Three years, seventy days and twenty-three minutes later the last trailing reaper slips into the oily blackness of dark space. Their sudden absence in Shepard's mind shocks her from a restless sleep like ice water against her spine and she quests after that last distant echo, for the first time in years there is only blessed silence in her mind. The sudden quiet is unexpected, and she grasps after it like probing the space where a tooth used to be, but the distant sendings have tapered to nothing.

The flashing of the clock beside Shepard's cot reads 6:43, early enough that only the beginnings of light are rising into the chill winter sky. The floor is cold enough to numb her toes as she shrugs into her standard Alliance issue coveralls, as familiar as a second skin. For the first time in years her steps are light as they carry her to the door, the familiar cold lump that's been coiled inside her seems to ease, unfurling to spread through her system in a rush of heady adrenaline.

The hallways of the military compound she's called home for two years are mostly silent, a harried looking salarian trots past her, offering a terse greeting. The drab, utilitarian grey of the walls had seemed a depressing, leaden shroud before this morning~now they sparkle with light and possibility. The scientists here will be disappointed, Shepard thinks, there has been a lot of quiet, muttered talk of stasis bunkers…..of preserving Commander Shepard to become the savior of the next cycle. The mere thought of that makes her ill, to be like Javik, waking up 50 000 years in the future~lost and bitter in a world that was no longer hers.

The only part of Shepard's life that made each day bearable was the support of her scattered friends. They had supported her tirelessly through endless weeks and months of crippling grief, despite the fact that she had never told anyone about the events at the ruins of the conduit site. That sickening horror and guilt was her burden to bear...she could only hope they would understand her choice now. Understand and forgive.

A young Alliance marine is yawning his way through the last of a gate-shift when she passes. He snaps to attention when he recognizes her, blurting out a stuttered "C.. Commander Shepard! You're up early!"

He blinks in surprise as she breezes past, a genuine smile softening the bleak, scarred contours of her face. "Yeah" she tosses back over her shoulder, "I told a friend I'd meet him for a drink, don't want to keep him waiting." She can feel the guard's confused gaze on her back, but his respect for her rank and reputation keeps him silent.

Shepard decides to walk through Oldcity instead of taking an aircar. Her steps take her through the stirring streets toward the Conduit Memorial, footsteps light and glad~at if the weight of her choices was flaking away as she moved. It was hard to remember what it looked like then, all shattered wreckage and drifting ash; now it's a pristine park, lined with tall silver obelisks, carved with all the names of the fallen. A rising breeze stirs the flags that mark the still charred spot the beam had touched, a blur of vibrant colours from all the galaxies races: Human Alliance, Turian Hierarchy, Vol Protectorate….even the sigil of the Batarian Hegemony flew here, Councillor T'Soni had insisted on it.

Shepard props the twisted piece of metal at the base of the marker that bears his name. The visor support strut is worn smooth now, and Shepard's hands can remember every whorl and jag in the warped metal, she's never parted with it until now. A physical representation of everything she had lost, she had clung to it against a swirling morass of grief; but she doesn't need it now. She brushes her fingers once across the etching of his name, then turns away.

The sun is bathing the city in a cool winter light when she passes the skeletal remains of the old foundry district, the reclamation crews haven't made it this far yet~with relay construction a priority it may be years yet. Old warehouses and retail stores, full of gaping holes and empty windows crouch above cluttered streets. A family of vorcha look up from digging through the rubble as she passes; diving back into the refuse as soon as her footsteps fade.

Shepard follows the crumbling docks along the sluggish banks of a winter-sullen river, up onto the remains of an old bridge who's truncated arch rises high above the grey water. Looking back she can see the city spread out behind her, distant aircraft glint briefly in the rising sun as the Thames eddies far beneath her feet. Laughing she spreads her arms, and for a moment the brush of breeze feels like gentle talons in her hair, a brush of plating against the skin of her cheek, the pressure of an arm curling around her waist.

She looks back once more, they will be fine now, she thinks~she's bought them fifty thousand years of peace, its up to them to make it worth it.

Closing her eyes she remembers what Legion had said, moments before he collapsed, "I will go to them."

"Yes," Shepard whispers in gentle agreement, and steps forward.