The sea lay silent beneath a shroud of leaden clouds.

  ?The chill of late autumn clung to the air, curling around the black-clad mourners gathered at the shore's edge like a cold embrace. The waves lapped quietly against the stones, a rhythmic whisper of farewell.

  ?A single wooden boat rested on the dark sand—waiting for its final journey.

  ?Elda Viremont lay within.

  ?She was shrouded in white linen, surrounded by winter lilies. Her face was serene, smoothed of the pain that had haunted her final days, as if she were merely sleeping a dreamless sleep.

  ?Sylas Viremont stepped forward first.

  ?His broad shoulders, usually unyielding as a mountain, seemed bowed today. His silver eyes, dull with fatigue, swept over the gathered family.

  ?He raised his voice. It was strong, but the strain beneath it was undeniable.

  ?“As we know, Lady Elda was a soul whose kindness touched every corner of these cold walls. A mother. A sister. A light in the dark. Losing her... means losing more than words can carry.”

  ?He paused, looking at the pale face in the boat.

  ?“She shall never be forgotten.”

  ?His words faded into the wind. The silence that followed was louder than any wail. A low murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd—soft, hesitant, like a collective sigh.

  ?Sylas stepped back. Another figure took his place.

  ?Celdric.

  ?He looked like a man hollowed out. His eyes burned red, rimmed with exhaustion and unshed tears. When he spoke, his voice cracked like a dry branch underfoot.

  ?“I don’t know what to say. She was sick, yes... but I never thought I would lose her. Not like this.”

  ?He clenched his fists, his knuckles white.

  ?“She deserved better. Better than this life. Better than what I gave her. I failed her.” He looked up, his gaze lost on the horizon. “I hope... that you can forgive me.”

  ?The priest, robed in black velvet, approached and lifted his staff. His voice rang out with cold, ceremonial precision.

  ?“Today, we gather under the wings of Elyndra to return this soul to the Eternal Light. Let us pray for her passage.”

  ?The mourners bowed their heads.

  ?The only sound was the hiss of the torchlight as Celdric reached for the bow resting on a stand. His hands trembled violently as he nocked the arrow.

  ?For one final, agonizing moment, he stared at her. His wife. His conscience. His failure.

  ?Then, he released the string.

  ?Thrum.

  ?The arrow flew, trailing a ribbon of fire against the gray sky.

  ?It struck the timber of the boat. Flames burst to life instantly, hungry and bright, devouring the wood in a ravenous blaze. The scent of smoke mingled with salt and grief.

  ?Aelira stood among the crowd, her small hands clasped tight. Her silver eyes reflected the burning vessel as it drifted away from the shore.

  ?May Aunt Elda find peace... she prayed silently, the words trembling in her chest. Away from this house.

  ?After the prayer, the crowd shifted, the heavy silence breaking into the murmurs of condolences.

  ?“I’m sorry for your loss,” a woman said, holding Vivianne’s hands. “She was a very close friend to me. Like a sister.”

  ?Vivianne nodded stiffly, her face a mask of polite grief. “Thank you for coming all this way.”

  ?Aelira watched from a distance. Her gaze drifted to Lysric.

  ?He stood apart from the others, isolated near the waterline. He wasn't crying. He was staring at the burning boat with an intensity that looked painful.

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  ?She looked down at her feet, hesitating.

  ?A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

  ?She looked up. Zaek stood there, his expression somber. He tilted his head toward the boy.

  ?“Go on,” he said softly. “Talk to him.”

  ?“But... I don’t know what to say.”

  ?Zaek arched a brow. “Just speak from your heart. It will work. I’m sure of it.”

  ?Aelira hesitated, then nodded. She stepped forward, the wet sand crunching under her boots.

  ?Lysric didn't move as she approached. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek.

  ?“Lysric...”

  ?“What?”

  ?His voice was sharp. Brittle. Like glass ready to shatter.

  ?“If you’ve got something to say, say it quickly.”

  ?Aelira flinched but didn't retreat.

  ?“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but... I’m sorry. I wish I could do something.”

  ?He didn’t look at her.

  ?Silence stretched thin between them, tense and heavy. The fire crackled in the distance.

  ?Just as she turned to leave, thinking he wouldn't answer, his voice cut through the wind.

  ?“...Thanks.”

  ?Aelira paused. A faint, sad smile touched her lips. She didn't say anything more. She walked back to Zaek.

  ?“I talked to him,” she murmured.

  ?“How did it go?”

  ?“I think it went well. I’m not sure.”

  ?“Well done.” Zaek patted her head gently.

  ?Aelira looked down. “He looked sad... and angry. I don’t remember seeing him like this. He was always annoying, but... this feels wrong.”

  ?“Sure it does,” Zaek said, watching the boy. “Grief changes people, kid. But leave him alone for now. He’ll find his way back. That’s how it works.”

  ?“I hope so.”

  ?A messenger approached them, breathless. He handed Aelira a letter sealed with the Imperial Family’s emblem.

  ?“A letter? From whom?”

  ?She broke the seal.

  ?“It’s from Louis,” she said, scanning the neat handwriting. “He says he’s sorry for our loss. He wishes he could be here, but he couldn’t get away.”

  ?“I see.” Zaek scoffed lightly. “A letter instead of his presence. How royal.”

  ?On the periphery of the crowd, two men watched the scene unfold.

  ?One was a youth of eighteen, with sharp features and a relaxed posture. The other, a man in his forties, had long, straight hair and an air of desperate anxiety clinging to him.

  ?Cassian and Lucien Viremont.

  ?“So, that’s the legendary Zaek,” Cassian mused, his green eyes gleaming. “The man who caused so many headaches for Father.”

  ?“What? Do you want to say hi?” Lucien asked nervously. “It’s not like you, Cassian.”

  ?“No. It’s not the time.” Cassian’s voice was smooth, casual. “Today is the day my mother died, after all.”

  ?Lucien shivered. The way Cassian said it—as if discussing the weather—sent chills down his spine.

  ?“Sometimes I wonder if you really are human...”

  ?Cassian smirked, unbothered by the terrified look in his uncle's eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? Anyway, shall we move inside? I’m sure Grandpa is already waiting for us.”

  ?Lucien frowned, biting his nails. “I don’t want to think about that...”

  ?“Come on now. It’s not the time for being a chicken. It’s better for him to hear it from us directly.”

  ?“Ahhh...” Lucien ruffled his hair, looking miserable. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  ?“That’s the spirit.”

  ?They made their way to the manor, the sounds of mourning fading behind them.

  ?They arrived at the heavy oak door of the study. Cassian knocked.

  ?Silence.

  ?“Seems he’s busy,” Lucien said quickly, turning to leave. “After all, it’s a funeral. Let’s try—”

  ?Cassian grabbed his arm. His grip was iron.

  ?“No running.”

  ?He pushed the door open.

  ?Inside, the tone of mourning vanished like smoke in a gale.

  ?Sylas stood by the window. He turned as they entered, and the air in the room grew heavy.

  ?He grabbed a stack of papers from his desk and hurled them across the room.

  ?Crash!

  ?“Who wrote this rubbish?!” his voice thundered.

  ?“Father—” Lucien began, shrinking back.

  ?“Imperial tax, you say? Don’t they know things are dire here?!” Sylas slammed his fist on the table, rattling the ink pots. His silver eyes burned with fury as he turned to Lucien. “Where the hell were you?”

  ?“We tried to come as fast as possible, Grandfather,” Cassian interjected smoothly. “But things didn’t go as planned.”

  ?“Excuses. Always excuses.” Sylas took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady his shaking hands. “So? How are things back in Ursus?”

  ?“We need more,” Cassian said instantly.

  ?“More?” Sylas laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “You talk as if that’s a small request. I cannot give you more.”

  ?“If you don’t want a war with the Giants, you have to.”

  ?The room went deadly silent.

  ?“Are you threatening me?” Sylas asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Just because you’re my grandson, you think I will tolerate this?”

  ?The pressure in the room grew suffocating. Lucien gasped for air.

  ?“No, Grandpa... I never had such intentions.” Despite the weight, Cassian held his ground, his gaze steady.

  ?Sylas paused, assessing him.

  ?“For today’s sake... I’ll let it go. But there will be no next time. Understand?”

  ?He turned his gaze to Lucien, who had been averting his eyes the entire time.

  ?“At least tell me you can hold Nixviel properly now.”

  ?Lucien flinched. His nails dug into his palms until they bled.

  ?“I... I—”

  ?“Answer me!”

  ?“N-No. I can’t wield it.”

  ?“No?”

  ?Sylas’s voice cracked like a whip. He struck the table again, hard enough to crack the wood.

  ?“You useless wretch! Don’t you understand the importance of this? We have to make people trust us again! The Giants are stirring, and we have no Hero!”

  ?“F-Father, I will—”

  ?“You will what?! You’re still blabbering about things you cannot do!” Sylas exhaled sharply, sinking back into his chair as if all strength had left him. “Where did I make a mistake to raise a man like you...”

  ?“Father...” Lucien whispered, shame burning his face.

  ?“Grandfather,” Cassian said, stepping between them. “Please listen. He really tried. We found people who know the rituals. But Nixviel is different from the others. We can’t alter it. It rejects him.”

  ?Sylas froze.

  ?Slowly, the fight left his eyes. He looked old. Defeated.

  ?His fists trembled on the desk.

  ?“Then it’s down to Aelira... or Lysric.”

  ?He looked out the window, toward the smoke rising from the shore.

  ?“If neither of them succeeds...”

  ?The words trailed off into a silence heavier than death.