A/N: I don't know why, but this chapter was an absolute pain to write. Poll included in this for an extra tidbit, if you guys want it.

Arc 1 Conclusion

WORLDTREE HQ

“Yes, hello?”

“…”

“Is that so? Have you checked their credentials?”

“…”

“Ah. That’s good. Is there anything else?”

“…”

“Alright then. Talk to you next time.” *beep*

*Rustle*

“…This changes everything. I need to move the schedule up.”

*BANG* A fist slams onto a tabletop.

“Damn! Why so soon? I’m not prepared! Nobody is prepared for this!”

*Sigh*

“No. This is fine. You bastards always turn up at inconvenient times. If that’s how you want to play it…then so be it. Let’s engage in dance once more, then…”

----------------

Arvönnr, Central Square

The sun was setting on the day. The light had slowly been shifting to golden tones. From up on the town walls, the scenery of the Bramgild Plains seemed to turn have turned into a marvel of gold below and deepening blue above.

Isaac was finishing up on the last errands he had to run for the day. He had split up with the rest of the group after dropping off their new purchases off at the Auroch Inn. Their main concerns now were to deal with personal supplies. Kat had to go summon her Legionnaires and release them to enjoy themselves at the Feast. They had earned it, after all. Nyakka had to log off to grab some sleep. (She lived in Japan, so it was pretty late at night there already.) Riselda needed to place orders to replace her stock of medicinal herbs and antidotes from the only other apothecary in town.

Isaac went to the blacksmith with his sword and a griffon talon. It was a perfect opportunity to upgrade his [Unnamed Saber]. He had felt that his sword did not cut deep enough in the battle with the Griffon. The biggest problem was with its tough iron-hard plumage that acted like flexible armor.

Arvönnr’s blacksmith turned out to be quite different from Thistle’s. For one, Ingrid was most definitely a woman. For another, she was as soft-spoken as Seamus was loud.

“…I see.” Ingrid said as she closed one eye and examined Isaac’s weapon with exacting focus. She tilted it this way and that, inspecting the saber thoroughly. “I can make it heavier, but I recommend only slightly more so. If it’s too drastic it will throw you off.” She put the sword down on the bench and picked up the griffon talon. “If we use this, then you don’t need steel ingots. It’s a better material. It’s trickier, but I can handle it.”

Weapon UpgradeCurrent Weapon: Iron Saber

DMG: 8

SPD: 10

WGT: 3

Although plain, this saber is well-forged. It is a light weapon with a slight curve, ideal for slashing attacks.

Best used from a mount. This weapon has been engraved with a Mage Knight's [Focus Array]Result: Talon Saber

DMG: 15

SPD: 21

WGT: 5

A saber worthy of a blooded warrior. A powerful talon taken from a strong monster was infused into it, granting

a sharper edge and some of the monster's savage fury at the cost of extra weight.

Isaac smiled and nodded. “I’ll trust your expertise, then. How long will it take?”

Ingrid tilted her head. “…Won’t get done today, definitely - what with the Feast and all. Come back the day after tomorrow. The price will be 14 silver coins, you pay once the sword’s done. Enchantments will cost extra. Just in case, I need to tell you this; reinforcing will wipe any enchantments already on the blade…the carvings will melt in the forge.”

“Uh, that is rather obvious.” Isaac pointed out. “I’m an enchanter myself, so I know the risks.”

Ingrid snorted. “Oh, you sweet summer child. Wait until you run your own business. I guarantee you some people will ask for the moon and whine when you don’t hand them the sun.”

Isaac winced at her bitter tone. “It must happen a lot if you put it like that. Well, I won’t obstruct you any longer. Farewell, blacksmith.”

“Right, have a good time at the Feast.” The woman waved absentmindedly as she went back into her shop.

With this task done, Isaac left the smithy.

----------------------

Arvönnr, Festival Grounds

From what Isaac could remember of school events, it took at least a week to set up any sort of major events. However, he also remembered that the school faculty usually had to run themselves ragged trying to coax the various students, volunteers, workers and even teachers themselves to work with any amount of coordination.

To summarize; they were the kind of affairs that the phrase [Herding Cats] was invented for.

Perhaps, he reflected, they lacked the motivation the people of this town had. They, as one, had felt loss. They, as one, tasted victory. Because of that, they were united in their goal and shared the energy to make this Feast a reality. When he had passed this place earlier in the day, there was barely a pile of wood dumped onto the ground that served as barely more than a marker for where the fire pit for roasting the Griffon’s meat would actually be placed.

Now, Isaac was looking at long tables, benches, mead casks, pennants and all the various sort of decorations one expected of an actual festival and not a simple ‘feast’.

But then again, there was magic. Isaac recalled the net denizens’ mock-serious habit of blaming everything in wizards. And they were in ‘Viking Land’, as Narghel put it.

So, in short, Viking Wizards did it.

Something hard slammed in between Isaac’s shoulderblades, jolting him out of his wandering thoughts and the air out of his lungs. Choking in a breath, he spun around to see a grinning Nyakka with her hand upraised. Standing behind her was Bara-thon, Narghel, Kat and Riselda.

“Yooo~! Bushido-kun! What’re you thinking about? You didn’t hear us when we called your name!”

Isaac sheepishly scratched the back of his head. He did not remember that at all. “Ah, I was thinking that the townspeople really do work fast. They’re almost done with the preparations.”

“Yes, I was of same mind.” Riselda concurred, an impressed look on her face.

Kat grinned. “Never underestimate the motivation of a party. People will move mountains for one!” She said, nodding sagely.

Narghel snickered. “There’s beer involved. It should be obvious from the start!”

Bara-thon had a wry twist to his lips. “It’s mead, not beer.” He pointed out.

The masked mage shrugged. “Same difference!”

“Myahaha! Well, I think we’ve got a bit of time left.” She summoned a screen with a few quick flicks of her fingers. “Yeah, it’s right here. We got 2 hours more. Let’s go take a look around!” She declared, before running ahead.

“Hey! Come- Aw, crap.” Bara-thon cursed. “Bah, we’ll catch up with her and make sure she doesn’t turn the whole place upside down. Seriously, it’s like she’s 5 years old.” He grumbled as he starting chasing after her.

Narghel started jogged after him, turning back as he did. “Sorry guys, guess we’ll meet up later or something.” Then he turned around and ran after his friends in earnest.

Three people were left standing there.

Kat recovered first. “Okay, anybody else with a pressing need to run off elsewhere please speak up now!” She declared.

Isaac and Riselda exchanged looks and shook their heads.

“No? Good.” Kat said, her expression going from lighthearted to serious swiftly. “Isaac, Mom’s coming in 3 hours. We’re…we’re finally going to be together again. All of us, for real this time.” She finished.

Mom. His mother. Isaac was struck with a sudden panic. How much would she have changed in 6 years? Would he even recognize her – like what happened with Kat? He gulped, pulling the fear back into its pit. No. He would not make that same mistake again.

“Isaac, calm down.” He heard Riselda murmur from aside him.

His hands were curled into fists and trembling. He relaxed them, feeling muscles twinge and joints creak. “I’m okay.” He muttered back.

Kat was looking at him with concern in her eyes. “Isaac, it’s mom. It’s just mom. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I know!” He spat. “I…I will handle it. I’m not going to screw this up.”

Kat did not look convinced, but she nodded anyway. “Okay. She’ll be in by eight p.m. Let’s meet on the town walls, on the [North Gatehouse] battlement. It should be nice and quiet there.” Kat smiled and patted Isaac’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Mom won’t run from you. In any case, I’ll be right there too. If you’re still unsure, then just tell her about all the moments that we treasured together so she’ll know for sure that it’s you, okay?”

Isaac let out a long breath. “…Yes, I will do that. Thank you, Kat.”

His sister grinned. “Good! Now, let’s go find the rest and wait for the fun to start!”

-----------------------

Two hours later, the whole town was gathered in the Festival Grounds.

The Griffon’s carcass had been thoroughly taken apart. However, the towering piles of meat hinted at least where some of it went. They were piled in huge trays next to the unlit fire-pit at the exact center of the grounds, ready to be cooked.

It was both vindictively satisfying and sad for Isaac to see the state his former foe had been rendered into. On one hand, he remembered keenly the deaths of so many, both warrior and helpless innocent. On the other, he still admired the unyielding courage of the monster’s last moments. Still, it was probably best not to mention this particular tidbit. He could see many smoldering glares being aimed at the remnants of the Griffon’s mortal shell.

Isaac wondered how many people would continue to hold that poisonous grudge against something long dead. If he needed to, he would rather cast the blame where it should be aimed; the Players who brought the monster to the town in the first place.

Those particular scumbags had been kicked out of town rather dramatically yesterday by all the guards and Players, with them retreating into the distance while hurling uninventive death threats behind.

“What the fuck? Why are we [Exiled]?”

“Shut up!” The guard growled, shoving H3adBash forward with his shield. “You’re the cause of the deaths of many of our brothers and sisters and yet you protest innocence? Are you delusional or just that callous?”

“You can’t do this!” The barbarian protested. “This isn’t fair!” A Player thumped him on the back of the head. “NPCs don’t respawn, dimwit.” The fox Poukha said. “That means you’re murderers plain and simple to them. Besides, MPK still counts, or haven’t you noticed that your names are red?”

There was a crowd of townspeople on the walls watching the group of four being manhandled out of the town. There were Players up there as well, including Kat. She had her hands up, framed s if she was trying to gauge the scene for a picture. Her grin seemed to have been stolen from some savage aquatic predator. “Cry some more…” She muttered. Since Isaac was standing next to her, he could see that a screen was hovering in the space between her hands, a blinking [RECORD] phrase in red flashing in one corner.

The four criminals were hurled bodily outside the town gates as the town herald stepped forward, a circle of glowing light winking into existence around his throat.

“Let it be known!” He bellowed, his voice magically amplified. “That these four are no longer welcome in the fair Thanedom of Arvönnr for their crimes, of the worst which is conspiracy to harm and the complicity in the unjust deaths of many! SO MOTE IT BE!”

This was nothing like the time that Isaac and Riselda had been exiled. At least back then, they had been innocent and were accompanied by their friends as a show of support for them and protest against the Alderman’s edict. This time, the people gathered on the walls were unanimous in their scorn. They were hurling rocks, rotten food and insults at the four exiles below.

With no other choice, H3adBash and his party could only run away in disgrace.

Isaac firmly banished the memories away. He did not want to sink into a brooding mood – he will have plenty of drama to deal with later.

Nyakka shifted restlessly next to him, causing him to realize he had missed the start and much of the chant being recited by a Skaldr swathed in an ornately embroidered cloak.

“…honoured be the kin whom now are borne aloft by the Valkyrie.” He solemnly intoned. “Rejoice their passage into the warrior’s heaven, the eternal battlefield. Their gaze is upon you now! Grieve as you rejoice! Sing their praises to speed their way! Extoll their deeds to Valhalla so that they may be received with even greater glory!”

His voice rose to triumphant crescendo. “Einherjar! Ye who defend the worlds above and below! We now dedicate this victory to you! May the day come when we stand side by side once more, against foes beyond!”

Horns blew. Voices were raised in cheer. The Victory Feast had officially begun.

“YAHOO~!” Nyakka practically erupted from his side. Isaac only noticed her fingers clamped around the collar of his tunic when he found himself being dragged in her direction. Bara-thon was his fellow victim here. Nyakka drew more than one startled look at the ease with which she dragged two grown men around.

To Isaac, the night was lost in a whirl of colour, music and people.

The orange light of the roaring bonfire almost overpowered the sizzle of cooking meat and green vegetables as cooks bustled in a barely organized mess, ensuring that the townspeople were fed.

Blue, brown, green, white, and the few flashes of brighter colours as the townspeople donned their more festive clothing for the night. Their voices clashed and mixed in laughter and song. There was a ring of dancers around the fire pit and the cooks. Nyakka had let Isaac go at some point, leaving him adrift amongst a stream of dancing folk. He remembered being caught up in the whirl by many people.

…There was a young human girl, whom giggled and spun with more energy than skill. She had no identifying name above her head. Isaac tried clumsily to follow her steps and barely managed not to make a fool of himself. She released him with a final laugh to seek yet more partners.

…Somehow, he got dragged into a line of burly men and women. He recognized the face of the one whom had him by the arm. How could he not? His face had been quite visible when Isaac had nearly been squashed to a pulp by a pile of steel and men. They stomped like they were performing some warlike ritual, an aggressive fervor. Still, it was fun and simple to learn. Isaac learned that the Romulii Legionnaires were good people after all, if a little intimidating.

…He found himself holding hands with Riselda. She was just as startled as he was. The moment of stillness passed and she smiled, if a little distantly. She ensnared him in a slow, elegant spin. He fell into her rhythm as she took the lead with the grace he was coming to associate with her. After what seemed to be an eternity, she unlaced her fingers from his hands and vanished into the crowd. Isaac could not help but feel something intangible drift away as she did…

Finally, he managed to escape from the crowd, feeling oddly drained. He retreated to the edges of the Square and found a seat on a nearby bench. Despite his exhaustion, Isaac felt a buzzing warmth in his chest. He could also feel it all around him in the air. This was the joy created by people in some of the brightest moments of their life, he realized. It was a different happiness to the type he felt when he basked in Mom’s affection. It was something he had yearned to feel before, sitting on the sidelines and excluded from all the other kids.

It was then that a semi-transparent screen popped up in front of him. Isaac felt his heart leap into his throat.

Mom was here.

----------------------------

With the majority of the town attending the Feast, the rest of Arvönnr was dark and empty. Now that the sun had sunk below the horizon, the town walls cast dark shadows from the round moon overhead.

Isaac’s footsteps were steady despite the dark. The Svartalfar had good night vision, the magnitude depending on their blood heritage. The shrouded roads were easy to navigate for him. He found the towers of the wall with great ease, since there were torches in their brackets all around the inside of the walls.

There was a guard standing by the entrance to the tower. It gave Isaac a sense of relief to see such dedication to their jobs, though he also felt a pang of pity for the poor folks whom had this duty.

“Halt! Announce yourself!” The grizzled man declared. He was clad in a chainmail byrnie and a pointed helm. An axe was looped on one wrist and his shield on the other. A lantern swung on his belt.

“Good sir, my name is Isaac.” He introduced himself. “There is a lady with her hair tied in twin tails on the battlements – She is wearing a red and white dress, I believe. Her name is Katherine.”

The man looked him over with squinted eyes before he relaxed. “Aye, there is a young lady by that name. She gave your description too.” He scratched his chin and stepped aside, pulling the door open as he did so. “Go right up, then.”

“Thank you, sir, for your understanding. And thank you for your vigilance, especially tonight.” Isaac replied respectfully.

“Bah, it’s fine.” The man waved absently. “The lass upstairs told us she was expecting someone. Besides, the two of you were heroes. It should be us thanking you.” Then, the guard gave him a sly wink. “Besides, we’re working in shifts anyway. I’ll get my share of the fun later.”

Isaac chuckled and proceeded up the stairs.

With each step up, his heart seemed to beat faster, his ribs seemed to squeeze in on his lungs just a bit more. The shadows, dancing in firelight from the torches, seemed to taunt him with silent voices.

Isaac could imagine the words. Run. Flee, coward. Pain awaits you!

They were familiar words. Months…no, years ago, he would have listened and wilted under the weight of them. This was a different Isaac. One who had shucked off the chains pain had on him. One who had seen what it means to die. One whom had dealt death to others to defend the lives of those that counted on him. His reaction to doubt and fear was to harden his heart into steel.

Clench your teeth. Close your Fists. Move forwards.

The moonlight shone down on him as Isaac emerged from the top of the stairwell. Turning his head, he could see the glow of the great bonfire in the centre of the Festival Square. On the other side was the darkened sea of the Bramgild Plains. Or, rather, the sea of stars that was the Plains and the night sky above. At the onset of night, the fireflies had taken flight, turning the Plains into a shifting, dancing galaxy of living stars to rival the one in the heavens.

The gorgeous view was not what he was here for. Isaac focused his attention at the roof of the northern gatehouse, which was only a short distance away from where he stood.

There, standing on the stone and looking up into the sky, were two people.

The one with the now-iconic twin-tailed hairstyle Isaac knew was Katherine Walker, his sister. She was still wearing her new red and white dress, which meant she most likely had attended the Feast before she made her way here.

The other person was shorter than Kat. She wore plain clothing – a white blouse and brown leggings, and over it all, a black leather blacksmith’s apron. She had short, sensibly cut hair. As Isaac got closer, he began to make out her features from the side. He felt his guts clench into a tight, painful knot.

He knew this face.

His feet faltered and stopped several paces before he could reach them. Isaac had thought too much about what he wanted to say at this moment. Now all the words had jammed into each other on their way up. He could almost feel it, like they had crushed themselves into reality as a lump in his throat. He could only stand silently there, unable to advance, unable to retreat.

Before he could do or say anything, Mom turned her head and saw him.

“…Ah.” She uttered. “You…you must be...”

She took a step closer. Isaac could see the crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes, the deeper lines of worry now carved on her face. He saw the shine of forming tears and the fragile tremble of her lips. Kat turned and saw him too and placed a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “That’s him, Mom.” She said, her voice carrying over the quietness of the night.

Mom cast a grateful look at Kat. Her gaze turned on him once more and Isaac was rooted again. “Isaac?” She asked, her voice hesitant.

She took a slow step towards him. “Isaac? It’s me, Mom.” He heard her say.

Mom knelt down in front of him. She ran a tender hand down his face. “How was your day, Isaac?” He nodded shyly and began to speak…

Step by step, she got closer. “My son…”

He bit back a hiss of pain. Father had been drunk, so his fist had hurt. But he had avoided hitting the face. He always did. And yet, Mom knew he hurt. “Isaac! Oh, come here, let me have a look!” She fussed, gathering him into her arms. Isaac leaned in and sobbed quietly.

“Isaac…” She picked up the pace.

Finally, Isaac managed to pull a single word free from the tangle in his chest. “Mom.” He breathed.

Feeling a warm weight collide into him and arms gripping him tightly in an embrace, Isaac sank down on his knees. The unbearable tension flowed out with his tears as Kat joined the hug. None of them had any words.

After six gray years, they were reunited.

They lost track of the passage of time, immersed in the presence of a family whole once again. Apart from muffled sobs, they were almost silent, as if too large a noise would shatter them apart once again.

Isaac almost flinched at the sensation of small hands cupping his face. “You don’t look like yourself at all, my dear…” He heard his mom whisper. “But I don’t care about that! I’m just so relieved...”

The clenched feeling in his chest eased greatly, and Isaac nodded wordlessly. A warm sensation trickled slowly into an aching hole he had only just become aware of.

Someone in the group hug shifted. “Oh, look!” Kat gasped softly. They turned their gaze skyward.

At first, Isaac could only frown, squinting his eyes while his eyes searched for whatever surprised his sister so much. Then, he realized that the stars seemed to be growing brighter by the second.

The night sky was filled with streaking light, as if the stars were falling to the earth.

Over the distance, Isaac could hear shouts of surprise echo over from the Festival Square. He looked over to Kat. She was smiling in wonder.

“This…This must have been what the people saw, when we Players first arrived.” She said to no one in particular.

Isaac looked up again. “Something ends, something else begins?” He asked quietly. The words felt familiar in his mouth.

“Yes. Definitely.”

They sat there on the walls, watching the [End] of their years of grief.

They sat there, and watched the [Beginning] of a tumultuous future.