Familiar... did not always make things easier to bear.

A bright flame sputtering out, a man he had barely gotten to know falling away, a enemy he had never gotten to fight dragged down in a final defeat. There had been battles like this, there had been [i]wars[/i] like this, even if the scenery was so utterly alien to anything he had known before. There were always times like these...

And like always, Semyon wished that wasn't the case.

They had... won. Fenris was dead, the threats posed to the [i]world[/i] defeated for now. Everything they had been asked to do... they had done. 

All that was left was to return to the realm of the living. 

And Semyon did so. Only Daisy there by his side, to accompany him through the gate.

"Thank you..." The Wight looked out over the ruined hilltop as he whispered the words. Even here, people were missing. Atticus. Anastasia. Both forces had suffered losses. It always happened. "That... tells me something. A lot."

He didn't look over at Daisy, didn't dwell further on the thoughts her words had kindled. The young lady he had never gotten the chance to really meet was crying beside Henry Grimm. Tamarind was with whatever had been left of Max-or-Thadd. Gabriel was walking away... yes... that might be a good thing.

A buzz distracted Semyon, briefly, the Wight pulling out the cell phone that had somehow survived within his coat. More missed messages, of course there were. Bain and Hoyle's man branch was in ruins, the plans he had been making before delayed... probably for too long. It happened in conflicts, deadlines could almost never be met on time.

He stood there a moment longer, then shook his head and turned away. The ground was torn and rutted by the devastation Fenris had unleashed, but his feet kept their balance without care. Each step took him away from the rest, down towards... whatever he happened to find.

He'd make it to a town, or village, or city. He'd find a ride, or contacts, and eventually return to Boston. In time, the company would contact him again. To research, to guard, to fight, to consult, whatever the need happened to be. He'd come across scenes like this one, again. And again. And forever again and again.

At least until he had a village once more. Until then, ten years or a hundred years in the future, with everyone who had managed to survive as long as he... and maybe some who had been surviving long before...

Those thoughts in his mind, Semyon's lips managed to tug themselves upwards in the barest hint of a sad smile. It was the one hope that made times like these bearable. He'd walk through war after war, loss after loss, empty victory after hopeless defeat, if only it meant he'd succeed in the end. To have a small village hidden within the empty expanse of an unforgiving land. To stare up at a boundless sky, stride across hoarfrosted ground, and share stories before towering bonfires. To have a scene [i]that[/i] familiar, would be nice...

...It would mean he'd finally have something familiar, that he wanted to bear.