The villagers, working alongside Thornefang, began the grim task of clearing the battlefield. They moved the dead with stiff arms and pale faces, gathering whatever gear, weapons, or scraps of armor could still be salvaged.
They moved in silence, burdened by the grim task and the stench of blood-soaked earth. Thornefang guided the process with efficiency, but there was no joy in their movents, only the necessity of it.
They chose a clearing beyond the village’s edge for the pyres.
Lucen looked at the faces of the fallen enemies, well, the ones that still had faces. Many of them were simply teens around Milos’s age. They were a little older than he, still, children nonetheless. Only a few that could be seen would be considered adults.
’It was either them or us... I know that in my head, I accepted it already, but my heart can’t help but ache... I don’t know much about them, but I guess they were forced into this. Surely, if they’d had a choice, none of them would have chosen to die naless, so far from ho.’
Lucen watched as the bodies were stacked with as much respect as could be afforded, and oil was poured over the heaps.
’That b*stard Viscount Drenwick, making children who had no choice in the matter do his dirty work.’ Lucen’s jaw tightened as he clenched his fist.
A single torch lit the first fire. Then another. Soon, the flas were roaring, sending thick, dark smoke curling into the spring sky.
There was no more distinction between the naless fangs and the bloodhounds. They were now piled together in the sa fire, burning away.
Once the flas dimd and only embers remained, the ash was left to cool. Later, what bones remained were carefully gathered and buried in a shallow trench.
Lucen placed a single sword into the earth where they had been laid to rest. It was chipped and bloodstained, taken from one of the fallen. It would serve as a grave marker. A small sign that they had once stood and fought.
"Do you wish to say sothing, little leader?" Harlik asked from behind. Lucen nodded his head and spoke with a clear voice.
"... I don’t know their circumstances. I don’t know their reason for doing what they did, or even if they wanted to do it in the first place, but..." Lucen closed his eyes and, after several seconds of silence, opened them.
"Everyone deserves a place to rest... May Velmira guide their souls to where they belong."
The n and won of Thornefang lowered their heads in respect for their fallen enemies. The villagers then started singing for the dead.
When the last breath falls, and the fire grows cold,
And stories fade, no longer told,
She waits beyond where stars take flight,
The silent Queen of death and night.
Velmira waits, where shadows sleep,
Beneath the stars, where silence deep,
Will cradle those the world has lost,
And guide them ho, no matter the cost.
She knows the nas we leave behind,
She speaks them softly into the night.
She who waits for the last light,
Will embrace you into the good night.
Velmira waits,
And for that, none are alone.
The villagers’ voices were carried by the wind along with the smoke, beyond the hills and forests.
It was a song most people in Norvaegard had known since childhood. A lullaby for the lost. A promise that no soul would wander alone, and all would be guided to their rightful place.
Lucen listened in silence. This was a song that he had heard from childhood, every ti the knights returned with the dead.
But the version the knights sing emphasized more the glory of death in battle, and being guided by Velmira, to not rest but to Varkun’s army so that they may continue battling with honor and glory.
Still, now that he had heard it after regaining his past life’s mories, it felt different for him. It was as if sothing within him was stirring. Lucen’s lips had curled upward as he had a funny thought.
’They should have added this song to the ga.’
When the last voice fell silent, only the crackle of embers remained. For a mont, it felt like even the wind held its breath.
***
It took half a day to move the bodies and burn them, even with aura users and mages moving so many bodies, which turned out to be quite the task.
Once they were done paying their respects to the dead, Thornefang and the villagers rested while eating and drinking. Since there wasn’t enough space in the inn, they carried the tables and chairs outside.
Even though they were so solemn monts ago, the mbers of Thornefang beca rowdy again while they ate and drank.
But for the villagers, the weight of the pyres still lingered. They ate in silence, the faces of the dead they saw still in their minds, dulling the taste of their al.
Milos, who was sitting beside Renz, saw that the youngest mber of Thornefang, aside from Lucen, was eating and drinking happily alongside the other Thornefang mbers. Unable to hold his curiosity, he asked a question to the mbers of Thornefang sitting at the sa table.
"How are you guys able to eat and drink so rrily after all that?"
"When you live our kind of life," Greg said, setting down his mug, "you see too many die... Friends, enemies, even folks whose nas you never knew. You learn real quick that mourning forever doesn’t bring ’em back. So we eat, drink, laugh... Not ’cause we forget, but ’cause we rember."
"To eat, drink, and make rry is the privilege of those of us who survive to live another day," Sarah, who was sitting across Greg, spoke while downing another mug of ale. "To stop and mourn for so long feels like an insult to the dead. If we don’t enjoy the life we have, then how are we different from those already gone?"
"I don’t know why everyone makes it sound so complicated, but for it’s simple," Renz bit into his at before answering.
"I kill those who try to kill . If I survive, I laugh. If I’m hungry, I eat. If I’m thirsty, I drink. Simple, right? If you wish to mourn, then just mourn, but once it’s done, you need to keep moving forward, right?"
Milos was truly stunned by each of the Thornefang mbers’ answers. He then grabbed hold of the mug of ale in his hand and drank it whole. He placed the mug down and ate the at in front of him like Renz.
The Thornefang mbers blinked, caught off guard, then burst into laughter, mugs raised high. In that mont, Milos didn’t just feel like a survivor. He felt like one of them.
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