10th Period: Planning Father Funeral

The dawn broke on our final morning in the Roseville District with a somber hush, the early light casting long, trembling shadows across our room. We moved about with a shared silence, our actions dictated by the weight of grief that had settled between us. Athena, ever efficient, was the first to finish packing. She busied herself with making tea, a small gesture that lent a fragile semblance of normalcy to our otherwise heavy-hearted morning. 

By the time we stepped out into the chilly morning air, leaving behind the comforting familiarity of our temporary sanctuary, the Roseville District was tinged with a melancholy that matched our mood. The road ahead was laden with uncertainty and sorrow, but we faced it together, drawing strength from our shared resolve. 

The day of the funeral arrived quickly, each moment leading up to it a blur of preparations and farewells. Athena and I found ourselves drawn to the park, a place steeped in our shared history. As we sat under the soft glow of the blue moon, the old play structures around us seemed to echo with memories of our youth. Far off in the distance, the proud outlines of universities stood as silent witnesses to our past ambitions and dreams. 

"Do you think the cadets still march to the same rhythm?" I asked, my voice breaking the contemplative silence. 

Athena turned, her face illuminated by the moonlight, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Their rhythm will always resonate with your father's discipline and dedication," she replied, her words a poignant reminder of the indelible mark my father had left. 

Despite the palpable grief, these recollections sparked a tender joy within me. They were a testament to a life well-lived, memories that no darkness could ever overshadow. My father's spirit seemed to permeate everything around us—in the rustling leaves, the rhythmic cadence of the distant march, even the cool, comforting breeze. Honoring his memory seemed daunting, an insurmountable mountain, yet it was a journey I knew I had to embark on—for him, for myself, and for the values he had instilled in me. 

The next morning, reality came crashing down as we made our way to the funeral home to pick out my father's casket. The casket showroom felt surreal, like a limbo rather than a place of business. Each casket seemed to encapsulate a different facet of my father's personality. 

Athena's eyes settled on a simple pine coffin, its modesty reflecting his humble nature. "This one," she said softly, "seems to reflect his inherent simplicity."

Her gaze then drifted to an ornate mahogany casket, its elegance mirroring his refined tastes. "And that one," she continued, her voice barely louder than a breath, "captures his sophisticated side."

With Athena by my side, her presence a comforting balm, we selected the casket that would bear him to his final rest. It felt as though we were wrapping up our shared past with my father, packaging it up and preparing to send it away. The realization was gut-wrenching, yet in the midst of it all, there was a certain catharsis—a release of pent-up sorrow, a step toward accepting the hard truth. 

When the day of the funeral service arrived, I was overwhelmed by grief. But seeing my household and friends gathered to remember my father gave me some comfort. Athena's unwavering support throughout the planning process allowed us to focus on celebrating my father's life rather than worrying about the details. Her strength and kindness were a beacon during this dark time, reminding me that shared sorrow could bring us closer. 

In the weeks following the incident, we were frequently visited by figures from my father's past, and his colleagues from the StarShip Science Guild. Their inquiries left me unsettled. They probed about my father's meticulous nature and his behavior before the incident. The persistence of their questions planted a seed of doubt in my mind. The funeral had been a closed casket; I had never actually seen my father's body. Could he still be alive somewhere? And if so, why had he abandoned us? 

The Guilds, with their significant power and influence, claimed to be investigating the causes of the explosion to prevent future incidents. However, their questions felt less like an investigation and more like a search for something—or someone. 

The heads of the Rosewood and Eliwood Houses soon advised us to leave the district. They feared that we had attracted the wrath of the Aeonian Hunters. Their concerns were echoed by Athena, who urged me to relocate. When I asked if this was truly what she wanted, she sighed deeply before responding, "Yes, it is what I want. It's what's best for everyone." Then, with a voice hardened by resolve, she added, "And I never want to see you again." 

Her words hit me like a physical blow, but I respected her decision. Soon after, my household relocated to the Corandale District, leaving behind the familiar streets of Brightwood and the painful memories of our recent past. The move was filled with uncertainty and the lingering hope of seeing Athena again. Yet, as we settled into our new life, I carried with me the lessons and love of my father, a legacy that no distance or time could ever erase.