Chapter 34: Fragments of the Lost

Rain hammered the cemetery like bullets against stone. Elise stood frozen beneath a black umbrella, water streaming down its edges in silver rivulets. The priest's voice cut through the downpour, each word heavy as the dirt that would soon cover the casket.

"Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. May her soul find peace, even if those she left behind might not."

The wooden box descended into hungry earth. Elise's father's arm wrapped around her shoulders, solid and warm and impossible. Her brother stood to her right, rain dripping from his dark hair onto his borrowed suit jacket.

She wore the same clothes from that terrible day three years ago. Black blouse that scratched her neck. Pinched shoes that made her toes ache. Fingers that wouldn't stop shivering despite her father's coat draped over her shoulders.

The faces around the grave blurred together in the rain. Mrs. Henderson from down the street, clutching a tissue. Uncle Marcus who smelled like cigarettes and regret. Her mother's sister who'd driven six hours to be here.

But other faces didn't belong. A woman with silver hair who smiled too kindly. A man in an expensive suit who watched Elise instead of the coffin. People she was certain had never existed in her real memories.

The wrongness settled into her stomach like ice water.

"We'll be okay, Elise." Her father's voice rumbled through his chest against her ear. "The family's whole again."

She wanted to believe him. God, how she wanted to sink into that warmth and never leave. Her brother stepped closer, rain-dark eyes meeting hers.

"You don't have to go back, El. Stay here. We're safe now."

The ache in her chest threatened to split her open. Three years of loneliness. Three years of empty apartments and silent dinners. Three years of carrying grief that weighed more than her bones could support.

Here was everything she'd lost. Everyone she'd lost.

Her hand found the pendant at her throat. Her mother's last gift, still warm against her skin. The metal seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.

The sky above the cemetery flickered. Just for a moment, the gray clouds showed cracks like broken glass. Behind them, something darker waited.

Elise's breath caught. Her mother's voice echoed in her memory, words spoken from a hospital bed that smelled like disinfectant and dying flowers.

*"Be strong, little star. Even when the world tries to break you."*

The funeral began to blur at the edges. Voices distorted into static. Her brother's face glitched like a broken video feed.

"This isn't real," she whispered.

Her father's grip tightened, fingers digging into her shoulder. The kind mourners around the grave turned toward her with eyes that reflected nothing. Her mother's coffin began to open.

Dead fingers wrapped around the wooden edges. Her mother's corpse sat up, flesh gray and mottled, mouth opening in a silent scream.

"Stay, Elise." The words came from everywhere at once. From her brother's mouth. From the priest's throat. From the earth itself. "Stay with us forever."

Rain became ash, falling like snow around the graveyard. The pendant burned against her skin, her mother's love made manifest in silver and hope.

Elise focused on that warmth. On the weight of her own body. On a voice calling her name from somewhere far away, thin as a spider's thread but real.

"No!" The word tore from her throat. "I love you, but I can't stay!"

The world shattered.

Funeral tent. Mourners. Coffin. All breaking apart like glass in a hurricane. Her family's faces dissolved into mist and memory.

Elise jolted awake on cold stone.

Moss pressed against her cheek. Her healer's wand pulsed against her hip, responding to her elevated heartbeat. The dungeon chamber stretched around her in oppressive silence.

Her teammates lay scattered across the floor like broken dolls. Marcus's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Sarah twitched, lost in whatever nightmare held her. Jake's bow had fallen from nerveless fingers.

Leon.

He lay ten feet away, breathing but motionless. His face was peaceful, almost smiling. Whatever illusion trapped him was kinder than hers had been.

Elise crawled across the stone on hands and knees. Her body ached like she'd been beaten. The pendant still hung warm around her neck, anchor to reality.

"Leon." She shook his shoulder. Nothing. "Leon, please!"

His eyelids fluttered but didn't open. She could see movement beneath them, watching dreams or memories play out behind closed lids.

Elise grabbed his hand, feeling calluses from sword work and the warmth of living skin. Real. Present. Here.

"This isn't real—snap out of it! I know you can hear me." Her voice cracked with desperation. "Come back!"

The words echoed off stone walls that had witnessed too much suffering.

———

Leon stood in his childhood kitchen, sunlight painting everything gold.

The house smelled exactly right. His mother's lavender soap mixed with coffee and the faint mustiness of old wood. Dust motes danced in morning light that streamed through curtains his mother had sewn herself.

"Why are you shouting this early morning?"

His little sister peeked around the doorframe, nightgown rumpled from sleep. Anna. Seven years old with pigtails and gap teeth and a laugh that could cure any sadness.

Dead for five years.

But here she was, rubbing sleep from her eyes and padding across linoleum in bare feet. Real as breathing.

"Sorry." Leon's voice sounded strange in his own ears. "Bad dream."

Anna giggled. "You're silly. Dreams can't hurt you."

His mother bustled into the kitchen, hair wrapped in the blue scarf she always wore for cleaning. She hummed while setting a pan on the stove, melody familiar as his own heartbeat.

"Breakfast will be ready soon, Leon. Go wake your father, will you?"

The routine felt natural as gravity. Leon walked through rooms that had been ash and memory for years. Family photos lined the hallway. His father's reading glasses sat folded on the coffee table beside yesterday's newspaper.

Dad dozed in his favorite chair, face peaceful in morning light. Leon touched his shoulder gently.

"Morning."

Brown eyes opened, crinkling at the corners. "Sleep well?"

Leon nodded, throat tight. His father patted the couch cushion beside him. The fabric was worn soft from years of family movie nights.

They sat together in comfortable silence. Leon felt the solid warmth of his father's presence, heard the steady rhythm of his breathing. Outside, birds sang in the oak tree where Anna's tire swing still hung.

Time moved like honey. Breakfast around the kitchen table with Anna chattering about dreams and school while their mother served pancakes from a recipe passed down through three generations.

"What are your plans today?" Mom asked, ruffling Leon's hair.

He leaned into her touch. "Nothing special. Maybe walk Anna to school."

"I can walk myself," Anna protested through a mouthful of syrup.

"Not on my watch, squirt."

She stuck her tongue out at him. Leon laughed, the sound surprising him with its naturalness.

The morning unfolded like a gift. Leon helped Anna tie her shoes for school, fingers remembering the loop-and-pull technique their father had taught them both. His mother packed a lunch with sandwiches cut into triangles and an apple polished to shine.

The walk to school led through their old neighborhood. Mrs. Patterson watered her garden, waving from behind roses that bloomed impossible colors. Mr. Chen walked his ancient beagle, stopping to chat about the weather and weekend plans.

Everything was perfectly, painfully ordinary.

Anna skipped beside him, backpack bouncing with each step. She collected interesting rocks and pointed out cloud shapes, narrating stories about sky animals on great adventures.

"That one looks like a dragon," she said, squinting at cumulus formations.

"I see it. What's the dragon doing?"

"Flying to rescue a princess from a tower made of ice cream."

Leon smiled. "Smart dragon. Ice cream towers melt too fast for proper imprisonment."

Anna giggled, gap-toothed and bright.

At the school gates, she hugged him fiercely around the waist. "See you after school, big brother."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Leon watched her run toward the building, pigtails streaming behind her like golden flags. Other children called her name. Teachers smiled and waved. The world continued its gentle revolution.

The day stretched ahead like a promise. Leon helped his mother with household chores, fixing a squeaky hinge and moving boxes in the attic. They talked about small things—grocery lists and weekend plans and whether the oak tree needed trimming.

His father returned from work in the evening, bringing stories from the construction site and dirt under his fingernails. They ate dinner together at the kitchen table, passing dishes and sharing the day's minor victories and defeats.

Anna drew pictures of their family while they talked. Stick figures with enormous smiles holding hands beneath a yellow sun. She showed each drawing with pride, explaining who was who and what adventure they were having.

"This is us at the beach," she said, holding up a masterpiece of crayon and imagination.

"When did we go to the beach?" Leon asked.

Anna's brow furrowed. "Tomorrow. We're going tomorrow, remember?"

Their parents exchanged glances. Their mother smiled. "Of course we are, sweetheart."

As darkness fell, they settled in the living room. Anna curled against their father's side while he read from a picture book about brave mice and magical kingdoms. Their mother mended socks by lamplight, needle flashing silver in the warm glow.

Leon absorbed every detail. The way his father's voice changed for different characters. His mother's quiet humming as she worked. Anna's sleepy questions about plot twists and happy endings.

When bedtime came, Leon tucked his sister into her narrow bed. Her room smelled like crayons and childhood dreams. Stuffed animals stood guard from every surface.

"Will you still be here tomorrow?" Anna asked, eyes serious in the dark.

Leon's throat tightened. "Where else would I go?"

"Sometimes people leave. In dreams."

"This isn't a dream."

Anna smiled and closed her eyes. "Good. I like having my big brother home."

Leon returned to his own room, walls covered with posters of hunters and adventure stories. His desk held homework he'd never finished and books he'd read a dozen times.

He lay in bed, staring at ceiling stars that glowed pale green in the darkness. The house settled around him with familiar creaks and sighs. Down the hall, his parents murmured to each other in voices too low to understand.

This was everything he'd lost. Everything he'd failed to protect.

Leon closed his eyes and drifted toward sleep, desperately wanting this perfect day to last forever.