Peace! Peace! Peace! The word repeated in his mind like a taunting chant. Peace! Peace! Peace! Shakily, he moved to sit before the mirror within in his confines of the Palatio Arancione. His face had gotten rougher, he thought. He couldn't quite tell if it was just age, or if the war had contributed to it. The bags under his eyes were definitely the fault of the war, and so were the scars across his body.
On the streets, people were celebrating the beginning of peace once more, and here he was, tears trickling down his cheeks. "The Cycle..." He murmured quietly to himself, "The Cycle has not been broken ..." The Light had endured for now, but they had not extinguished the Darkness from the World, and wherever Shadows remain, Darkness would still linger.
Enrico Amadeus would keep his sword sharpened, the Cycle was not broken. The Cycle fostered by the Aster Revolution, humanity would wage war on itself, over and over again. For now, however, he ought to enjoy the momentary lapse in warfare, right? His nieces and nephews would no longer be endangered. Maybe, he would even have his own children.
There is hope, something may still bloom.