Humanity was ever so susceptible to the darkness in their hearts. They veiled themselves behind false identities, made excuses and pretenses to justify the burial of that which they refused to acknowledge. For someone like Ruggiero, so mired in resentment, it would not have been a surprise had he collapsed under the weight of it all.

But the man before Lucius now… was different. He came to terms with the ugly truth, and he embraced the name that once brought him only grief. It was no longer a mask. It did not need to be, for he no longer wished to hide that which surged from his being.

Seeing Ruggiero there, his eyes alight with a brilliant sparkle, Lucius could only smile. The man was truly beautiful: a masterpiece he had seen few others nearly reach, only to fail at the very end.

But compared to them, perhaps Ruggiero could carve himself a happier ending. There was only one way to find out.

The gentleman excitedly jumped from his seat and followed the enlightened Peer out into the smoky fumes of the outside. Embers and the faint stench of ash flooded his nostrils, and as he looked out into the distance, thousands upon thousands of angry rioters had already begun laying siege to the Eastern Ward's gate.

Bradamante and paladins from the castle attempted to stand in their way, but there was only so much they could do without causing harm. The people were relentless; their shadows, twisting and distorting in a deranged swirl, covered the city as they marched forward, closer, ever closer. Their eyes bulged, veins flaring—it was as if a wave of madness had swept through them all, dragging even the innocent and the unknowing along their maniacal spiral.

The holy warriors impeded their advance with a row of shields, but the people pushed back, demanding that justice be served. "Bring out the traitor!" they cried and they roared. "He deceives you with his dark magic, enthralls your mind to his control!"

"None of us are bewitched. You have to believe me!" Bradamante pleaded to them, but it was no use. The rioters were set in their ways. Convinced that the enemy had corrupted the Lord's faithful. None of her words would reach them, for there was no reasoning with fanatics.

Eventually, the mob began to seize control. Unlike the paladins, they were not opposed to violent means. They slammed against the shields and crawled over them, piling onto the panicked guards and beating them to silence. "This is for your own good!" they proclaimed, fists bloody and hairs slathered in grease. "We will rid you of that heretic's spells!"

The people thought themselves saviors, even as the paladins yelled out in fear under an endless swarm of those they vowed to protect. There was not an ounce of rationality to be seen. Their hate, their prejudice… it all came crashing down, finally given permission to let free the ugliness within.

"... Our nature is ever so fickle, isn't it, Lucius?" Ruggiero said, beholding the display with a mournful sigh. "For good men and women to be driven to such lengths, it almost seems insurmountable: that sheer wall of hate. They truly believe their cause is just."

"Will you back away, then?" the gentleman asked.

To that, Ruggiero replied with a laugh. "No, I knew this choice would not be easy. But how could I give up before I've even started? This is my path to tread. I will follow it though, no matter the uncertainty."

The man took a deep breath, lightly slapped his cheeks, and then boldly strode toward the angry mob.

"B-Beloved?" Bradamante stammered, eyes widening in shock. "Why are you here?"

"To do what I should have done long ago," he replied.

No sooner did the people cast their eyes upon him, their hateful, unfair eyes, did their hysteria reach the highest peak. They screamed and reached out to him, cursed his name and spat a barrage of the most heinous insults they could conjure… and yet, Ruggiero stood determined. He did not react to their words, nor move in a way that could be seen as threatening. He merely held his arms up in peace and gazed out to them all like one would a shepherd to his flock.

"Monster! Scourge!" they bellowed at him. "You took away our guardian! You forced us from our homes!"

Their voices combined into a terrible deluge of spite. Not a sound could be heard save from their frothing maws.

But as it all raised to a crescendo, Ruggiero opened his mouth, and silenced them all with a deafening shout.

"You know me as Ruggiero of the Peers!" he said, stunning them all with the sheer force of his decree. "For twenty years, I have been a paladin of Francia. This nation became my home, and I dedicated my everything to ensure its continued prosperity and safety. However…"

The man turned towards Bradamante. She placed her hand over heart and looked at him, worried, but he reassured her with a bright smile before returning to the audience.

"... That is not all that defines me. In truth, I am also Atlantes, a Crystologists from the Moors. It is no secret that Francia is not my birthplace, nor that I once clashed blades as your enemy. But nonetheless I have left all I knew to be in service to the people of this land. At first, I did so merely out of duty: responsibility. I thought that by ridding all that made up my former identity, I could mingle amongst you as a new man."

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Ruggiero thumped his chest and addressed them all with a heart bared true. "I was ashamed of my origin! I despised the foreign blood that ran through my veins, for I believed it to be the reason why I could never be accepted. But I see now that it was all just an excuse. I merely hid my resentment away, allowing it to fester until I became neither Ruggiero nor Atlantes: nay, just a wretch too trapped in their own self-pity to move on. I was too afraid to express who I truly was, but no longer.

"Hear me one and all: I am a Frankishman and a child of the Moors! Both are who I am—both embody the man I am today. I will never truly be the same as you all, but I believe our differences should be celebrated rather than abhorred; for it is only when we abolish these self-shackled labels that we may finally begin to grow, and thrive, and prosper as a people united in true, lasting connection. I wear these names with pride, for it is proof of the possibility that exists beyond our isolated walls. It is proof that we can coexist despite our distinctions. And so, I now request to you all—"

Ruggiero rested his arms by his side, and then bowed to the masses still strucken by his fervent resolve.

"Evaluate me not because I am a foreigner," he began, "but with your own eyes as to what kind of man I am. Look clearly, set aside the rumors spoken not from your lips. My actions, my presence, everything I am… look at it now, and then cast your judgements as to whether I am guilty. I will not shy away whether it be at this moment or far into the future."

He held out his arms and beckoned for the people to watch: examine his every feature, gaze upon the resolution in his eyes. The once uncontrollable mob could not speak even a single word.

"Do I look like a man who would use dark magic?"

The people remained silent.

"Do I look like a man who took pleasure in slaying a friend?"

They lowered their heads in guilt.

"Do I look like a man who has spoken a single lie this day?"

The torches were smothered; the pitchforks laid down. No one could refute him, for the man they saw was one brimming with full, genuine sincerity: of a soul liberated from the darkness in his heart.

And after a moment, something surprising occurred. A few people from the audience stepped forth and addressed Ruggiero personally.

"I was there during the war," spoke what appeared to be a retired paladin. "I saw you clash with Lady Bradamante during the closing years of the campaign. You were… terrifying to us who walked on ground, but after a time we noticed it: the lack of blood, the empty casualty list. You and the lady feigned a bitter fight, but we all knew it was an act to protect our fellows tired from the endless death that plagued our sight. It is thanks to you that I returned to my family."

Another approached him, this one dressed as a maid. "I was always too afraid to meet your eyes. My father spoke of your people as savages, recounted the terror he experienced whilst out on conquest, but… day after day, I saw your kindness. You regarded us maids with the same respect as the venerable priests, and you even assisted with our chores despite your standing. We shunned you and ignored you, but if you were to ask anyone in the castle, every single person would be able to recount a tale of when they received your help."

The final one to step forward was of a familiar face: a woman who Ruggiero had shared both pain and happiness with. That woman faced him now, and shared a kiss for all to see.

"You weren't the only one scarred, my beloved," Bradamante said, brushing aside his hair. "The people called me a hero, but I knew in my heart that his late Holiness's orders were… wrong. I put on a brave face for the sake of the paladins, yet on the inside I felt myself crumble bit by bit with every innocent life I was forced to take; and the worst part? I was celebrated for it. Rewarded for it. The emperor gave me all the gold, and jewels, and praise I could ever wish for. But it did nothing to fill the hole in my heart. I realized, then, that I wasn't a hero at all: just a monster. One a single campaign away from losing themself entirely.

"But then, I met you. And I saw the same emptiness in your eyes that I carried. It was all just so screwed up, wasn't it? That's why I took the chance to make that proposal. I thought, if it was you, maybe we could go against our fates: find a solution that didn't involve drawing more blood."

Bradamante leaned her head against Ruggiero's shoulder, and she closed her eyes: smiling in remembrance of the day she had found her soulmate. "We succeeded, didn't we? I can still feel the wind flowing through my fingers, the dance we shared up in the sky, and all the dumb insults and scripts we came up with to fool the people below. That was, and still is, one of my fondest memories… because it was also the time I came to fall in love with you. You gave me joy in my darkest hour. So, no matter who you choose to be: Ruggiero, Atlantes, or otherwise, I will always be there, following after no matter how hard you try to get rid of me."

Ruggiero trembled for a moment, allowing himself to behold Bradamante's appearance, her warmth, her touch, and then he pulled her in close into an embrace that yearned never to let go.

"And so we shall be together," he said. "Even after our dying breaths."

Eventually, more and more people began to walk forward. Paladins, servants, and all those who had come to know him personally… they gathered before the two Peers and cried out in his support. No longer was this a riot, a mob demanding punishment. Now, there were only those left dazed, yet content, with the day's hopeful conclusion.

Ruggiero thought his efforts to have been useless, that not a soul was moved by his compassion. But he was wrong. There, before him, was the fruit of his labor: a gathering of Franks willing to listen and to change.

It was easy to judge those you had never met: to believe the words of your friends, family, the community that which had been all you ever knew. Rumors, hearsay, gossip... they created an imaginary enemy which you could never disprove, not unless you saw them with your own eyes. Heard their words with your own ears. With no one to say otherwise, all that was left was the paranoia and fear of what could possibly be.

Ruggiero never gave Francia the chance to know him, the real him. He thought hiding himself was for the better, but that only allowed the peoples' prejudice to spread even more. Only when he found the courage to stand boldly before them could their assumptions be whittled away. The solution to it all, simple it might be, was to mingle with your fellow man and show them your genuine self.

Of course, there were some who still chose to shun him. It was inevitable for those with such deeply ingrained notions, and perhaps for all his life Ruggiero would never see the true acceptance he dreamed of. Even so, he persisted nonetheless in the hopes that just one more person might see the light.

And thus, against all odds and a land bent on crushing his spirits, Ruggiero had done it.

He had brought forth his very own happy ending.

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