A CHAPEL OF REMEMBRANCE

I wasn't being dramatic.

With how much blood he'd lost, the gaping holes, the sheer ruin of his body—he should've died twice over. Maybe three times. And yet… There he was. Sitting upright, spine straight, like a man waiting for a bus instead of death. And then there was that strange, flickering orb nestled inside him—something foreign and bright and pulsing faintly.

He opened his mouth to reply.

But before he could speak, I gently placed the hilt of his blade into his palm.

His fingers closed around it, slow but sure. His eyes fluttered open, just enough to see. Then closed again.

…That was it?

That's what he wanted?

To die with his sword in hand?

Was that all he came here to do?

"…No fucking clue," he murmured after a long silence. "This… it does seem like a cruel joke, yeah?"

I couldn't argue.

It did.

Like Death itself was taunting him.

Or maybe just... watching, amused, as he clung to a few more minutes he shouldn't have.

Then his voice softened—not weak, not fading. Just… calm. Like a thought shared at the edge of a dream.

"Don't worry…" he said. "Death comes for everybody. Even the mighty gods… They aren't spared from the inevitable end."

He paused, then added, with surprising certainty:

"But before I die—and I will, in a short while—let me just ask you this…"

His eyes opened again, focused now, clear, burning with something I hadn't seen until now.

"…Who are you, really? What's your purpose?"

"Who am I? And my purpose?"

I blinked hard, unsure if I'd heard him right. Really? That's what he wanted to know—now? When he was barely clinging to life, more blood than man, about to vanish into memory?

Another explosion rumbled through the forest, distant but thunderous, shaking the ground beneath us. The scream that followed it—deep, guttural, unnatural—sent a sharp chill crawling down my spine. Lady Sia…

But even with that fear rising in my chest, my thoughts were stuck, circling the strange question Ragnar had asked me.

"Come on now," he murmured. "Answer me. I'm a dead man anyway… this might very well be my last ever conversation with another senti— I mean, human…"

His eyes drifted toward the battle in the distance, but he didn't lose focus. Not really.

And I… I didn't know how to respond.

Who am I?

Even I don't know.

I just woke up here. In this damned place they call the Beast Rims. No memories, no understanding of the world, not even a clue about what this whole "mana" thing was that everyone else seemed to breathe like air. The only thing I do know—the only thing—is my name. Lucius. Somehow, that just… came to me. When Sister June asked, it flew off my lips before I even understood why.

Purpose?

I'm a kid. Probably. I don't even know how old I am—but I'm definitely not old enough to have something like a purpose. I mean, yeah, I want to become someone strong, someone who can use magic, probably someone who can protect the ones I will eventually care about… but a true purpose?

How could I possibly know that yet?

So I just spoke. All of it. Broken pieces. Scattered thoughts. Long pauses in between. There was even a moment where I thought Ragnar might've died listening to my rambling. But he didn't.

He was still alive. Barely. But alive.

He nodded once. Then again, slower. A few low hums of breath left him—painful and raspy, but real. He was listening. That meant something, I think.

In the end, I think he got it. That I didn't have some grand reason for being here. I didn't even have a plan for making it through tonight.

"…You're concerned about Lady Sia, aren't you?" he asked suddenly.

I nodded. Too quickly, maybe. Too many times. But yes.

I was concerned. Terrified, actually.

She saved me earlier. And now she was fighting a monster so horrifying I couldn't even bring myself to imagine it fully.

"…That's good," he said, almost like he was smiling with his voice. "Means you're not some ungrateful brat…"

He paused.

Then looked straight at me—really looked.

"The way you talk… the way you carry yourself… and the way you care about strangers, people you just met? That's a sign. A clear indication…"

I leaned in slightly, pulled in by the weight of his words.

"…A clear indication of a good person."

He lifted one trembling arm and placed his hand gently on my head. There was weight in it—not just physical, but something deeper. Reassurance. Farewell.

"You're young. But you've already got the principles. The questions. The instincts. You're too mature for your age… and that's a good thing. That confusion you feel? That's a gift. Keep it. Learn from it. Let it shape you."

I didn't know what to say.

So I didn't.

I just nodded. Quietly. And stared at the dirt between my knees.

"…Now tell me," Ragnar said suddenly, voice sharper now, more grounded. "What would you have done—if you were in my place?"

Before I could answer, the ground trembled again. Another explosion. Louder. Closer. And in it, some awful sound. A scream? A roar? I didn't know. I hadn't seen the Ghost Bear up close. Not yet.

I looked at him.

Then spoke from the one place inside me that still felt certain.

"…I would do whatever it takes to rejoin that battle," I said. "To help Lady Sia."

That was it. The truth. I didn't care about reasons or logic or odds.

I just didn't want her to die.

Ragnar nodded—slowly, this time. His eyes softened. Then, using Crimson Ultima like a crutch, he began to rise. The sword groaned under the weight, not because it was weak, but because the man wielding it was.

He stood.

And looked down at me.

"Stand up, little one," he commanded.

I did.

"I shouldn't be having this conversation with a child. You shouldn't have seen what you saw tonight. And most of all… I shouldn't be asking you what I'm about to ask."

He took a breath. It sounded like it cost him everything.

"I don't know who you are. Your nature. Your origins. Or your intent. But something in me… everything in me… wants to trust you. To believe in you. So that's why—"

He held out his hand.

I placed mine in his without hesitation.

He took my finger, scratched the tip with his own, and drew blood.

It stung—but not badly.

Just enough.

Then, with reverence, he brought Crimson Ultima forward and wiped that single droplet across the gleaming surface of its massive blade.

I didn't understand.

Not really.

But I didn't stop him.

"…With this," he whispered, "the Blood-Pact between you and my weapon is complete."

His voice trembled now. Tired. But sincere.

"Once I die—which I will, in minutes—you will inherit this weapon."

Then he looked into my eyes. Not through me. Into me.

"Tell me, Lucius… for what purpose will you use our weapon?"

I didn't have the kind of answer people like him might expect. Not some heroic speech. Not vengeance or glory.

Just the truth.

"…I'll use your—our weapon… to become a good man," I whispered. "Just like you think I can be."

His hand closed over mine one last time.

And for the first time since I met him, I saw peace—real, quiet peace, in those tired, fading eyes.