He readied his crossbow as his light poured into the weapon to form a glittering golden arrow. The creatures that rushed forth never ceased to amaze him. How they could be so single-focused in their destructive and brutal nature, soulless and empty. Peter went into his battle stance, leveling his crossbow at the monstrosities. Only he stood between the girl and the stigma. Her life depended on him. Peter furrowed his eyebrows, his resolve fortitude by his duty to protect her. If nothing else, he would get her to the portable research station.

Closer and closer they crawled towards him.

A bead of sweat dripped off his chin. He steadied his breathing, focusing on nothing but the incoming threat. In that fleeting moment, time stopped and he thought of Milo.

And then...

he fired.