Chapter 266 – The Souls

Chapter 266

The Souls

Date : Day 20 of Firstthaw 1024 Aethellgard Concord Year.

The cathedral rose ahead of them. Today, the ceremony was not inside.

It was in the yard.

The wide courtyard in front of the cathedral had been transformed. Rows upon rows of chairs had been set out across the stone, facing the cathedral steps. Many of them were already full.

The sound reached Hyoren before anything else. Quiet sobbing. Muffled crying from somewhere to the left. A child asking something in a small voice and a mother hushing it. And beneath it all, a heavy, blanketing silence, the kind that made people speak only in whispers if they spoke at all.

Some people wept openly. Some held each other. And some just sat and stared straight ahead, their faces empty, as if they had already cried everything they had.

Then Hyoren saw the front of the yard, and his steps faltered.

White caskets.

Rows of them, neatly arranged before the cathedral steps. Their lids were open. From where he stood, he couldn't see who lay inside each one, but he could count them—and he stopped counting after the first row, because he didn't want to know the number anymore.

So many.

Ina's hand found his sleeve without a word. Elise's shoulder brushed his arm. Behind him, Jackey's ears had flattened, and Arianna had stopped walking entirely, one gloved hand pressed against her chest.

Hyoren swallowed and made himself look away from the caskets.

That was when he saw them.

Martha sat in the second row, near the front. Beside her was Reon, and around them sat Reon's party members, close together in their black clothes.

Reon was trying hard to look strong. Her back was straight. Her chin was raised. She wasn't shrieking the way she had on the battlefield, clutching Ronald's body and screaming his name until her voice broke. She was silent now.

But the tears hadn't stopped.

They ran down her cheeks one after another, quietly, endlessly, and she didn't bother wiping them away anymore.

Rina sat beside her, holding her hand. She didn't say anything. She simply held on, steady and firm, like an anchor keeping Reon from drifting away.

Martha looked composed.

She sat very still, her hands folded in her lap. Her face was lined with sorrow, and her eyes were red at the edges. Every so often, her lips pressed together hard and her throat moved, and the tears gathered and threatened to spill. But each time, she held them back.

Her eyes never left one particular casket in the front row.

Hyoren didn't need to ask whose it was.

He took a slow breath. Then he walked toward them, one careful step after another.

Martha noticed him first. Then Reon looked up.

Hyoren stopped in front of them and bowed his head slightly.

"Martha. Reon."

Reon quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand. Rina's grip on her other hand tightened, and Reon squeezed back. When she lifted her eyes to Hyoren, they were red and swollen, but they were steady.

"Hyoren. Thank you for coming."

Her voice was stable. Grief was still in it, heavy and raw, but it didn't shake. Somewhere in the past two days, with Rina beside her, she had found something to stand on.

Hyoren gave her a small nod.

Then Martha spoke. She didn't look away from the casket.

"I was always prepared for this, you know."

Her voice was calm. Almost conversational.

"Since thirty years ago, when I married him. I knew he was an adventurer. I knew the risk. Every time he went out to guard a convoy, there was always a chance he wouldn't come back."

She paused. Her folded hands tightened in her lap.

"I told myself that every single time. So I'd be ready."

Her voice trembled for the first time.

"At least this death… he died protecting what we love."

She turned to Reon and gently patted her hand, the one Rina wasn't holding.

"My daughter keeps blaming herself.”

Reon's lips pressed together, and her eyes dropped to her lap.

Martha's voice softened even further.

"But I know it's not her fault. Ronald was always ready to throw away his own life for the people he loved. That was just who he was. Nobody could have stopped him."

Rina nodded silently beside Reon, her thumb moving slowly over the back of Reon's hand.

Then Martha turned her eyes to Hyoren.

They were sharp. Wet, but sharp.

"And don't you dare blame yourself too, Hyoren."

Hyoren flinched.

Martha didn't let him look away.

"I know what you did. I heard everything. You couldn't have done anything to change how this turned out. You already worked harder than almost anyone out there."

Her voice cracked, but she pushed through it.

"Without you, Akela would be gone. Not just Ronald. All of us. So please… for our sake. For Ronald's sake. Don't blame yourself."

Hyoren couldn't answer.

She knew.

Somehow, she knew. He hadn't told anyone. Not Elise. Not Ina. But Martha had looked at him once and seen it.

Because he did blame himself.

That was why the nightmare had shown him Ronald's death again and again, on a loop he couldn't escape. Even before Berserker, even before the backlash, the thoughts had been there, circling.

What if I'd worked harder…? What if I'd used a different plan…? What if I'd sent the night riders earlier… or held Phase Four back a little longer…?

Maybe Ronald wouldn't have needed to die…

Deep down, he knew it was futile. He knew it was a spiral with no bottom. There was no plan that saved everyone. There never had been. He had studied enough medicine to know that sometimes, no matter what you did, you couldn't save every patient on the table.

But knowing it and believing it were two different things.

And Martha—the woman who had lost the most—had just reached into that spiral and pulled him out.

Hyoren slowly straightened. Then he bowed to her. Deeply. Lower than he had bowed to anyone in this world.

"…Thank you, Martha."

Martha looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded once, small and tired, and turned her eyes back to the casket.

Hyoren stood up again.

There were empty chairs in the row just behind them. He lowered himself into one slowly, his legs grateful for the rest.

Without a word, his party members followed. Elise sat on his left. Ina on his right. Jackey and Arianna took the seats beside them.

Nobody spoke.

Above the cathedral, the dual suns sank lower, and the long shadow of the spires slowly stretched across the yard, over the rows of chairs and over the white caskets waiting at the front.

***

Little by little, the chairs filled.

People came in twos and threes, dressed in black, walking slowly across the stone yard. Some stopped in front of the caskets before taking a seat. Some went straight to a chair and sat with their heads bowed. The low murmur of grief grew a little louder with each new arrival, then settled again into the same heavy quiet.

Then three men approached from the far side of the yard.

Hyoren recognized them at once. Terry. Digo. Richard.

Ironclad Guardian.

Ronald's party.

They walked slowly, side by side, the way they had walked for years behind their leader on countless caravan roads. But there was a gap in their line now. A space at the front where a broad-shouldered tank with a shield should have been. Hyoren could almost see it—and from the way the three of them kept their eyes lowered, so could they.

They stopped in front of Martha.

For a moment, none of them could speak. Terry opened his mouth, closed it, and looked down at his boots. Digo's hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Richard's fingers worked restlessly at the sleeve of his black coat.

Terry finally lowered his head.

"Martha… We're sorry. We were right there. And we still couldn't…"

His voice broke off.

Digo bowed beside him, his jaw tight.

"We should have been faster. We should have reached him. I'm sorry, Martha."

Richard bowed last and lowest. His voice was quiet, almost a prayer.

"I couldn't heal him in time. Forgive me."

Martha looked at the three of them for a long moment. Then she reached out and laid a hand on Terry's arm.

"It's not your fault. Any of you."

Her voice was tired, but firm.

"You were his comrades for how many years now? You know him better than anyone. Do you really think anything in this world could have stopped that stubborn man once he'd decided to protect someone?"

None of them answered. Digo let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh, and Terry wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Martha squeezed Terry's arm once and let go.

"Sit down. He'd want you near."

The three of them nodded and took the empty chairs beside Hyoren's row.

For a while, they sat in silence. Then Terry leaned slightly toward Hyoren and spoke in a low voice.

"Hyoren. We wanted to tell you before you heard it from someone else. Ironclad Guardian is disbanding."

Hyoren turned to him.

It wasn't surprising. Not really. But hearing it out loud still sent a dull ache through his chest.

"…I see."

Digo rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes on the caskets ahead.

"Terry and I are joining the Adventurer's Guild as support staff. Training the youngsters. Escort planning. That kind of thing."

Richard folded his hands in his lap.

"And I'll be returning to Luminara's Church. As a priest."

Terry was quiet for a moment, staring at his hands.

"We just… can't keep adventuring without our leader. Ronald held us together. Without him, it doesn't feel right."

Digo gave a small, bitter smile.

"And let's be honest. At our age, finding new members who'd want to travel with a bunch of old men like us would be hard."

Hyoren looked at the three of them.

They had spent over twenty years together on the roads. Protecting caravans. Sleeping under the stars. Following the man who always said, "Slow and steady." And now they were laying down their weapons, not because they were defeated, but because the one who led them was gone.

He bowed his head to them.

"Then I wish you good luck. All three of you. Truly."

Terry gave him a tired nod.

"Thanks, Hyoren. You too."

Not long after, another group arrived.

Unbreakable Will.

Jigor walked at the front. His braided brown beard was neatly combed, the small metal rings in it catching the fading light, and for once there was no booming laugh, no "Gyahaha!" He walked quietly, and the silence suited him oddly. Vani walked close beside him in a plain black dress instead of her white vestment, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Behind them came Cathy, unusually subdued, her bright face pale and her lips pressed tight. Dennis walked at her side, tall and silent, his long blonde hair tied back. And last came Killa, small and quiet, her drooping ears lower than usual.

Jigor's eyes found Hyoren across the rows.

He nodded once, slow and solemn. Hyoren nodded back.

There were no empty chairs left near Freedom Party, so Unbreakable Will took seats a few rows further back. Vani bent to murmur something to Jigor as they sat, and he patted her hand without a word.

Killa sat down last.

Her black eyes drifted across the rows until they landed on Jackey. They stayed there. One second. Two. Three.

She didn't say anything.

Jackey didn't notice. He was leaning toward Arianna, whispering something in a hushed voice, his ears tilted toward her. Arianna whispered back, her gloved hand resting on his knee. The two of them were wrapped up in their own quiet world.

Killa's gaze lingered a moment longer. Then she lowered her eyes to her lap and said nothing at all.

Shining Force came next.

Fits led them, his spiked red hair a startling flash of color among the black. The bright energy that usually radiated from him was gone. His blue eyes were serious, and his jaw was set. Behind him came his four companions, quiet and close together. Reinora, the elf mage, walked with her head bowed.

Fits caught Hyoren's eye and nodded. No words. Just a short, respectful dip of his head.

Hyoren returned it.

Shining Force found seats on the far side of the yard and sat down together.

After that, more and more people came.

Adventurers Hyoren recognized from the battle. Some walked on their own. Some limped. Some leaned on crutches, or on a friend's shoulder. A few had bandages wrapped around their heads or arms. Knights in dark cloaks over their armor. Guild staff. Merchants. Townsfolk. Families holding hands, and children who didn't fully understand why everyone was so sad.

One by one, the chairs were taken. Before long, only a few empty seats remained scattered across the yard, and people began to stand along the edges instead.

Above the cathedral, the dual suns of Kresneger kept sinking.

Silver Luna and golden Sol had nearly touched the horizon. Their mingled light spilled across the yard, long and low, and stretched the shadows of the chairs and the mourners far across the stone. The white caskets at the front glowed softly amber.

The suns were almost gone.

***

The great doors of the cathedral opened.

The murmuring in the yard faded at once. Every head turned toward the steps.

Baron Guts came out first. He wore a plain black suit, with no medals and no ornament of any kind. He walked slowly down the steps, and for the first time since Hyoren had known him, the Lord of Akela looked his age. His shoulders were straight, but his face was grey and drawn, and the lines around his eyes were deeper than they had been only days ago.

Fiona walked beside him in a black dress. Her chin was raised and her expression was composed, but her hand rested on her husband's arm, and she didn't let go.

Beside Hyoren, Arianna's breath caught softly. Her gloved fingers tightened on Jackey's knee as she watched her parents descend.

Archbishop Sherine followed them in her usual robe of the Church, white and gold. Her steps were measured and calm. It seemed the ceremony would be led by her, on behalf of Luminara's Church.

Hyoren's eyes moved over the steps behind her.

No Sophia. No Bishop Robert.

She must still be resting… She nearly emptied her Aethell this morning…

Something in his chest loosened, just slightly. He was glad. Today, of all days, he didn't want to deal with the Light Saint and everything that came with her. Today, he wanted to give his whole attention to the people lying at the front of this yard.

Baron Guts stepped up to the podium at the foot of the cathedral steps.

He didn't speak right away.

He stood there with both hands resting on the wooden edge and looked out over the yard. Over the rows of mourners. Over the white caskets lined up before him. His gaze moved slowly from one casket to the next, as if he were counting them. As if he were greeting each one.

Then he drew a breath.

"Two days ago, the Goblin King's army led by the Goblin Chieftain came to our gates."

His voice carried across the silent yard. It wasn't the commanding roar from the battlefield. It was lower and heavier, rough at the edges.

"Eleven thousand goblins. Against a few hundred of us."

He paused.

"Many of you were there. You know what it was like. The noise. The blood. The fear. Wave after wave after wave of them, and no end in sight."

Somewhere in the crowd, someone let out a small sob.

"But we held."

Baron Guts' hands tightened on the podium.

"We held because of the people lying here before us. They stood on that field and they did not run. They held the line when it should have broken. They protected the person beside them when they could have saved themselves."

His eyes went to the caskets again.

"They died defending this city. Defending all of you. Every one of them is a hero of Akela."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Then Baron Guts reached beneath the podium and lifted a sheet of paper. He unfolded it slowly. His thick fingers were careful with it, almost gentle, as if the paper itself was fragile.

He looked down at the first name.

For a moment, his jaw worked silently. Then he read.

"Knight Derik."

A ripple went through the rows to the left, where the knights sat in their dark cloaks. Several of them straightened. One bowed his head sharply.

Baron Guts' voice didn't waver.

"When a Goblin Lord was about to break through the second wall, he took it down. And gave his own life doing so."

On the knights' side, a young knight pressed a fist hard against his mouth. The older man beside him put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there.

Baron Guts lowered his eyes to the paper again.

"Knight Tyler."

Another stir among the knights. A woman sitting with them in a black veil, not in uniform, bent forward over her lap. Her shoulders began to shake.

Baron Guts looked toward her before he continued, and his voice softened.

"In the chaos of the rout, he went to protect adventurers who were being overwhelmed. He saved them. And then he was overwhelmed himself."

Three rows behind Hyoren, a man in a bandaged arm stood up halfway, as if he wanted to say something. Then he sank back into his seat and buried his face in his good hand.

One of the ones he saved…

Hyoren's throat tightened.

Baron Guts continued.

One name, then another. Each one followed by a few plain words about how they had fallen. He never hurried. Between each name, he paused and looked up from the paper toward the caskets, and only when he had let the name settle over the yard did he move on to the next.

Six knights.

By the time he finished the sixth name, the knights on the left side of the yard sat with their heads bowed, their fists resting on their knees. Not one of them had looked away from the podium.

Baron Guts turned the paper over.

He was quiet for a long moment.

When he spoke again, his voice was rougher.

"Tessa. Wood-rank."

A sharp cry came from somewhere near the middle of the yard. A woman, probably her mother, had clutched the arm of the man next to her and was rocking slightly in her seat.

Baron Guts didn't look away from her.

"She held the second wall. Heroically. Until the very end."

He swallowed. Then he looked down at the paper again.

"Cedric. Wood-rank. When the second wall was about to break, he stood in front of the other adventurers and covered them."

Near the front, a boy who couldn't have been older than sixteen began to cry openly. Rina's grip tightened on Reon's hand. Reon's lips were trembling, and she didn't take her eyes off the caskets.

Wood-rank…

Hyoren's hands curled slowly into fists on his knees.

They were barely older than children... They were supposed to be carrying stretchers… Running the wounded back to the medic tent… They weren't supposed to be on the front line at all…

But they had been. Because there hadn't been enough people to hold it.

"Welder. Iron-rank. He held the second wall. Heroically."

Baron Guts' voice was steady, but each name seemed to cost him a little more than the one before.

He looked down at the next line. For a moment he simply stared at it.

"The Ruffian."

A low murmur went through the adventurers in the yard. Several of them knew the name.

"An Iron-rank party. Hugh. Iris. Jenny."

He read each name slowly, one at a time.

"When the left flank was about to crumble, the three of them held it together. And they fell together."

Jackey's ears had gone flat against his head. He was no longer whispering to Arianna. He was sitting completely still. Arianna had closed her eyes.

The Wood-rank and Iron-rank names went on.

And on.

So many of them. Too many. Baron Guts read every single one, and he gave every single one the same respect, the same pause, the same few plain words of how they had fallen. 

Held the wall. Covered their companions. Did not retreat. 

Each time, somewhere in the yard, someone made a sound. A gasp. A sob. A quiet "No…" Someone's hands covering their face.

Hyoren stopped trying to count.

When the fledglings' names finally ended, Baron Guts turned to another sheet.

"Fordo. Copper-rank. In the chaos, he protected his fellow adventurers."

A group of Copper-rank adventurers near the edge of the yard lowered their heads together. One of them struck his own knee with his fist, once, hard.

"Elrod. Copper-rank. He held the wall."

The Copper-rank names were fewer. But each one landed just as heavily.

Then Baron Guts reached the end of the sheet.

He set the paper down on the podium.

He didn't pick up another one. He didn't need to. He knew the last name by heart.

He looked up, out across the yard, and his eyes went to the front row. To one particular casket. Then to the woman and the girl sitting in the second row behind it.

His voice dropped, low and heavy.

"Ronald Powell. Bronze-rank."

Martha's hands clenched together in her lap.

"He led the night riders. He held the wall for the whole battle. From the first wave to the last."

Baron Guts paused. His voice thickened.

"And during the rout… he died protecting his daughter."

Reon broke.

The tough face she had held all evening finally crumbled. A raw, choked sound escaped her throat, and she folded forward, her shoulders heaving. Rina wrapped both arms around her at once and held on tight.

Martha didn't make a sound.

She sat perfectly still, her eyes fixed on Ronald's casket. But the tears she had been holding back all evening finally slipped free. Slowly, silently, they ran down her cheeks one after another. She didn't wipe them away.

Beside Hyoren, Terry had bowed his head almost to his knees. Digo was staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Richard's lips moved soundlessly in prayer.

Baron Guts stood in silence for a long moment. Then he took a slow breath and squared his shoulders.

"From the Knights of Akela. Six dead. Fourteen wounded. Three of them will never be able to serve again. Their wounds were too severe."

He let the numbers settle.

"From the Adventurer's Guild. Among our fledglings, Wood-rank and Iron-rank… twenty-six dead."

A shudder ran through the yard.

"Copper-rank. Eleven dead. Bronze-rank. One."

He looked at Ronald's casket again as he said it.

"And about sixty wounded."

He let the numbers hang over the yard. Then he lifted his eyes from the podium and looked out at the rows of white caskets once more.

"Forty-four of our people will never come home. Those are not just numbers. Each one was a son or a daughter. A husband. A wife. A friend. A comrade."

His hands tightened on the edge of the podium.

"They knew what was coming. They saw eleven thousand goblins on that hill. And still, they picked up their swords and their shields and their bows, and they stood at our gate."

His voice rose slightly. It was rough, but it carried.

"Because of them, the walls of Akela still stand. Because of them, our children are sleeping safely in their beds tonight. Because of them, this city is still ours."

He straightened, and for a moment he looked like the Lord of Akela again.

"Their names will be carved into the history of this city. And as long as Akela stands, they will not be forgotten. Not by me. Not by my house. Not by any of us."

He bowed his head deeply toward the caskets.

"To the heroes of Akela. Thank you."

Beside him, Fiona bowed as well. On the left side of the yard, the knights rose to their feet as one and did the same. Then the adventurers. Then the townsfolk. Row after row, people stood, laid their fists over their hearts and bowed their heads in silence.

Hyoren stood too, slowly, his legs aching, and bowed as well.

Then, as the Baron straightened his posture, everyone slowly sat again.

The yard was silent.

Hyoren felt his stomach turn over.

He had known. Of course he had known. He had seen the rows of caskets the moment he walked into this yard. He had stopped counting them on purpose. He had already known it would be many.

But hearing it stated plainly, out loud, in Baron Guts' heavy voice.

Forty-four dead.

Forty-four people who had stood on that field under the plan he had drawn. Under the orders he had given. And he was the one they called the Hero of Akela City. The one who had walked out of it alive.

His fists trembled on his knees. His breath came shallow and tight, and the edges of his vision seemed to narrow toward the white caskets at the front.

Then something warm touched his left hand.

Elise.

She didn't say anything. She didn't look at him. She simply laid her hand over his fist and left it there, steady and warm, her eyes still on the podium.

A moment later, another hand settled on his right arm. Ina's fingers curled gently around his sleeve, and he felt her tail brush lightly against his back, then rest there.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn't need to.

Hyoren slowly unclenched his fist. Elise's fingers slipped between his and held on.

He let out a long, shaky breath. And for the first time since Baron Guts had begun reading, he could breathe properly again.

***

Baron Guts stepped down from the podium.

He walked back to Fiona's side slowly, and she took his arm again without a word. For a moment he only stood there with his eyes on the caskets, his broad shoulders heavy. Then Fiona's hand tightened on his arm, and he straightened.

Archbishop Sherine took his place.

She rested her hands on the podium and looked out over the yard. The embarrassment she had carried that morning in Hyoren's room was gone. In its place was the quiet, steady composure of a woman who had stood before grief many times and knew what her duty was.

"Brothers and sisters of Akela."

Her voice was gentle, but it carried to every corner of the yard.

"The suns are setting. Soon, Our Lady Luminara will release the souls of our beloved into the hands of Her sister, Noctynara, who will guide them through the night."

She folded her hands in front of her.

"But before they depart, the living may say goodbye one last time."

Her gaze moved over the rows of mourners.

"Please. Go to them. Speak your parting words. If you wish to send something with them on their journey, you may place it beside them now. After this, the caskets will be closed for the last time."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then, one by one, people began to stand.

A mother rose with a small boy clinging to her skirt. A pair of young adventurers helped each other up, one leaning on the other's shoulder. A grey-haired knight stood stiffly and straightened his cloak. All across the yard, chairs scraped softly against the stone as people made their way toward the white caskets—each one walking toward someone they had loved, or fought beside, or simply known.

In front of Hyoren, Martha stood.

She smoothed the front of her black dress with both hands. Reon rose beside her, and Rina let go of her hand at last with a small, encouraging squeeze. Terry, Digo and Richard stood up from their seats as well, and the five of them walked together toward the casket at the front.

Hyoren watched them go.

Elise leaned slightly toward him, her voice low.

"This is the last goodbye, Hyoren. Before the casket is closed, the family and friends say their parting words."

Ina nodded on his other side, her ears tilted forward.

"And they leave something with them. Small things. Something the dead can carry with them on their journey."

Hyoren looked at the people gathering around the caskets.

A woman was laying a folded scarf inside one. A young man placed a wooden carving beside a still hand. Someone else bent low and whispered, their lips moving close to a pale face.

This is… so familiar…

Back on Earth, in Japan and across much of East Asia, it was the same. Before the coffin was closed, the family placed flowers inside, and the things the deceased had loved. A favorite book. A photograph. Something to take with them. And they spoke to the dead one last time, as if they could still hear.

Two worlds apart, and people still say goodbye the same way…

Elise touched his arm lightly.

"Go, Hyoren. He was your mentor."

Ina gave him a small push on the back, gentle but firm.

"We'll be right behind you."

Hyoren drew a slow breath and stood up. His legs still ached, but he walked forward, one careful step after another, with Elise and Ina a step behind him.

***

Ronald lay in the white casket.

Someone had cleaned his face and combed his hair. His armor had been removed, and he wore a plain dark tunic. His hands were folded on his chest. Without the shield and the armor and the rough, steady voice, he looked smaller somehow. Older. And very, very peaceful.

Hyoren's throat closed.

Martha stood at the head of the casket. She knelt slowly and took two things from the basket she had carried.

The first was a corked bottle of dark ale. The second was a small covered pot, still faintly warm.

She placed the bottle beside Ronald's arm. Then she set the pot gently next to it and lifted the lid for just a moment. The rich, familiar smell of her stew drifted up.

Hyoren knew that smell. He had eaten that stew more times than he could count.

Martha looked down at her husband's face for a long moment. Her voice, when it came, was soft. Not the booming voice that filled the common room of the Wanderer's Rest. Just a wife talking to her husband.

"I brewed the ale myself. Your favorite batch. And the stew… I made it this morning. Extra meat, the way you always complained I never gave you."

Her lips trembled into a small smile.

"So you won't go hungry on the way. And so you'll remember me. Even over there."

She reached into the casket and laid her hand over his folded ones.

"I'll always love you, you stubborn old man. Always."

Her other hand drifted to her own stomach. It rested there lightly, protectively.

"And I'll raise our little one well. I promise. Whether it's a son or a daughter… I'll make sure they grow up splendid. Just like you."

Hyoren's breath caught.

The child Ronald will never meet…

Martha straightened slowly and stepped back. Her eyes were shining, but the tears didn't fall.

Then Reon stepped forward.

She was holding a shield in both arms. It was heavy and round, its rim chipped and its face covered in dents and long gouges. Hyoren recognized it instantly. He had sparred against it. He had been knocked flat by it more times than he wanted to admit.

Ronald's shield.

Reon knelt beside the casket and laid it carefully at her father's side, as if she were tucking it into bed.

"Father."

Her voice wavered on that first word. She swallowed and steadied it.

"I carried it home for you. But I won't keep it."

Her fingers lingered on the dented rim.

"You always told me to grow on my own. To find my own way. My own people. So I'll earn my own shield."

She drew her hand back and curled it into a fist.

"This one is yours. You used it to protect us every day. So now… let it protect you. Wherever you're going.”

She pulled her hand back and curled it into a fist.

"I'm going to become a guardian. Just like you. I'll protect Mother. And I'll protect the baby."

She lifted her chin. Tears were running down her cheeks again, but her voice was firm.

"I'll become a splendid wall, Father. Like you were. I swear it."

Martha put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Reon covered it with her own.

Terry stepped up next.

He looked down at Ronald for a long time before he spoke. His voice was rough.

"Twenty-three years ago, you found me in the gutter behind a tavern. I was a drunk. A brawler. I hated everyone, myself most of all."

He let out a short, broken laugh.

"And you just sat down in the mud next to me and asked if I wanted a job. You dragged me out of that hole, you bastard. You never let me fall back in."

He reached into his coat and placed a small, battered tin cup inside the casket, near Ronald's hand.

"The first cup you ever poured me that wasn't booze. Water. Remember? I kept it. Now you keep it."

Digo was next.

He stood beside the casket with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, as if holding himself together.

"Twenty-two years ago, I was a street orphan who didn't know which end of a sword to hold. I didn't know anything."

His jaw tightened.

"You taught me everything. How to stand watch. How to read a road. How to keep a caravan alive. Everything I know about adventuring… I learned from you."

He uncrossed his arms and set a small, worn whetstone beside the shield.

"So your blade never goes dull. Wherever you end up."

Richard stepped forward last.

He was the oldest of the three, and his hands trembled slightly as he folded them.

"Twenty years ago, I left Luminara's Church. A monster took my wife from me, and I couldn't save her. Not with all my prayers. Not with all my healing."

He closed his eyes briefly.

"I shut myself away from everyone. I thought my life was over. And you came knocking on my door. Again and again. Every week. Until I finally opened it."

He opened his eyes and looked down at Ronald's peaceful face.

"You put me back on my feet. You gave me a reason to keep living."

He took a small sun pendant from around his own neck—Luminara's symbol, worn smooth by years of handling—and laid it on Ronald's chest, just above his folded hands.

"I'm going back to the Church now, old friend. I'll pray for you every single day."

Then the three of them stepped back together, side by side, the gap at the front of their line wider than ever.

***

Hyoren stepped forward.

He stood beside the casket and looked down at the man who had taught him how to hold a shield.

Slow and steady, lad.

He could still hear it. The rough voice. The heavy hand clapping him on the shoulder after he'd been knocked flat for the tenth time. The patient grin. Be patient. The shield isn't about hitting. It's about holding.

Everything Hyoren knew about standing his ground, he had learned from this man. Every time he had raised his shield against a horde, every time he had held the line so the people behind him could live—there had been a little of Ronald in it.

Hyoren slowly brought his hands together in front of his chest and closed his eyes.

Ronald.

Thank you. For everything you taught me. For every time you knocked me down and every time you helped me back up.

I'll remember your lessons. Slow and steady. Be patient. Hold the line.

You'll always be my best mentor. My teacher.

Rest well, Ronald. I'll look out for Martha and Reon. And the little one, too.

He stayed like that for a long moment, hands clasped, eyes closed.

Behind him, he heard the faint rustle of fabric. Elise and Ina had clasped their hands as well. Neither of them said a word.

Hyoren opened his eyes.

He reached into his storage bag and took out a single white flower. A Purity Lily.

The same flower he had sent upstream on the Akela River only a few weeks ago. For his father.

He knelt and laid it gently on Ronald's chest, beside Richard's pendant, against the dark fabric of the tunic. The white petals seemed to glow softly in the amber light of the setting suns.

His own way of honoring the dead.

He stood and stepped back beside Martha.

Martha looked at the lily, then at Hyoren. She didn't say anything. She simply reached out and squeezed his arm once.

When everyone had said their goodbyes, Terry stepped forward.

He looked at Martha. Martha gave him a small nod.

Terry took hold of the lid with both hands. For a moment, he hesitated. His eyes moved one last time over everything inside: the bottle of ale, the pot of stew, the battered shield, the tin cup, the whetstone, the sun pendant, the white lily.

And Ronald, resting peacefully among them all.

Terry's hands trembled.

Then he lowered the lid slowly, gently, until it settled into place with a soft, quiet sound.

The casket was closed.

Martha closed her eyes. Reon pressed her face into her mother's shoulder. 

***

One by one, the last caskets were closed.

The soft sounds of lids settling into place echoed across the yard, followed by quiet footsteps as the mourners made their way back to their seats. Some walked with their heads bowed. Some leaned on each other. A few lingered at the caskets until a gentle hand on their shoulder led them away.

Martha sat down slowly in front of Hyoren, and Reon settled beside her. Terry, Digo and Richard returned to their chairs in silence. Elise took her seat on Hyoren's left, and Ina on his right. Jackey and Arianna sat down beside them.

The yard grew quiet again.

Above the cathedral, only the last sliver of the dual suns remained. Golden Sol and silver Luna rested on the very edge of the horizon, two thin crescents of light. Their glow stretched long and low across the yard, painting the white caskets in fading amber.

And on the other side of the sky, the night was already rising.

The three moons of Kresneger had begun to show themselves. Azure first, pale blue and clear. Then Crimson, a deep red glow beside it. And finally Ebony, dark and quiet, barely visible against the deepening sky.

Day and night, side by side.

Archbishop Sherine stepped up to the podium once more.

She didn't speak right away. She looked up at the sky—at the last light of the suns on one side and the rising moons on the other—and slowly brought her hands together in front of her chest.

Across the yard, people did the same. Hands clasped. Heads bowed.

Hyoren clasped his own hands and lowered his head.

Sherine's voice rose into the stillness. It was softer than before, but clear, and every word carried.

"To the heroes of Akela."

She paused, letting the words settle.

"To those who stood at our gate. To those who held the line so that others could live. To those who are about to depart from this world."

Her gaze moved slowly over the rows of white caskets.

"May Luminara's Light always shine upon your path. May it warm you, as you warmed us with your courage."

She lifted her eyes toward the rising moons.

"And may Noctynara's embrace guide your souls through the night, gently, to the afterlife. May She hold you, as you held our walls."

Silence filled the yard. Even the soft crying had stopped.

Sherine closed her eyes.

"For the departed… rest well. Your fight is over. You have done enough."

Her voice trembled, just slightly.

"And for those who are left behind…"

She opened her eyes and looked out at the mourners. At Martha. At Reon. At the knights and the adventurers, the mothers and fathers, the children who didn't understand.

"Be strong. Live. Carry them with you."

Then she bowed her head.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—something stirred.

A tiny mote of light rose from the casket nearest the podium. It was small, no larger than a firefly, soft and white and faintly glowing. It drifted up slowly, lazily, as if unsure of where to go.

Then another rose. And another.

From every casket in the yard, tiny motes of light began to drift upward. Dozens of them. They floated above the white lids, swaying gently in the still evening air, like sparks from a dying fire.

No one in the yard looked surprised. The mourners simply watched in silence, as if they had been waiting for this moment. A few whispered a name under their breath.

Hyoren's eyes widened.

He glanced to either side of him. Elise was watching the rising lights with quiet, sorrowful eyes. Ina's ears were lowered and her gaze was soft. Jackey and Arianna sat with their hands clasped and their faces tilted upward. None of them looked even slightly startled.

Is this… normal here…?

In front of them, Martha had gone completely still. Her eyes were fixed on the mote rising from Ronald's casket.

It hovered there for a moment, just above the closed lid. Close to the people who had loved him.

Then every mote shot upward at once.

They streaked into the sky like falling stars in reverse, climbing higher and higher above the cathedral spires, until they were swallowed by the twilight.

And then the sky answered.

The last sliver of the dual suns flared brilliantly. For a single heartbeat, golden and silver light flooded the yard, bright as midday. Every face, every chair, every white casket was bathed in warm radiance. Hyoren had to squint against it.

Then it faded.

And the moons answered in turn.

Azure flashed first, washing the yard in clear, pale blue. Then Crimson, deep and warm, turning the white stone the color of embers. Then Ebony, and a dark, quiet glow settled over everything, soft as a blanket drawn over a sleeping child.

For a moment, all three lights mingled together. Blue, red and black, overlapping across the yard and the caskets and the upturned faces of the mourners.

Then the glow slowly faded, and the night settled in.

No one spoke.

Hyoren stared at the sky where the motes had vanished. His heart was pounding.

Luminara's suns… Then Noctynara's moons…

Day handing them over to night…

Exactly as Elise and Ina had told him on the way here. He had thought it was only a belief. A comforting story people told themselves.

But he had just watched it happen.

Elise noticed his stunned face. She leaned toward him and whispered.

"It always happens, Hyoren. At every funeral. That's how we know they've been received."

Hyoren slowly let out the breath he had been holding.

"…It's beautiful.”

In front of him, Martha let out a long, shaking breath. Her hand rose to her mouth. Reon was crying again, but this time her face wasn't twisted with grief. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the sky where her father's light had gone.

"He's… he's going…"

Martha wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders and pulled her close. Her own tears were falling freely now, but there was something like peace on her face.

"Yes. He's on his way, dear."

Hyoren felt Elise's hand find his again. Ina's tail curled around his back.

At the podium, Archbishop Sherine slowly lowered her hands. Her eyes were glistening. She took a moment to gather herself before she spoke again, her voice quiet but steady.

"The departed have been received."

She turned toward the cathedral steps, where a line of knights and church members stood waiting.

"Please. Carry them to their resting place."

The knights stepped forward. Men and women from among the mourners stood to join them, comrades and family. Terry, Digo and Richard rose and walked to Ronald's casket. Reon stood too, wiping her eyes, and took a place beside them.

Together, they lifted the white caskets onto their shoulders.

Slowly, beneath the light of the three moons, the procession began to move toward the graveyard.

***

The graveyard lay behind the cathedral, beyond a low wall of white stone.

Under the light of the three moons, the procession wound slowly between rows of old graves until it reached a section of freshly turned earth. The graves had already been dug. Forty-four of them, side by side in neat rows.

Hyoren stood with his party at the edge and watched.

One by one, the white caskets were lowered into the ground. The bearers moved carefully, almost reverently, letting the ropes slide through their hands until each casket settled at the bottom. Then the families stepped forward and scattered the first handfuls of earth. After that the gravediggers took over, and the soft, steady sound of shovels filled the quiet night.

At the head of each grave, a tombstone had been prepared and set in place. They were simple, made of pale grey stone. Each one carried a name, a date and a single line carved beneath it.

Hyoren's eyes drifted to the one nearest him.

Cedric. Wood-rank. Day 18 of Firstthaw, 1024. He stood before his comrades as the second wall almost broke.

And a little further down the row.

Ronald Powell. Bronze-rank. Day 18 of Firstthaw, 1024. He held the wall from the first wave to the last, and died protecting his daughter.

Hyoren read it twice. Then he looked away.

The last shovelful of earth was patted down. Slowly, the mourners began to drift away, in twos and threes, back toward the cathedral and the lamplit streets beyond.

***

At the gate of the graveyard, Freedom Party stopped to say goodbye.

Martha turned to face Hyoren. Her eyes were still red at the edges. But something had changed in her face. The careful, fragile composure she had held all evening was gone, and in its place was the Martha Hyoren knew. The proprietress of the Wanderer's Rest. The woman who fed everyone too much and scolded them for not eating enough.

She planted her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look.

"And you. What are you still doing standing around? You can barely walk."

Hyoren blinked.

"I'm fine, Martha. Really. I can…"

Martha cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Shush. No more talking. Go home and rest!"

Elise nodded firmly beside him. Her hand was already on his arm.

"She's right, Hyoren. You've been on your feet for hours."

Ina took his other arm, her ears pinned back with determination.

"We're going home. Right now. No arguing."

Hyoren looked from one to the other. Then at Martha, who was glaring at him with the full force of thirty years of running an inn full of stubborn adventurers.

He couldn't win against all three of them. He knew that much.

"…Alright. I'll go rest."

Martha's stern face softened into a smile. A real one this time, warm and tired.

"Good lad."

She reached up and patted his cheek, just once, the way a mother would. Hyoren felt a sudden ache in his chest. Good lad—it was what Ronald used to call him.

Martha seemed to realize it too. Her smile wavered for the briefest moment. Then she steadied it and stepped back.

Reon stepped forward next. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but she grinned at Hyoren with forced brightness, both fists clenched in front of her.

"Hyoren! Don't think you can stay ahead of me forever!"

She thumped her own chest.

"I'm going to train every single day. I'll catch up to you. Just you wait!"

Hyoren smiled at her. She was pretending, and he knew it. But she was trying. And that mattered.

"I'll be waiting, Reon. Slow and steady, okay?"

Reon's grin trembled. She nodded hard.

"Mm! Slow and steady!"

Terry stepped forward and held out his hand. Hyoren took it.

"Take care of yourself, Hyoren. He was proud of you, you know. Never stopped talking about how fast you learned."

Digo clapped Hyoren on the shoulder, careful not to push too hard.

"If you ever need advice on escorts, or reading a road, come find us at the Guild. We'll be there."

Richard was last. He bowed his head slightly, his hands folded.

"May Luminara watch over you, Hyoren. And over all of you."

Hyoren bowed back to the three of them.

"Thank you. All of you. Take care."

Then Freedom Party turned and walked into the night.

***

The walk home was quiet.

When the familiar shape of the manor finally appeared at the end of Wyvern Street, Hyoren let out a long breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Dinner was quiet.  When they were done, everyone rose from the table without much ceremony.

Jackey stretched and yawned, then took Arianna's hand.

"Night, Big Bro. Night, everyone."

Arianna gave a small, tired nod.

"Good night, Leader. Mentor. Lady Ina."

The two of them disappeared up the stairs to their room.

Elise and Ina didn't let go of Hyoren's arms.

They walked him up the stairs together, one step at a time, into the master bedroom. Neither of them asked if they could stay. They simply did. Ina pulled back the blankets. Elise helped him out of his black coat.

Then the three of them lay down together on the wide bed.

Elise on his left. Ina on his right.

Elise rested her head against his shoulder. Ina curled up against his side, her tail draped across his legs. Their warmth surrounded him.

No one spoke.

They didn't need to.

The exhaustion of the battle. The grief of the funeral. Everything they had held together all day finally caught up with them. Within minutes, Elise's breathing slowed. Then Ina's, a soft, steady rhythm against his chest.

Hyoren felt his own eyes grow heavy.

For the first time in days, there was no fear of what waited for him in sleep. The backlash had ended. No more fire. No more breaking and healing. No more nightmares.

He let the darkness take him.

***

He was standing in a field of white lilies.

They stretched in every direction, soft and endless, swaying gently in a breeze he couldn't feel. The sky above was bright and clear.

And there, a little way ahead of him, stood Ronald.

He wasn't wearing armor. There was no shield on his arm. He stood easily among the lilies in a plain tunic, broad-shouldered and solid, exactly as Hyoren remembered him.

And he was smiling.

That patient, crooked grin Hyoren had seen a hundred times on the training ground.

Ronald raised one hand in a small, casual wave.

"Slow and steady, lad."

Then he turned and walked away through the flowers. He didn't hurry. He walked the way he always had—steady, unhurried, sure of every step.

Hyoren's throat tightened.

He lifted his hand and waved.

Goodbye, Ronald…

Ronald's figure grew smaller and smaller among the flowers, until at last it faded into the light.

And then Hyoren's consciousness sank into darkness again.

***

He jolted awake.

Not because it was morning. Not because something had woken him.

But because he was suddenly somewhere else.

White.

Endless, blinding white stretched in every direction. There was no floor and no sky. Only the brightness and the silence.

Hyoren knew this place.

The white void…

He had been here twice before. The first time, when the twin goddesses told him the truth about his death and his new life. The second time, when Luminara fixed what she had broken and Noctynara watched her grovel.

But this time was different.

He couldn't move.

He tried to lift his hand and nothing happened. He tried to speak and no sound came out. His whole body was frozen in place, as if held still by invisible hands.

And the void itself was wrong. The endless white flickered faintly at the edges, like a lamp about to go out. Thin lines of static crawled across the brightness, then vanished, then came back.

This is just like…

Just like after Hifoppe. When he had lain paralyzed in his sleep and a blurred Luminara had told him to go to her church, so Elise could be healed.

A figure began to form in front of him.

It emerged slowly from the brightness, blurred and indistinct. He couldn't make out a face. But he didn't need to. White robes with golden accents. Golden hair flowing without wind. A presence of warmth that could belong to no one else.

Luminara.

But something was wrong with her too.

Even blurred, Hyoren could feel it. The calm, motherly warmth that always radiated from her was shaken. Her figure flickered with the static of the void. Her hands seemed to be clasped tightly in front of her, and the air around her trembled with something he had never felt from her before.

Fear.

The Goddess of Light was flustered.

Her voice came through the void. It was broken and distorted, as if it had to fight its way through the static to reach him.

"Child… please…"

The void flickered.

"Help… my Saint…"

Another crackle of static tore across the white.

"Sophia's soul… won't… hold… much longer…"

Her blurred figure trembled.

"Please…"

Then the white void shattered.

And Hyoren was falling into darkness once more—with the desperate voice of a goddess still echoing in his mind.