Dusk fell upon Arctar, enveloping the city in gradual darkness as all electricity shut down leaving only the streetlamps dimly lit. Masses of people poured out of their apartments, swarming toward the Memorial Expanse like veins flowing toward a heart.

  The Memorial Expanse was a vast open space, far larger than any typical plaza or square. It had been designed to hold nearly the entirety of Arctar’s citizens standing within it and was usually reserved for government announcements or grand metropolitan festivities. Unlike the Four Great Trees’ plazas, which stood like silent guardians at Arctar’s four geographical corners, the Expanse occupied the very center of the metropolis, directly before the government skyscraper.

  The Memorial Expanse stood wide and exposed, crossed by people during the day, wind howling faintly as if in lament, always present. The only thing preventing the space from feeling utterly empty was the Memorial Monument rising at its center.

  The Monument was a complex union of fragility and endurance, grief and resilience. Five glass-like iridescent teardrops, each nearly five meters in diameter, hung or rolled off a series of straight stems that pierced upward, rigid and cutting, like blades. The teardrops evoked soap bubbles in their trembling delicacy, their surfaces capturing light in soft, shifting hues. Though the structure was entirely still, the movement captured within each form was so vivid it seemed alive, painfully so.

  One teardrop appeared to have fallen from its stem, half drowning in a small lake of glass that encircled the Monument. The lake itself was set into a dark, polished stone socle, grounding the fragile forms in stark solidity. At its base lay a single round, flat stone, ten centimeters thick and thirty centimeters in diameter, engraved with the words:

  BURDEN OF THE FALLEN, COST OF GRIEF

  Untouched for decades, perhaps centuries, moss had begun to swallow its edges.

  Rosalyn moved within the slow ribbons of people beneath the dimmed streetlamps, her boots’ footsteps drowned by the muted march of the crowd. As she passed Rodderick’s bar, she noticed him stepping outside, closing the door behind him. He spotted her immediately and smiled, making his way toward her, weaving through the flow of people.

  “Thought I wouldn’t be able to make it at all,” Rodderick said, shaking his head. “A pipe broke in my kitchen. Spent the whole day searchin’ for a plumber, finally found one who could come today, in one hour.” He checked his watch. “Means I’ll have to stand in the express line by the Memorial instead of the normal gatherin’, pay my respects in a hurry then leave early. No vapor lanterns for me. Not thrilled about it, but I’ve no choice.”

  “It’s a good thing you at least found a plumber for today.” Rosalyn said.

  “Aye, because he’ll be standing in the express line too!” Rodderick huffed.

  Rosalyn chuckled as they continued walking together with the crowd.

  “Heard Academy students have a privilege this year,” Rodderick went on. “Front spots by the Memorial Monument! Quite the difference from watchin’ everythin' from the back on big screens instead of livin’ it proper. And you’ll be the first to get your vapor lanterns too!”

  “Yes, I was completely surprised,” Rosalyn admitted. “I received the ticket invitation this morning by mail.”

  “Must be because your Academy’s chairman got selected last minute to preside over the ceremony. Didn’t take him for the generous type though.”

  “Do you think he made the request himself?”

  “Doesn’t cost him anythin’ and it puts the Academy on a pedestal all the same. You benefit from his benefit, so no complainin’ here.”

  “Well, I’m overjoyed today,” Rosalyn said softly. “Being so close to the Monument, receiving the lanterns early, letting them float at the bridge without it being overly crowded… The stars are out tonight too, so it’ll be especially beautiful. It’ll feel like watching the souls of the fallen receive their lanterns like prayers and disappear in comfort…”

  “…If I could see my ancestor from the revolver like that,” Rodderick murmured, “it’d be somethin’.”

  “It would tug at your heartstrings.”

  “Aye…”

  They stepped with the crowd onto the pavement of the Memorial Expanse. The large glass teardrops of the Monument reflected the dim streetlights, and the atmosphere shifted. Quieter, heavier, solemn. Rodderick parted from Rosalyn, heading toward the express line, while she wove her way toward the Memorial Monument itself. Police officers guided the flow of people, maintaining safety and order.

  She finally arrived before the Monument, hundreds of students already gathered there. She spotted Victor near the back, staring at nothing in particular. Elisabeth stood proudly in the front lines.

  Rosalyn took a place near the middle. From this proximity, the Monument felt even more overwhelming. Her gaze drifted to the Burden of the Fallen stone and to the many taps spaced evenly along the sides of the small glass lake’s stone socle.

  It was widely known that the Monument’s glass basin was filled with a transparent substance with unusual properties. When a tap was opened, a teardrop-shaped malleable bubble, about the size of two fists, flowed out, solidifying within seconds upon contact with the cold air, glowing as it did so, bioluminescent and soft. People called them vapor lanterns.

  They were astonishingly beautiful, oddly sturdy, and incredibly light. Arctar’s citizens considered them symbols of the souls lost in the Collapse, the Memorial Monument serving as a kind of mother vessel. Hence the deep attachment people held toward it. Each person who received a lantern would then walk toward Arctar’s neon bridge, the highest point of the city at ground level, and release it. The lanterns would float upward, dissolving into the sky and air above.

  When reflected in the canal’s waters, the sight of countless glowing teardrops drifting skyward was breathtaking. This moment -the release of the vapor lanterns -was the most anticipated part of the Memorial ceremony, cherished by young and old alike.

  The portable government stage had already been unfolded and illuminated. David ascended it via stairs, solemn and composed, his silhouette magnified across the Expanse by towering screens.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Arctar. It is an honor for me to open this year’s Memorial Ceremony. I will not fatigue you with long speeches. We are all eager to begin.

  Five hundred years ago, Morter caused the Collapse, erasing half of humanity from our world. We are here tonight to honor the memory of those who perished beneath Morter’s waves of corruption, waves that caused flesh to rot and fall away in unbearable agony, suffering endured to its very end.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  And yet Morter was once one of us. He was from Arctar. From this very city. He was brilliant. A genius. Powerful. Almost almighty. Admired… All qualities he chose to direct in a very specific way… But I digress. Let the ceremony begin. And let us hope there will be no Second Collapse.”

  People began to move toward the Memorial Monument, forming orderly lines leading to its many taps, each operated by a designated official. The flow was smooth and efficient, carefully coordinated. Small crowds were already drifting toward the bridge. Rosalyn received her vapor lantern fairly quickly. She cradled it in her palm like a fragile treasure, holding it delicately yet securely, a gentle smile touching her lips. She walked through the Expanse among the crowd, excitement rippled through the people in varying degrees. Many were here for the spectacle rather than remembrance and respect for the souls.

  Rosalyn brushed her thumb along the vapor lantern’s smooth surface and whispered softly:

  “May you rest in peace… while we continue fighting here in your stead.”

  She lifted her gaze to the sky, her quiet smile lingering.

  But then a faint vibration stirred beneath her feet.

  She halted while others continued their eager march. Glancing around, uneasy and confused, she tightened her grip on the lantern, but then shook the feeling off resuming her walk.

  A second vibration followed, stronger this time, the ground shuddering, felt by all.

  Rosalyn had no time to react.

  A deafening crack tore through the air, followed by thousands more. Brutal, sickening crashes echoing all at once. Glass shards bit into her palms. Her vapor lantern burst from within, collapsing into a glittering heap at her feet. Pain flared as her hands were cut and bruised.

  All around her, the same had happened.

  Every lantern in the Expanse had shattered simultaneously.

  A suffocating silence fell as the crowd froze, stunned then murmurs rose, swelling into shouts and cries of alarm. Rosalyn stood motionless, heart hammering, staring down at the broken glass scattered across the ground, the light gone.

  “The Memorial Monument!!!” a terrified shriek tore through the crowd.

  All eyes snapped upward.

  The highest glass teardrop was marred by a deep crack, splitting from its crown all the way down to its tip. This had been the source of the first thunderous shattering sound that had been heard. The scar spread rapidly, branching into smaller fissures that raced across the glass faster and faster, until-

  The teardrop exploded.

  Shards rained down forcing those standing too close to flee from the cutting storm. Screams rang out as people stumbled back, shielding their faces. When the chaos settled, the Monument stood altered. Only four teardrops remained.

  That was the final nail in the coffin. The crowd erupted into agitation, fear, and rage, dangerously so.

  And then David’s enraged voice thundered from the stage.

  “ELISABETH!”

  The name cut through the uproar.

  “You are responsible for all of this!”

  He was pointing directly at Elisabeth who stood frozen in the front rows still, granted the place by this year’s student privilege, her own lantern shattered lantern at her feet. The color drained from her face.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” David continued, his voice sharp with fury, “what you have just witnessed is the consequence of a grave trespass! An act that has tarnished the memory of the dead!”

  The crowd quieted, drawn in by the accusation.

  “You all know about Arctar’s Four Great Trees. You have read the article that reshaped our understanding of them—an article that brought this current wave of admiration and tourism to our city. A source of pride, you were told. But where do you think that knowledge came from?”

  Murmurs rippled.

  “The Academic Archives,” David declared. “Archives I have kept sealed and guarded. Protected all these years whereas my predecessors had failed to. Because within the Archives lies the Codex of the Dead: the names of those lost during the Collapse. And the remains of those among them whose bodies were never found, a piece of cloth or wood all that was left after them. All entrusted to us as a sacred resting place.”

  His voice hardened.

  “A place not meant to be entered. Not meant to be disturbed. And yet someone broke in.” He turned again toward Elisabeth. “Someone laid hands on that book. Someone desecrated the dead. Someone unleashed this retribution. You.”

  “NO!” Elisabeth screamed.

  She surged forward, climbing onto the stage in a blind panic.

  “Yes, I showed scientists the book! Yes, I wrote the article—of course I did, I’m a journalist!” Her voice cracked. “But I didn’t break into the Archives!”

  She spun suddenly, eyes wild.

  “SHE did!”

  Heads turned as Elisabeth leapt down from the stage and ran through the crowd, seizing Rosalyn and dragging her forward into full view.

  “I would never do something so illegal! So unethical!” Elisabeth babbled. “She’s the one who broken into the Archives, discovered the book, she’s the one true founder! She just hid behind me because she was afraid of the consequences! I warned her not to from the start but she didn’t listen! The responsibility for all this mess lies on her shoulders not mine!”

  Rosalyn stood rigid, heart pounding, staring at Elisabeth in horror.

  She had been set up.

  Elisabeth’s insistence on Rosalyn taking the credit two days prior, her urgency, her reassurance -it all snapped into place now. She had walked into the trap.

  Rosalyn lifted her gaze to David. He had fallen silent.

  From the stage, he observed the two girls with an icy, assessing stare. Elisabeth was unraveling, eyes blown wide, breath shallow, a panicked smile stretched too tight. Like a cornered fox, desperate to redirect the hounds.

  Beside her, Rosalyn stood pale and mute, terror written softly across her features, not the terror of guilt but of inevitability. A lamb.

  David noticed the contrast instantly. He knew the truth. But justice was not what he sought. He needed a release for his fury, for the humiliation of being made a fool. And somehow, watching Elisabeth crumble while Rosalyn was cast into the fire was… entertaining.

  A faint smirk tugged at his lips. He wiped it away almost immediately.

  “There is an old Arctarian tradition,” David said, his voice oddly calm now. “A punishment for such disrespect: the Burden of the Fallen stone.”

  He descended from the stage and approached the base of the Memorial Monument, stopping before the ancient slab resting there, dark and worn by time.

  “The guilty were once made to carry this stone, strapped to their backs, around the perimeter of the Expanse, twice. For public humiliation. For public penance.” He turned slowly toward the crowd. “This was the physical stage of the punishment. What followed was social judgment. Though this practice was abolished and forgotten two centuries ago, I say that in the face of such obvious wrath of the dead, we revive it today!”

  He lifted his voice.

  “What do you say?”

  Silence followed at first, thick, uneasy. Then murmurs and whispers growing unnaturally fast, culminating into loud approval, eagerness, assent.

  David’s smirk widened in amusement. Rosalyn’s heartbeat accelerated. Her breath came shallow.

  “STRAP THE STONE TO HER!” David roared.

  Two government officials and police officers stepped forward, seizing Rosalyn as Elisabeth recoiled backward in visible relief. David handed the men leather straps, already prepared, already waiting.

  Rosalyn trembled as they hoisted the stone onto her back. The weight sank into her shoulders, pressing through fabric and flesh alike. Pain flared instantly.

  She wanted to scream. At the injustice. At the obscenity of it.

  They were all civilized. How could a city accept this so easily? No trial. No law. No defense. But who would listen? A lone, disgraced girl before a roaring crowd. No one was on her side.

  Her thoughts spiraled back to the Archives, to Elisabeth, to Victor. She had resisted from the beginning, dreading the consequences if their break-in would be discovered. She had warned them. And yet she was the one standing here, bearing it all.

  She lowered her gaze, her fists clenching.

  She should never have agreed.

  When they released her, the stone secured tightly to her back, Rosalyn took her first uneasy step forward. The crowd parted to clear the perimeter path. She could feel the mocking, curious or falsely pitiful stares directed at her.

  She kept her head down.

  All of a sudden, a hand seized her elbow abruptly.

  Rosalyn gasped, her eyes snapping upward.

  Victor.