Run, Jean... You can't turn back now...

Descole spluttered through the smoke the destruction had resulted in. He hadn't originally planned for anything to turn out like this. Yet no one had. The legacy of the Azran was never ment to be unleashed, and when it had, the consequence was utterly catastrophic. The world's future had been threatened, yet Descole had saved it. Pft. A small spot of softness on his villaneous reign.

He continued out into the forestry outside. His stomach was killing him; he could feel burns up and down his ribcage and it was hard to stand upright. Where was Raymond? If he was as far away from the ruins as Descole thought he was, then escaping could prove tricky. The police,en from Scotland Yard were still lurking around - not that they had had any impact on him before, though. Whilst there was still a part of him that wanted to run off ahead, his injuries held him back and forced him to take his time.

The Azran Sanctuary, in all it's pieces, had little meaning to him anymore, but there was something different that caught his eye.

A body. Not just any body - but Aurora's.

Descole stood there in a mild state of shock. Hadn't the girl fallen with the sanctuary? Wasn't it her voice - that voice they had heard whispering in the sky, before everything had faded away? He carefully lifted her up from the rubble. Apart from a few scratches, she seemed to be in one piece, yet her body felt stone cold, unlike the warm Aurora who had emerged from the ice. The lack of pulse was even scarier now than it had been then. For all the masked man knew, this could be a sign of death for the emissary.

He was sure that if Layton and the young boy spotted him, they would come after him no matter what it took them. Especially with the bond the young one had formed with Aurora... Descole had to be quick if he was going to escape. He held her close so that his chin sat on top of her head and looked up beyond the trees. There was a small airship approaching them, with a red-clad man boarding it - Raymond, Descole's butler. The most appropriate timing, as usual. As the vehicle swooped down, Jean could see shock forming in his butler's beady little eyes.

"Master...what are you doing with the little lady?"

"She's boarding with us, Raymond," Descole called back. "I have a feeling she's still alive..."

He would have said more, but the bulge in his throat stopped him. He couldn't grow feelings towards this girl. She was a construct. Nothing more, nothing less.

After a great number of minutes spent searching for it, the pair finally found the Bostonius. It was surprising that it hadn't been absorbed by the glow and destroyed like the rest of Froenborg had been. Layton had swiftly driven it down, in a place not too snow-laden. Descole took Aurora inside and sprawled her out on to the sofa. Still freezing, she was. Even when she had first emerged from the ice, she had been warm...

"How's she doing, Master?" Raymond asked.

"Not too good..." Jean replied. "She hasn't responded. I think we'll have to drop her off somewhere."

"Alright. If you're sure, Master."

All was quiet for the rest of the journey. Still cold, I see, Jean thought, raking his fingers through her hair with one hand and stroking her face with the other. Even sprawled out in the Bostonius, a highly padded vehicle fit for even the lowest temperatures of Froenborg, the girl was cold. Descole draped his cloak over her motionless body. What would he do if she was alive? In a coma of sorts...

He kissed her forehead and whispered.

You battled hard out there, young lady. You were quite the companion on our journey...and you would make a great sidekick if I trained you. But now it is time for you to rest.

Sleep tight, little Azran.

He let go of her hands, letting them gently slip back by her side, and walked off to the other side of the vehicle. He had to start afresh, not loathe on the past. No matter what he tried to do, Aurora was beyond repair. But there was still a feeling of disatisfaction within him, as if, even after all of this fighting, something had not been settled - a string left untied...

"Professor Sycamore."

Her rich blue eyes, a young smile - let them be not a hallucination, he prayed, he yearned.

"You've finally listened to your heart, and found hope in your despair. Your wife and daughter would be proud of you, as too am I."

Running into her arms, trembling with a cold sweat as her frail hands found his back...

What would he do if she was alive?