You have until the snow falls on you to establish the truce.

"It’s too late," Serah whispered. The wind stirred, blowing viciously. Screeching ripped through the air as the blackness swirled wildly, menacing and unyielding. Thousands of reapers had now taken to the sky above. They circled, moving closer and closer, a descending cyclone of death. Serah stared at them, her body trembling as her teeth chattered. "It’s over."

"It’s not," Lucifer ground out. "Not yet."

"I’m dying."

"You’re not," he said, pausing before adding, "but you will."

Lucifer grabbed his gold knife and grasped it tightly, his face contorted with agony. Serah’s gaze turned to him, but she didn’t have time to make sense of anything. He closed his eyes, muttering under his breath, "So help me God," before fiercely plunging the blade in her chest.

Suddenly, the pain erupted inside of Serah, a vibrant ball of light bursting from her chest. All around her, everything exploded into flames. Every speck of color swirled together, morphing and mixing, turning to dull gray. It faded to scorching white pain before being overrun by blackness as numbness swallowed Serah whole.

The last thing she heard, as she slipped into the darkness, was the telltale crack of thunder ripping across the sky, notifying the world:

Another angel had fallen today.

Luce sat in the middle of the empty street, his head bowed, his legs stretched out in front of him. Serah lay beside him, her head on his lap, the knife still jutting from her moving chest. Specs of light flickered around them like tiny stars, the golden glitter of Grace being absorbed by the atmosphere. It danced across Luce’s skin, but instead of reveling in it, he felt nothing except abhorrence toward the sensation.

A pool of blood gathered along the street, soaking Luce’s pants. He paid it no attention as he gently stroked her soft brown hair. She seemed so peaceful, her eyes closed as she slept deeply for the first time.

Unconscious.

The air in front of him crackled, the repulsive scent filling Luce’s lungs as he inhaled. It smelled sort of like stagnant water, musty and polluted. It was an odor that had frequently tainted the sunshine on Serah’s skin.

"What did you do?"

Luce laughed darkly at his brother’s question. "I did what you were too bitter to do."

Luce reached for the knife, grabbing the handle of it, but he didn’t have a chance to yank it out. Michael reacted defensively when Luce touched the weapon. Drawing his sword, he pointed it at Luce's forehead, closing the distance between them. "Give up now, Satan!"

Luce’s voice was low. "I already have."

The blade shifted slightly, dropping from Luce’s face, as Michael regarded him with cautious suspicion.

"I wanted you to suffer," Luce explained. "I wanted to hurt you, to take it all from you, but I realize now it’s impossible. I can’t expect you to feel anything when you feel nothing, brother. I can’t expect you to be anything but heartless when you have a heart that doesn’t beat."

"I’m not heartless."

"You just stand there as she bleeds!"

"What do you expect from me?"

"Nothing anymore." The air around Luce seemed to grow lighter as he spoke. "I expect nothing from anyone. Fighting with you is no longer worth it. Everything I've felt, everything I've been through, doesn't compare to what she gave me."

"What's that?"

Love.

He didn't say it, but he didn't have to. Michael heard the declaration anyway.

"You truly love her."

"I told you I did."

"If you remove that knife, she'll extinguish from the world forever."

"Even if I don't, she's gone anyway," he said. "She's bleeding out. Her heart is already slowing."

"I gave you what you wanted," Michael said. "I don't understand. You’d rather she die instead?"

"You're fucking right, I would!" Luce looked away from Serah, his eyes meeting Michael’s. "Death would be better than this. Death would be better than remembering me."

Luce pulled on the knife just as Michael dropped his sword, a perplexed look on his face. He knelt down beside Serah when Luce tore the knife from her chest. Michael's hand immediately covered the bleeding wound. Light radiated from his fingertips, surging through her body, her skin glowing bright orange, containing the life force in her injured body.

When Michael pulled his hand away, the wound had been healed, only a faint circular scar remaining where the mark had been. "For her, then," Michael said.

Luce sighed. "For her."

Epilogue

Six months later

(Precisely . . . not a moment sooner, not a second later)

The air was still and warm, sunlight streaming through the branches of the big oak tree, reflecting off of the lush, green leaves. A few rays splashed upon the woman leaning against the trunk of the tree, her bare feet planted on either side of the crack in the sidewalk. Her gaze was fixated directly ahead of her, her eyes scanning the freshly painted sign on the building across the street.

Chorizon Community Center

A shrill bell echoed from the elementary school behind her, followed by laughter and the sound of dozens of sets of feet running for freedom. The last day of school had come to an end, the students embarking on summer break. Children sprinted past her without so much as a glance, anxious to get home to play.