The Royal Farewell
The sun had long slipped behind the ruined horizon, leaving the world under a deep wash of indigo. The air still carried the scent of scorched stone and iron—a reminder of the battle that had clawed this land open. Smoke drifted in thin veins through the cold, broken fields as the survivors gathered around the silent casket.
Leon stood in the center, the dim light catching the sharp edge of his face. The faint glow of mana still traced along the earth where his power had burned through hours earlier. It pulsed softly like the mory of thunder.
Beside him, Alina bowed her head, waiting for his word.
"Alina," Leon said quietly, his voice steady but low, "where is the royal cetery?"
Her eyes lifted. "South, my lord. Beyond the palace wall, through the ash plain. I’ll lead the way."
He nodded once. "Good. Prepare the procession."
The maids—Fey, Rui, Mona, Lena, and Mira—stepped forward together. Though their faces were pale and streaked with soot, their movents were precise. They lifted the long, dark casket with quiet reverence. Even through gloves, the cold of the wood bled into their hands.
Natasha stood close to Leon. He reached for her hand without a word, fingers interlacing with hers. Nova moved to his other side, the faint green of her eyes reflecting what little light the stars allowed. Behind them ca Captain Black and Captain Johny, followed by Ronan and the other vice-captains. Armor scraped, boots pressed into the blackened ground. No one spoke.
They began their slow march south.
---
The battlefield stretched out like a graveyard already half-made. Craters filled with shadows, and the faint glint of broken steel lay scattered among the burned weeds. The only sound was the wind, whispering through bent spears and shattered banners.
Leon walked ahead, his gaze fixed on the faint outline of the palace’s southern wall. He could feel the rhythm of Natasha’s heartbeat through her hand—fast, uneven. Every step stirred old embers of guilt.
Nova’s voice broke the silence. "It’s strange," she murmured. "When a war ends, the quiet feels louder than the fight."
Leon looked at her. "That’s because silence doesn’t lie."
Her lips curved faintly, then fell still again.
Alina led them through the last stretch of scorched ground until the terrain softened into unburned soil. Beyond a line of cracked marble pillars lay the royal cetery—an ancient garden of stone, half reclaid by vines. Lanterns flickered weakly along the path, casting trembling light on the carved nas of kings, queens, and fallen knights.
"Here," Alina said softly.
The maids carried the casket to the open space near the center, where an old oak bent low over the graves. They set it down carefully. Natasha’s breath hitched. For a long mont, no one moved.
Leon released her hand. "Do it," he said gently.
She stepped forward, her knees brushing against the wet grass. With both hands, she traced the top of the casket. Her shoulders trembled.
"Rest now," she whispered. "You’ve already endured too much in this life."
Her words broke like fragile glass in the cold air. A tear slipped down her cheek, shining briefly before it vanished into the dirt. The others stood back in silence as the first shovelful of soil fell, soft and final, against the wood.
The maids followed her lead, layer after layer of earth covering what was left of the past. When the last mound rose and the wind carried away the dust, Natasha pressed her palm to it. "Goodbye," she breathed.
Leon stood beside her again. For a long while, neither spoke. Only the night seed to breathe around them.
---
When the burial was done, Leon turned to the group. His voice cut cleanly through the wind. "We’ll return."
As they began to step away, he glanced toward Alina. "In an hour or two, gather the diary and return to . The guards will remain. Captain Black," he added, "you’ll oversee the palace grounds."
"Yes, my lord." The captain bowed, his face pale but resolute.
Leon’s eyes softened a fraction. "See to the fallen. Give them a proper burial. Enemies or not—they were still human."
The words caught the captains off guard. For a second, no one moved. Then Captain Black’s throat tightened. "You would bury your enemies, my lord?"
Leon’s faint smile held both weariness and conviction. "I fight them when they breathe. When they fall, they belong to the sa earth as we do."
Silence stretched again, but this ti it wasn’t hollow. It carried a strange peace.
Nova stepped closer and wrapped her arms briefly around him, resting her head against his chest. "You’ve changed," she said softly.
He let out a low breath. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just rembering."
Natasha watched him quietly, her dark eyes reflecting the dim stars. She nodded once, a gesture that ant more than words. The others followed her lead—bowing, one after another, before dispersing back into the ruined palace grounds.
The last to linger was Alina. She looked toward Leon, her composure trembling for a heartbeat. "My lord... your orders are my honor."
He inclined his head. "You’ve done well, Alina. Go."
Her gaze lowered, but her voice was steady. "Yes, my lord." Then she turned and followed the others into the shadows.
As the night deepened, the wind swept through the cetery, carrying the faint scent of ash and soil. The mound of earth stood untouched under the starlight—a quiet promise that even in ruin, sothing sacred could remain.
Leon looked once more at the grave, then to the sky. "Rest," he murmured. "The world will move again, but not tonight."
Natasha reached for his hand. He let her hold it. Neither spoke as they stood there—two figures in a scarred world, facing the endless dark together.
---
When they finally left the cetery, the horizon began to lighten just enough to show the faintest line of dawn. The battlefields behind them still smoked, but the flas had dimd.
And in that fragile silence, for the first ti in a long while, it felt like peace might not be a myth.
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