Funeral
The world slowed down.
He saw it all — the arrow leaving the string, the sharp crack of impact, his mother's eye exploding out of its socket, blood spraying into the cold night air.
He saw the way his siblings' faces contorted in horror.
Every detail. Every second.
And once again, he was powerless to stop it.
And it wasn't even a coordinated attack. Not a squad. Not a raid.
Just a single, stage one beast.
An archer.
His mother's body crumpled to the floor, collapsing in perfect sync with the Echo as Vael's dagger slit its throat.
Vael fell to his knees. His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest.
Then, the poison in his bloodstream finally caught up.
"No…" he muttered weakly, his voice barely audible over the wind,
as he lost consciousness.
Vael slowly opened his eyes, the sunlight blinding him. He sat up and realized his leg was wrapped in bandages.
As he took in his surroundings, it became clear he was in the cabin — lying on a bed.
The images from yesterday — or rather, earlier today — still replayed in his mind.
The way he got outplayed.
How the Echo, knowing it was about to die, had fired one last arrow out of spite.
He felt numb. Like he didn't have the energy to move. To think. To breathe.
But then he remembered his siblings. He forced himself to get up. He had to make sure they were okay.
Who was he kidding?
They couldn't be okay.
Not after what they'd seen.
Dragging his injured leg, he made his way down the creaking hallway. He soon found both of them sleeping on the hard wooden floor, huddled close. They looked just like he expected: pale, still, hollow.
He wisely decided not to wake them.
Without a word, Vael stepped outside.
He had something to do. Something that couldn't wait.
He had to find his mother's body. She deserved a proper burial.
The forest was cold and quiet, but Vael didn't notice.
For hours, he dug through the frozen soil with his bare hands. He didn't care about the pain. His fingers bled, his nails cracked — but he kept going.
All he could see were the memories playing through his mind.
Coming home from the village with Antalon and Mira, laughing after a day of playing with the other kids.
Her waiting by the door with a warm smile.
How she'd make his favorite soup when he was hurt.
How she always knew what to say.
She was always there for him.
And he couldn't save her.
He didn't hear them approach, but at some point, Antalon and Mira had joined him.
They didn't speak. Just stood there, quietly watching.
Finally, Mira stepped forward and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder.
"Enough," she whispered.
Her voice was hoarse. Her eyes were red. She'd been crying. A lot.
Vael didn't argue. He gently lifted his mother's body and laid her in the grave, treating her like glass. Like if he moved too quickly, she might shatter.
Then he spent another ten minutes covering the hole.
Not fast. Not slow. Just… methodical.
When it was done, he placed a rough stone at the head of the grave. A makeshift tombstone. No name. No inscription. Just something to mark that she'd been here.
They all stood there for a long while.
The cold wind bit at their cheeks, but no one flinched.
Finally, Vael whispered,
"…I'm sorry."
Hours passed in silence.
Eventually, he spoke again, barely above a murmur.
"In a few days… rebels will come by here to investigate the attack. When they do… join them."
He turned toward his siblings, looking them both in the eyes.
"Let's meet again."
With that, he turned away.
And, without another word, Vael began limping down the mountain —
Alone.