The Solara family stood in the aftermath of their loss, gripped by disbelief, doubt, and an overwhelming sorrow. The news of their eldest daughter Celestia's death had shattered them. Alastair and Eleanor were struggling to come to terms with the unimaginable—how could their daughter, once full of life, now be gone? Solace, returning to the house for the first time in over four months, stood quietly at the door. Alastair sighed heavily, his voice a mixture of sorrow and exhaustion as he continued to arrange the funeral. Despite the absence of Celestia's body, he had ordered a coffin and made preparations, each action feeling like another cruel reminder of the harsh reality they were facing.
"...Was there really nothing left... to even bring her body here for a coffin?" Alastair asked, his gaze distant as he looked over at Solace.
Solace swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I did everything I could... but she was... burnt, slashed into pieces... there was so much blood." His voice cracked, and a tear slipped down his cheek. "Her eyes... they were gone." His hand shook as he wiped the tear away.
Alastair stared at his son, a deep ache in his chest as he saw Solace cry for the first time in years—the last time had been when he was only four. "I-I see..." Alastair's voice faltered, the weight of it all sinking in.
The two sat silently on a balcony, the wind brushing past them, each lost in their thoughts. Alastair gazed up at the sky, as though seeking an answer from the heavens themselves. "I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible above the wind.
Solace turned to him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and frustration. "Sorry?" He murmured, his voice bitter as he looked away. "That's the first time you've said that to me... What's it for?"
Alastair's voice was raw as he spoke, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "For giving you and Celestia a childhood filled with nothing but hardship... for always seeing you both as tools for the family, as means to an end. I was so consumed by the need for power, for status, that I failed to see what really mattered. I... I failed as a father. I should have protected you both, cared for you, but I was blinded by ambition. And now... now I can see that I've failed you, failed her. I'm sorry, Solace. I'm sorry for failing you both."
Alastair's words cracked with emotion, and tears continued to fall down his face. He couldn't bring himself to look at his son, but the sorrow in his heart was undeniable.
Solace watched him quietly, his emotions conflicting. After a long pause, he gave a small, almost sad smile. "I've hated you for most of my life," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the pain in his words. "I know you know that... but maybe I was too young to understand. All I wanted was freedom, but now... I get it. There's more to life than that." Solace exhaled slowly, the weight of everything he'd learned pressing down on him. "I can't keep hating you for the things you did, even if they were wrong. You were trying to protect the family... even if it hurt us. So, honestly... thank you. For teaching me the truth about the world, even if it was brutal."
He extended his hand toward his father, the gesture awkward but genuine. "Thank you for making me see the harsh reality of this world early on."
Alastair stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. Slowly, he reached out and took it, shaking it firmly. There was no grand gesture, but in that simple exchange, something shifted between them.
"Let's take today," Solace said quietly, his voice soft but resolute, "and honor Celestia. A day of truce, at least for today."
Alastair nodded, his voice heavy with agreement. "Let's do that."
Together, they walked into the room where Eleanor sat, tears silently streaming down her face. The weight of their loss hung in the air as they approached her, each of them silently sharing in the grief of the family.
Solace stepped out of the room, the weight of the moment pressing on him as he made his way upstairs. He hesitated for a moment before entering Celestia's room. It was as pristine and spotless as ever, as though they were still waiting for her to walk through the door. The maids had continued cleaning it.
He sank into one of the chairs by the window, the silence of the room swallowing him whole. A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he wiped the tears away. "Damn... this facade is hard to keep up with, knowing she's alive. But..." His voice trailed off, a lump forming in his throat. "Damn, today hurts in a way I didn't expect. And father's words... they were real. They weren't just some hollow apology. I know that much. I feel like... like lying to them is somehow wrong."
Solace stood up, pacing around the room. His mind raced, torn between his obligations and his growing sense of guilt. "Whatever," he muttered under his breath, taking a deep breath. "I'll keep this up for as long as I need to." With one last glance, he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
He stepped into the hallway, moving through the house with a detached, mechanical pace. The reality of the situation continued to gnaw at him, but there was no turning back now. Not yet.
Making his way out to the backyard, Solace approached the family cemetery. The air was thick with a somber atmosphere. The funeral was in full swing, with maids, guards, nobles, and even a few distant relatives all gathered around in mourning. He could hear the soft murmur of voices, the rustling of fabric, and the heavy tread of footsteps as people paid their respects.
His parents stood near the front, their faces lined with sorrow, their eyes red from crying. Alastair and Eleanor, though broken, were doing their best to hold up the facade of strength. It was almost suffocating to witness, the way they tried to carry on as though everything was still in place, as though Celestia wasn't a part of the past.
Solace stood there for a moment, observing from a distance, feeling both disconnected and deeply intertwined with the scene unfolding before him.
He watched as the coffin—empty, of course—was carried toward the burial site. A cold chill swept over him as he looked at the faces around him. Some genuinely mourned, others simply went through the motions. He couldn't help but wonder how they would react to knowing she was alive.
Relatives moved silently, their faces somber as they carried the coffin—empty, hollow, a cruel symbol of their loss—to the open grave. It felt like a dream, the scene unfolding before him surreal. He watched as the coffin was lowered into the earth, the heavy thud of it sinking into the ground echoing in his chest. The sound seemed to carry a finality that made his insides twist.
Three hours passed, and the mood of the funeral slowly began to shift as the mourners moved back into the Solara estate. The house was filled with a quiet tension, everyone retreating to their corners, silently processing the weight of the day. People sat around, not speaking much, yet there was a strange comfort in their shared presence—an unspoken understanding that they were all bound by grief, by loss.
"Let's throw a party," Alastair said suddenly, his voice gaining strength, though it was tinged with the weight of emotion. "A celebration, in her name."
Solace glanced up, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. "Are you sure this is the right way to go about it?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of doubt. "I mean, it feels... strange, after everything that's happened."
Alastair's gaze softened, and he took a breath, as though searching for the right words. "One of the things Celestia always loved was the royal parties. She was always so excited for them, no matter the occasion. I think she'd want us to have one, even now, to celebrate her. Let's not let today be entirely about grief. Let's do something she always enjoyed—something that might fill a part of us, something that might remind us of the joy she brought to all of us."
Solace sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the decision. "She did love those parties," he muttered, his gaze drifting as memories of Celestia's laughter and joy at the grand celebrations surfaced in his mind. "I suppose... that could work. What does everyone else think?"
The room fell silent, as nobles, relatives, and friends of Celestia exchanged hesitant glances. For a long moment, no one spoke, and the tension in the air felt suffocating. But slowly, one by one, they nodded, their faces softening as the idea took hold.
"Let's do it," one of the nobles murmured, and the rest followed suit, a quiet murmur of agreement passing through the group.
"The party will be hosted in one week," Solace said, standing abruptly, his voice now firm with resolve. "I'll host it in the capital." Without another word, he vanished in a flash of golden light, leaving the room behind, already deep in the preparations.
As the room remained in a hushed silence, the faintest sense of hope lingered in the air. In the midst of loss, they would celebrate Celestia—not with sorrow, but with the joy she had always embraced.
Solace materialized in the heart of the capital, the bustling city around him immediately quieting as he arrived. With a wave of his hand, he summoned the maids and guards, their presence sharp and immediate, as though they had been waiting for his command. His voice, commanding yet tinged with a mix of exhaustion and urgency, echoed through the hall.
"Gather everything," he ordered, his tone resolute. "We're preparing for a royal party. It will take place in one week, and I need every detail accounted for. Invitations, decorations, food, entertainment—make it fit for Celestia. No corners cut."
The servants, though taken aback by the sudden announcement, nodded and quickly scattered to carry out his instructions. The capital, usually a place of royal rituals and lavish affairs, suddenly buzzed with a renewed sense of purpose. Solace stood still for a moment, watching the flurry of activity unfold. He knew this would be no ordinary gathering—it had to be more than a party. It had to be a celebration that honored the vibrant life Celestia had lived.
"Let's make sure, if anything's done right in this damn land, this one is," Solace muttered under his breath, his voice laced with both determination and a touch of frustration. He began walking toward the throne, his steps deliberate, as if the weight of the decision hung over him like a heavy cloak. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe I agreed to throw this party... but... that's fine." A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his mood shifting unexpectedly.
"I should check in on Celestia soon... I wonder how she's faring, how she's living her life now," he mused quietly to himself, his thoughts drifting away for a moment. He reached the throne, settling into it with ease, crossing his legs with a fluid motion. "Who would have thought that my first order as emperor would be to throw a royal party? Not bad at all." The grin on his face widened, the first hint of a playful, almost mischievous glint in his eyes.