I died. [He holds a hand up before they can say more.] I don't know how many times. I have lost track of the "whys" and "whens." Some were my own doing. Others came at the hands of a stranger.

Every time, I have come back. Every time, the Phoenix reminds me that it is not done with me. And if I had been allowed to take the blade meant for me, it would have done the same.

[Luca doesn't have realize his eyes have begun to burn until it's too late. Dampness traces its way down over the round swell of his right cheek.]

He did not need to die. If the Phoenix had only told me it were possible, we would not have needed to be afraid. He would still be here.

[Behind them, that familiar spirit flickers in and out. Has his trademark charismatic smile faded in the slightest? Perhaps.]