"I can promise you all those things," Fendros said without hesitation. "We can bring him to his homeland swiftly and find...discrete allies who should know the appropriate traditions."

Sabine stood up slowly. The sadness on her face had begun to give way to waves of fatigue.

Fendros peered around for a moment before taking on his werewolf form. He reverently took up Do'rhajul's body in his arms and gently ordered the group. "Back to camp."

It seemed such a short time upon the cliff, but now was not the time for protracted ceremony.

Fendros continued his conversation with Yerig on the way back. "Thank you, Yerig, for fighting alongside us. Your promises were with Do'rhajul and you still helped to save us. If there is anything we can do for you once we return home...either way, you are always welcome in the Silent City." He stopped and gathered himself again. "Call me curious as to your next chapter."

Yerig gave a soft chuckle, which was interrupted by a cough. “I’m an old man who probably should have quit a few years ago as it is. There isn’t always another chapter to write. Sometimes, a story has to find its end. It’s the natural way of things, and I believe that nature is a beautiful thing. What I will do today is…rest. Tomorrow, I will start my way back to the place Do’rhajul found me those years ago, and let my Voice turn to the heavens once again.”

---

Upon their return, the camp felt strangely more “lively” than it had been before they left. The wounded, by this point, had largely been brought to the healers, and if they had not perished, were in the process of being treated. For the rest, many had the pain of loss fresh on their minds, but also the relief and joy that came with a long-fought victory. What would be easy to notice was that not all of those wandering the camp were among the living. The dead from the battle behind them had still not yet reformed themselves in the Hunting Grounds; these were spirits who had been dead for some time.

It was not long after the pack’s return that Fendros was finally called to a meeting among their clan’s ranking members. Those who were able to attend, at least. In many of their meetings, it had usually been Meesei or Ri’vashi who would take the initiative to get them started, so their absence was particularly pronounced. This time, it was a tired-looking Saras who spoke up first. “I think it would be best for all of us to…keep this brief. I am told that the healers have a handle on the wounded for now. They are working hard, but they have enough resources to handle what they have. We are going to be focusing our efforts on moving those who have been treated and are stable back through the portal to Tamriel. I believe, Champion, that now may be the time to…deliver the news to our clans. The mood around camp has improved, somewhat, now that it has calmed down, but word still hasn’t gotten around about what happened at the tower. Obviously we are victorious, but I believe the clans need to hear from their Champion…if you think you know what you intend to say to them.”

Fendros thought about extending more courtesy. Instead, he solemnly nodded and led the procession back to camp. Yerig's place was no longer here. It was enough for Yerig to know the clan would be there for him if he changed his mind.

---

The meeting was so soon enough after they arrived that Fendros had still not properly rested. He had at least reverted back to his Dunmer shape and donned a fresh set of clothing, but he had to source a stamina potion to keep himself from nodding off.

The immense weight of expectations came first from the clan leaders. He was familiar with them personally enough as Meesei's second. Today, they were entirely different in his eyes.

Saras' prompt sobered Fendros enough to stand up from his seat with a deep breath and take on a determined expression. He would deliver this news with the stony face his father often made. "Thank you, Saras. I have taken some time to consider this." He turned to the wider meeting. "Friends, you have likely deduced the fate of our late attendants by now. I shall provide any details you wish, though in line with Saras' suggestion of brevity, it suffices to say that General Ri'vashi and our previous champion, Meesei, turned to hold off the Daedric horde to allow us the opportunity to confront Clavicus Vile. I saw Meesei's fate myself. As for Ri'vashi...I had hoped to see her back here, though I must assume the worst by this time." Fendros paused to blink back a burning behind his eyes. "What happened speaks for itself. I should like to relay the entire story to you, and then address the wider Lycan population with what I hope will be encouraging words for this bittersweet ending to the war. Ri'vashi was a friend and true comrade to us all. And, believe me when I say few were closer to Meesei than myself. I will see to it they are honoured in the highest--" he ran out of eloquent words "--the best way we can."

Fendros took another deep breath to rally.

"All of you here also made this victory possible. All of you, and your people. This will, in the end, be a celebration as much as a memorial for the fallen. I thank you, and as Meesei's designated Champion of Hircine -- a title I will be defending with all my strength and virtue -- I look forward to continuing her legacy and improving our peoples' lot in the world. I hope to earn your respect and count on your support."

There was a wave of somber reflection that passed over the others. In general terms, their leadership already knew what happened, but to hear it in detail still carried a certain weight. This day had marked many endings, to the point that it would be hard to imagine what this next era for the clans would be like. Since the clans had been united, Meesei had been their Champion, so succession was just another of the challenges they would have to face ahead. But, right now, there was no challenge to Fendros’ claim. Even among the leaders of the other clans that could be present, there was only silent reverence for the accomplishments and sacrifices of those they had lost. Or not-so-silent.

“I can’t think of a more worthy end for the skalds to sing.” Hjergir spoke up. He had fresh scars and a few barely closed wounds. He definitely should have been resting, but was far too stubborn to obey his healers. “A Lizard and a Cat might be strange heroes for Nords to sing, but by Hircine did they have souls worthy for Sovngarde!” He shouted. At the very least, he certainly intended it as praise, and high praise at that.

Saras, of course, had a much more calm and collected response, though he still showed a measure of emotion that was uncommon for him. “Everyone in the valley saw the brilliant flash from the tower. That release of energy nearly reached us at the pass, but fortunately stopped short. Some of us thought it might have been a sign that we had won at first, though as the battle continued, some started to think it might have been the opposite. We only knew for sure once we were brought back to the Hunting Grounds. No one is going to forget what they did for us.”

Eventually, they did have to move on from their reflections. Darahil was the next to speak up. “There has also been another development, since you have been away. It seems some spirits have returned to us. Those that died in the battle still have not manifested in the Hunting Grounds, but others that were lost to us have. The souls that Vile stole in the war, with the soul-tearing gas and any other means, Hircine was able to reclaim them in Vile’s defeat. Some have made their way to our camp. No doubt, there are more than a few reunions happening as we speak.”

For better or worse, Fendros let Saras and Hjergir give their words unchallenged. He himself was saving any personal eulogies for a proper memorial -- when he had the energy to confront his suppressed grief. Darahil's news was a welcome shift in the conversation.

Fendros smiled. "I should like to see that for myself. Hircine willing, I might believe our victory to be fully true and real." Some renewed confidence straightened his back. "If there is no more to be said right now about confronting Vile, we should have a recount of other fronts in the battle. And the details of our move back to Mundus, including the movements of the Imperial and Aldmeri hosts. Although, if there are those among this meeting who have not yet reunited with lost loved ones from before the fight...I would hear your opinions on reconvening in a few hours time."

Fendros' mouth twitched down momentarily. Meesei's lover Lunise was not party to clan meetings such as this. He would likely have to deliver the news of Meesei's fate himself.

For most of the clan’s survivors, they would have the time they needed to rest and recover in the Hunting Grounds, while the rest worked on moving everything essential back through the portal to Mundus. The Dominion and Imperial troops were the first back through. They moved to the orders of their superiors with discipline and precision, but even among them, one could see the exhilaration of victory. They had fought a battle against a Daedric Prince, and were walking away as survivors. The lycans had been fighting this war for much longer than either of the other factions, so for them, it was almost hard to believe that it could be over. Though, there were few other forms of closure more complete than being able to see the spirits they had saved, to speak to them, and to know that all of their effort, everything they had sacrificed, had meant something in the end.

When the time finally came, Fendros’ pack went back through the portal together. Back to their home. It had only been a few days since they had last seen it, but for many, it felt like it had been much longer. The Silent City itself likely felt rather barren at the moment, as most of the non-combatants who had stayed behind were now outside the walls to greet their returning friends and family. It was a bittersweet sight, in truth. There was little that could match the relief and joy from seeing loved ones return safely. They did not yet have a full accounting of their casualties, though. There were many waiting here who would not find the reunion they were looking for.

Kaleeth was with the pack now. The ability for a werecrocodile to recover from injury was something spectacular, though this time, it was never going to be quite the same for her again. She was with Janius, leaning on him to help her walk when they heard a familiar shout amid the roar of the crowd around them. As soon as he had spotted his parents, Julan pushed through anything in his way to rush to meet them. It was hard to tell if he even noticed Kaleeth’s injury for the moment, because his shouts and joyous tears at seeing them both alive overshadowed anything else he might have been feeling. He rushed to them and nearly knocked them over when he grabbed them both to pull into a hug. He said something as he reached them, but it was incomprehensible through his tears.

Janius held Julan just as tightly, and with no suppressed tears. He cried through a joyous smile and pat his son hard on the back. "My little treasure..." was all he could initially say, repeating the words a few times, before he could finally muster his wit. "It's good to be home. It's never been better to be home."

Of course, Julan was not alone waiting for his loved ones. He had sprinted off from a gathered group of those familiarly close to the pack; Rhazii, Karl, Lunise, and even Narsi had found one another.

Rhazii stood with the Avarul family sword on his belt. He quickly strode up to Ahnasha to hug her more tightly than anyone had hugged her in her life. Fendros soon received a similar greeting. The relief in Rhazii's tears and quiet sniffing was infectious.

Karl, impaired in the eyes as he was, was guided to Sabine's arms by Lunise. Karl and Sabine kissed with force. None of their usual reticence to display public affection was present. They were all but giggling, forehead to forehead.

Narsi was caught looking for Lorag with a pleading hope in her eyes. Her face quickly hardened when their eyes met. "You look like shit," she said first. It was a fact – Lorag had barely the time to rest the bags out from under his eyes. Seconds of silence passed between them, then she twitched a fleeting smirk, avoiding his gaze.

All the while, Lunise, still fully uniformed and looking as stern as any Thalmor, was on her toes peering around the pack's reunion.

Fendros noticed and his heart sank. He sighed and excused himself from Ahnasha and Rhazii without looking to see if anyone else was approaching Lunise. She met Sabine halfway there and held her back.

The pack saw Lunise's eyes waver behind her stony expression as Fendros spoke to her. She pursed her lips and cast a spell to turn invisible, but everyone could hear her reaction, combined as it was with the weeping around her. It was despair. No amount of loss in her life, no amount of stoic conditioning, could have stopped it. Fendros searched for her with his hands, knelt down, and rested his hand consolingly on what looked like open air which shuddered.

Fendros peeked back at the rest of his family. He looked regretful to cut his reunion short. He certainly regretted how those in his pack who had not yet heard the news came to a realisation as to why Lunise was behaving this way. He gently lifted the invisible Lunise to her feet to guide her to a more discrete place. He had enough time to spare before his planned address to everyone at the Silent City to see to Lunise's comfort. He owed Meesei that much at least.

It took some time for the clan to be gathered. Fendros’ pack were far from the only ones to experience a few reunions. For many, the fact that the war was finally over had not yet truly set in. With over a decade of having that threat looming over them, it was still natural to have that feeling that the threat was still out there somewhere, waiting. Strictly speaking, Vile was still out there. Nothing could kill a Daedric Prince, no matter what other gods helped achieved it, but it would be centuries before his strength could recover to a point where he would be able to threaten anyone. By then, his plans certainly would have moved on from harvesting lycan souls.

All of the clans that had been brought together for the battle were gathered in a clearing just outside the Silent City. With everything and everyone that had gone into the Hunting Grounds having been brought back, the Oblivion Gate they had constructed now stood empty nearby. It’s portal gone, their connection to the Hunting Grounds had been severed for good. At least, for as long as they lived. It was far from the first time they had gathered this crowd in this place, drawn from all of Tamriel’s clans, though one could not help but to notice how the crowd now was half the size as it had been before the battle. Not all of those had been killed; there were still plenty of wounded, and neither them nor the people treating them were going to be present for this assembly. Regardless, the casualties were still not minor. There had been a price for this peace.

Before they began, Saras came to Fendros with another report. Overall, the clan’s council had been handling most of the smaller issues to be dealt with in the wake of the battle, but this one was of more of a personal nature to the Champion’s pack. Saras himself, despite his usual stoicism, was at the point of showing the wear quite openly. Even he could not hide his exhaustion. “Champion, I have the report from the recovery teams we sent after the battle. Before the portal closed, we had them scour the area around where you emerged in the Hunting Grounds after slaying Vile. We had to be quick, before anyone else could get to it. They were able to recover Meesei’s belongings. The armor she had been wearing, everything she had been carrying…except for the Staff of Magnus. We know that neither the Imperials nor Dominion got to the area before we could, and we searched it thoroughly. We thought it possible that the Staff might have been destroyed in that great release of energy, but there was not even a trace of it.”

“I doubt the Staff can even be destroyed.” Ahnasha chimed in. “Legends do say that the Staff of Magnus has a will of its own, though. It’s said the Staff is bound to eventually abandon any mage that claims it. Maybe it just decided that it was its time to move on?”

Fendros was sitting on a stone bench leaned forward with his hands woven together and his legs jittering. He had been running through the points of his address in his head over and again. He took a moment before he stilled himself and looked up at Saras, and even longer to wrench his mind around to even thinking about the staff.

"I...was too far away to see if it was there when..." The image flashed in Fendros' mind of Meesei's final moments. He spoke faster. "I did not see it from where we were either. Either some daedra has it or...as Ahna said, gone." He shook his head. "It's not worth going after it now. Not with the portals closed."

Fendros stood up and gave a worried look. "Thank you for the report. Please have Meesei's belongings brought to us when it is convenient." He sighed. "And for Hircine's sake, Saras, get some sleep after the address. You're invaluable, have demonstrated that in this last mission a thousandfold...and we'd like to avoid having you collapse."

For a moment, it looked like Saras might have some response to Fendros, some justification or excuse to keep working. However, after a few moments of thought, he simply bowed his head slightly. “Of course, Champion. I will…allow others to take over. Your people are ready to hear from you. We have made sure the Rueful Axe is secure as well. It seems to be drained of the power Molag Bal infused it with, but it is otherwise undamaged. If you would like to have the weapon that slew a god for your address, I can have it brought to you. Either way…your people are ready to hear from you.”

In the crowd, all of Tamriel’s lycan clans were represented. Leaders, civilians, warriors, widows, everyone whom Fendros was now responsible for. With the time that had passed, there were no doubt some who may have surmised Meesei’s fate. She had not been seen since the end of the battle, after all. Still, this assembly would be the first official word of what had transpired in the battle’s end. It would be the first time the story of Vile’s downfall could be told, and the first outright declaration of their victory over him. It would be their first word from a new Champion, and for many, it could mark the beginning of a new era, for good or ill, for Tamriel’s lycan clans. How they remembered it would be up to Fendros.

Ahnasha lightly took Fendros’ hand. “Do you think you know what you’re going to say? If you need any help…” Her voice trailed off.

Fendros shook his head and put a hand up at Saras before he took his leave. "Put that axe somewhere secure and out of site. It is still Vile's artifice. We are done with him."

As for Ahnasha, Fendros had a much less stoic face to show her by the time they were alone again. He looked down at his hand in hers and squeezed. "I have the words well enough, I think, without taking another few days to agonise over them." He tried a smile. "If you could be by my side, that would help me the most at this point."

With another long, deep breath, Fendros straightened up and leaned into the steps that took him up to the outcrop looking over the crowd.

The loud murmuring took a few moments to die down. Fendros could see every kind of person he could imagine before him. They focussed their bright or weary eyes, turned their large or small ears, and exuded a kind of billowing expectation.

Fendros looked back at them, borrowing his father's stony face suitable for any substantial matter.

Now, Fendros thought, the time to fear was before.

"Lycanthropes of Tamriel," he projected his voice louder than he thought he would be able to. That put quiet into the remainder of the crowd. He continued. "You may know me as Fendros Avarul. I am the Champion Meesei's chosen second. I would have your ears for a short while, for there is much to tell."

Fendros almost hesitated.

"We stand here victorious over an enemy the likes of which has brought empires to their knees. Every drop of blood, every terror, every worry, every labour, every life sacrificed has lead here, to salvation."

Heat shot through Fendros' eyes. He had expected as much after the meeting with the council. He lowered his eyes only for a moment before bringing them back up.

"The servants of Hircine endure. But even their strongest had to give everything to ensure it. Many of you will be resting tonight with a missing place in your families. General Ri'vashi and our own Meesei...will be two such late friends. On the approach to Vile's tower, Ri'vashi held back the horde of Daedra intent in stopping us. Meesei, further towards the tower, annihilated a vast host of Daedra to ensure the rest of her pack's passage to the prince, and gave her life in the act. They both will await us all in the Hunting Grounds, no doubt right alongside everyone else who could not return with us."

Fendros had to stop for a moment and clench a fist to keep himself together.

"Meesei's pack; Ahnasha, Kaleeth-rei, Janius, Lorag, and myself, as well as that of her protegé Sabine, her pack in Do'rhajul, Yerig, and Tarna, made their way to the seat of Vile's power. It was with everyone's efforts that we fought through Vile's servants. Hircine himself manifested to fight Vile in single combat, but he was stymied by Vile's stolen power. Sabine's quick thinking released a rebellious daedric ally in the entity Barbas, who drained Vile of this power and opened the way to strike. Percieving us with the Rueful Axe, Clavicus Vile sent a torrent of magical destruction upon me. Only with the sacrifice of our old foe Do'rhajul lending me his artefact shield did I repel this power long enough to send the axe down on Vile's flesh. The small wound was enough to bring our enemy to Hircine's mercy. To shorten a long and painful recount, I then awoke much as the rest of you on those Fields of Regret did, back in the Hunting Grounds. The war was over. The war is over."

He paused. Fendros had no desire to exhaust everyone's last trails of energy with every detail of their advance. No doubt a more thorough story could be told later.

"This cost to preserve ourselves will be felt for the rest of our lives. We now look to the present and the future, forever changed. As Meesei's second, I have taken the position of Champion of Hircine." He held up his hand with the wolf-headed ring for all to see. "I intend to fulfil the duties of champion to the best of my abilities for all who sacrificed in the war."

Fendros lowered his hand.

"Everyone, we are visible now. Recognised across Tamriel, perhaps not yet by common people, but by the institutions of the Empire and Dominion. We are no longer savage monsters to be put down by force, but citizens of our nations once more. People with ambitions and morals. For any who wish to try returning to the life before – of wandering in the wilds in packs, none can stop you. For those in clans, however, you now find yourselves open to opportunities the likes of which were impossible before. Prosperity, trade, safe passage, and legal and military protection, all the while your self-governance is preserved. But, this, too, comes at the cost of ties to your host nations. I do not fear this cost. If nothing else, the war has demonstrated an adaptability in our people that will serve us well in these changing times."

Fendros percieved the absence of immediate uproar as a good sign, even if what he said was generally known among clan leadership.

"But these are challenges for home. Here, today, we mourn, we rest, we convalesce, and sleep in each other's arms. To all those who gave life and limb in the battle, we are in your debt forever.

"Tomorrow, I declare this a site of celebration for the memory of those we lost and the future we gained. Tomorrow we feel the weight of the world lift from our shoulders. We think of the danger passed and laugh with our companions. Take the time to express all you might have regretted to withold yesterday. We say to those in the hunting grounds that we shall not take for granted this life they provided us. Finally, we feast as if our larders held the flesh of a fallen daedric prince, for that was our prey, and our hunt was a success!"

For some parts of Fendros’ speech, his words were, for many, as difficult to hear as they had been to speak. The changes through the years had truly been immense. Before all of this started, the lives of lycans had not been easy, but it had been far simpler. To band together in their packs, to live and hunt in the wilds of Tamriel, it was a challenge every day, but it was the life lycans were meant to lead. Hunter and hunted. War had not been what they were made for. For those who had not been worshipers of Hircine, the transition to life among clans might have been a relief. However, one could hardly say that there had been any for whom the war had been an improvement. Even for those who took glory in battle, a war against one so devious as Vile had hardly been honorable. Once the soul-tearing gas had been made, the clans had been forced into hiding like rats. Hunting parties, even entire clans were massacred to the last without so much as being able to put up a fight. There were few standing here now who could not share in the pain of the losses from that time, and now again, they stood together in silent mourning for the battle just behind them. The General who had led them for years, countless warriors who had not returned from beyond the portal, and even their own Champion were now gone.

Although, there was a point in Fendros’ speech where the mood seemed to start to shift. “The war is over.” That, and much else that Fendros had said, was something that many of these warriors likely already “knew” on some level. Defeat for them was something that likely would have meant death for most, if not all of them, and neither Meesei nor Ri’vashi had been seen since the battle’s end, when they certainly would have been the first to have wanted to rally them together. This, however, was the first time they were hearing it aloud from their leaders. Now, they could say truly that the war was over. Not only that, but they were victorious. It was not immediate, but as Fendros continued, one could sense a certain energy to the crowd that was not there at the start. Regardless of the pain and sacrifice, there was now something ahead for the survivors who stood here now, and in this moment, that was something they could celebrate.

At their core, all lycans, no matter the type, were hunters, and as Fendros had just said so clearly, their hunt was a success. Their prey, in practical terms, was slain, and that called for feasting and cheer to every hunter: man, woman, or beast. And cheer, they did. When Fendros’ voice finally ceased, it was met with the roar of the crowd. For just this moment, it felt easy to put aside all that was now gone and instead embrace victory. After a few moments, there was one shout that was loud enough to be audible over the rest: “godhunter!” Elsewhere in the crowd, a Nord’s voice repeated: “To the Godhunter!” It took mere moments for the cheer to spread and repeat throughout the crowd, among lycans from all clans, from all over Tamriel, who were now shouting up to their Champion: “Godhunter. Godhunter!”

Fendros' relief at the crowd's response was quickly overtaken by the infectiousness of their elation. He couldn’t help but purse his lips and breathe carefully to stop himself laughing. These people, his people, could finally be happy.

The chanting that followed was less than expected, though Fendros could not think how to accept it. A subconscious desire made its familiar presence known in Fendros' mind. It knew how to call back to the crowd. He glanced to his ring, nodded to himself, and let his transformation quickly take hold.

Fendros grew taller than he expected, even on the outcrop, as his fur grew and his face stretched to that of a werewolf. He spread his arms and let out a victorious roar up at the distant cave ceiling.

Godhunter. Fendros had changed one more time.

The cheering and celebration lasted for a short time after Fendros’ speech. Though, after that, there was little left that could follow it. For the moment, after all that had transpired, it felt like they were finally able to enjoy their victory. A memorial was planned, for everyone they had lost in the battle, and for their fallen Champion. For now, though, they were able to look ahead, with a new Champion leading them. For Fendros and the rest of his pack, there was still more work ahead: work that was not likely to be finished anytime soon. However, here and now, they finally all had a chance to rest. After all was said and done, Fendros was still able to wish his son a good night, then lay down to sleep in his own bed with Ahnasha safe and healthy beside him.

---

When Fendros opened his eyes, he was not in his room in the Silent City; rather, he seemed to be in a forest. A familiar forest. It was a hilly area, covered in evergreen trees, and looking around, he could see the familiar landscape of the Valus mountains rising above to the east. These were the forests of County Cheydinhal. After a few moments, he would become more aware of the scene around him, it’s scent especially. There was the body of a werewolf at his feet, with an arrow in its right arm and its head mostly severed, along with the mutilated corpse of a horse nearby. His horse, from long ago. Before he became a werewolf. The scent of fresh blood in the air was overwhelming, almost intoxicating. It would be like he was smelling blood as a lycan for the first time, all over again. The torn leather armor he was wearing was covered in blood as well, but unlike the last time he was here, there was no wound on his flesh underneath the claw marks on his armor. Also unlike last time, the urge to hunt and kill was not so overpowering as to take command of him. He was no fledgling lycan; this time, he was in control.

What Fendros would feel this time, instead, was something urging him off into the forest. It was not a sound nor scent, just the feeling of…something to push him to move on down the path deeper into the forest.

Fendros' life was not one free of particularly vivid dreams. Even as far as a lycanthropic nightmares took him, his own experiences filled his nights with strong recollections of terrible moments. Even the one he found himself in now.

Only this was not like those dreams. It was still. Peaceful, even. And he felt an conscious awareness the likes of which was usually overpowered by dreaming.

He nudged at the werewolf corpse with his boot. It was heavy and dead. He felt his face and found his facial hair and marks of age missing. He was at a loss. A dreadful loss missing his pack.

And the urge was there, guiding his eyes and his feet. He found his sword on the ground nearby. His family sword he had given Rhazii to take care of. Holding it tightly, he cautiously headed into the forest.

Fendros had not spent much time conscious in this part of the forest last time he was here. After his first transformation, he had awoken elsewhere, surrounded by Meesei’s pack. Though, he did not have to walk long before he started to approach something new. Or…perhaps not new exactly.

He would catch the scent before he would see it. He was in what seemed to be unremarkable part of the forest when a werewolf dropped down in front of him, as if out of the trees. It was tall, powerful…familiar. Unmistakably, it was Meesei. As she took a few steps forward, her form transitioned back into her natural Argonian shape. It was not the usual twisting and contorting of the body that they were accustomed to, but rather as if she just faded into a new shape. Had he blinked, he could have missed it.

At first, she was almost hard to recognize. She appeared has young as the day they had first met. While Fendros’ Elven body had hardly changed at all since then, seeing her now called attention to how much she had changed in comparison. Her scales were more colorful and vibrant, while overall she seemed noticeably smaller. Over years and years of leading a war effort, she had conditioned her body as well as her magic. By the time she was standing face-to-face with him, though, she appeared back as her normal self. “Well…is there any specific etiquette I should observe when greeting you, Godhunter?”

Fendros brought his sword up the instant the werewolf appeared. He noticed his limbs were slower to do so than usual. But, Meesei's appearance made him lower his guard, instead settling into a kind of stunned silence.

He did not have a quip to retort with. His mouth instead hung open for a moment. "...Meesei?" Was all he could muster before he felt his eyes starting to well up. "How could...? What is the meaning of this?"

“How? Did you really think a mage like me would be so…limited, even in death?” Meesei responded, lightly smiling. Though, her expression took on a bit more of a serious appearance after a moment. “Or perhaps you are wondering how I have continued to exist at all, given what I…learned before from the Psijics. What I did that night, on the eve of the battle, did strengthen my soul, as I had hoped.” She explained, though it might have been a strange statement to Fendros. Despite all of the work they had done to try to solve Meesei’s problem, they had not settled on any approach that they believed would work. At least, that was what she and Sabine had told the rest of the pack.

Pausing a moment, Meesei found a clear spot in the soft grass nearby to take a seat. “I suppose it might be true to say that I am not Meesei. But I am not…not her, either. Being there in the Hunting grounds, with my unique soul, gave me a unique option. In simple terms, I was able to merge my own soul with that of my beast spirit. Not just to connect them, like with the average lycan, but to make both of them one. Honestly, I am surprised that it agreed; I could not force it upon it. Once it was done both of them became me. I have the memories of both lives.”

Fendros could not call himself informed enough to truly understand what Meesei had done. However, he started to lower his guard. He did know Meesei well enough to feel her reassurance.

"This...has me at a loss." Fendros' sword loosened in his hand. "This past few days, you were dead."

All of a sudden, the weight of it all pressed against Fendros' eyes. He could not stop two large tears running down from his eyes at once. He tried to breathe in and found himself shaking. He breathed a laugh. "You would think I should be used to seeing you return from certain death by now."

“Well, in all fairness, I am still dead.” Meesei chuckled for a moment. “My home is the Hunting Grounds now. I suppose I just did not want to leave you worrying about my soul. After all we have accomplished, all of my service to him, Hircine has been willing to grant me his favor. The beast spirit in you connects you to his realm and can let him visit your dreams. I have been…allowed to do the same through his power.”

Meesei leaned back, supporting herself on her hands as she looked up to the sky. “I will miss this world. I will miss all of you. But, I do not regret anything. It had to be done, for all of you to have a chance at the lives you deserve. I spent most of my life leading us through a time of war. You will be responsible for ruling through a time of peace.” Tilting her head, she smiled. She had ample reasons to join Fendros in tears, but she did not seem intent on dwelling on what was lost. “Between you and me, I think I had it easier. You will have to deal with all of the politics without the war there to unite you. You have my sympathies.”