Epilogue

In the passing days, Illya found the world to be moving quickly. As he settled into his new life, the boy found himself atop of a mountain. Standing alongside him was none other than Deva, who coldly watched the clouds with her master.
“When Stanillo finishes occupying Rostov, and Diana finishes reestablishing the government of Stalavat. We will return to fight alongside my father in Ugrica,” Illya said, his voice determined and ready to face the next task at hand.

“Why do you wish to fight?” Deva asked. “And what are you fighting for?”
“I once fought for my mother and brothers,” Illya said. “Now I find myself fighting for my wife and my unborn child that I have yet to meet.”
“But what brings you to fight in foreign lands, young master?” Deva clarified.
“Power,” Illya answered. “The power of a king.”
“Power is always the worst,” Deva added. “It brings about the worst of people. People grow arrogant and corrupt. Power is only to be held by a person willingly to check himself.”
“I never asked to be in this position,” Illya said. “But here I stand at the pinnacle of it. I am far too embedded in this endeavor, Deva.”
“Embedded you are,” Deva said. “Trapped you are not. I have seen what power brought to the man I love, and I will not permit the same to happen to you, young master.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Illya said. “But I have not done anything to deserve your kindness. If you recall, I intended to kill you — not too long ago.”
“I recall,” she said. “But I also recall seeing the kind boy, crying at the thought of killing a defenseless woman and her unborn child. That enough tells me you do not belong in this world, Illya.”
“You are destined for better things,” Deva continued. “A life of conquest will only bring you pain and suffering.”