They found a small tailor shop in the town center, its window display simple yet neatly arranged, with dresses of various colors draped over wooden mannequins. Elise stepped in first, holding the door so Emanuelle and Elian could follow, her attentive gaze almost as if she wished to preserve that moment without haste.
It was then that Elian pointed to a red dress of light fabric, as if it had been made for her. The color harmonized with the deep crimson of her hair and brought out the vivid blue of her eyes, while tiny golden embroideries along the hem and sleeves caught the light like discreet sparks.
"This one's yours," Elian said with a faint smile.
Emanuelle ran her hand over the fabric, as though she could hardly believe it was meant for her. Elise watched in silence, noting in the timid glimmer of the girl's gaze the first sign of something other than grief. There were no smiles, no laughter, but there was a quiet warmth in that instant — a brief moment in which tragedy yielded to something softer.
The memory dissolved as quickly as it had come, pulling him back into the present and the weight of the day still unfinished.
★★★
Nearly an hour had passed. The room remained steeped in silence, the distant sound of the wind against the windows the only thing filling the air. All were waiting for Marduk's arrival before setting out for Elian's family's small farm.
Elian wore the gray tunic his mother had given him — simple, but marked by a unique detail: on the collar, hand-stitched, were the initials of each family member. The fabric already bore signs of wear, yet it had been carefully pressed, as though Maria had poured all her care into making sure it was immaculate for this day.
Maria wore a dress of heavy fabric in a deep shade of blue that, in the dim morning light, almost blended with black. Small golden embroideries traced the hem and sleeves, catching what light there was like faded threads of sunlight. The simple cut and her upright posture contrasted with the exhaustion etched into her face, making her a figure at once fragile and unyielding.
Emanuelle wore the red dress Elian had recently given her. The vibrant hue matched the deep crimson of her hair and made her blue eyes stand out all the more. The golden embroidery along the hem and sleeves caught the light delicately, as if each stitch were a tiny charm against sorrow.
Anthony wore a coarse cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, layered with a thick brown vest. His trousers, made of sturdy linen, were cinched at the waist by a makeshift rope belt and tucked into worn leather boots marked by dried mud. Despite the wear, they were clean and well-kept, reflecting the silent respect he wished to show his father that day.
Elise wore the ceremonial attire of the Tower of Wisdom: a deep blue mantle with silver embroidery along the edges, a white tunic beneath cinched at the waist with a black leather belt. The order's emblem rested over her chest — discreet, yet heavy with meaning.
The distant sound of hooves on damp earth broke the stillness. A slow but steady trot drew nearer until it stopped outside the door. Moments later, Marduk stepped in, bringing with him the chill of the morning.
He wore a dark brown, heavy fabric cloak, frayed at the edges and speckled with dried mud. Beneath it was a beige tunic cinched by a wide leather belt from which hung small pouches of arcane components and a rigid-covered grimoire. High leather boots were dusted with travel dirt, marked by fresh mud. His hood was down, revealing hair tied simply and a face lined with fatigue.
Behind him came Gremory. Unlike Marduk, his stance was straight and commanding. He wore a long wine-colored cloak with black trim over a fitted dark shirt. Reinforced fabric trousers and spotless boots completed his attire. The ornamented hilt of his sword rose over his shoulder, and his cold, vigilant eyes swept the room before settling on Elise, as if awaiting silent instruction.
"The cart is ready," Marduk announced, his deep voice carrying the weight of the morning. "We can leave whenever you wish."
Maria rose slowly, adjusting her dress as if each movement bore an unseen weight. Emanuelle stayed close to Elian, while Anthony walked ahead, fists clenched. Elise positioned herself beside Maria, a subtle yet firm gesture of support.
Outside, the cart awaited. The sky was blanketed in low clouds, and a cold wind cut through the yard like a silent omen. The day of the burial had begun.
Arthur's body was placed carefully onto the cart, the simple wooden coffin resting beneath a dark cloth. Marduk took the driver's seat and the reins, while Gremory walked alongside, alert as though still expecting danger. Elise helped Maria and the children settle inside, near the coffin, so they would remain close throughout the journey.
The sky, heavy with gray clouds, seemed to press down on them all. The wind blew low yet steady, carrying the damp scent of earth and leaves. The creak of the wooden wheels and the steady rhythm of hooves were the only sounds breaking the silence.
Elian sat beside Emanuelle, hands resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the dirt road ahead. At times, he would glance quickly at the coffin, as if to assure himself his father was still there, only to look away again, unable to hold the sight for long.
Anthony, seated opposite them, kept his fists clenched on his legs. His expression was steady, but the faint tremor in his fingers betrayed his strain. Maria kept her gaze lowered, fixed on the fabric of her dress as if she could lose herself in the golden embroidery, avoiding any thought that might make her collapse then and there.
The road wound between abandoned fields and patches of woodland. Here and there lay fallen fences, splintered trunks, and scorched marks — mute reminders of the attack. The smell of smoke still lingered faintly in the air, mingled with the acrid scent of charred wood.
With every meter traveled, the small farm drew nearer — no longer the welcoming home it had once been, but a place marked by violence and loss.
When the broken gate came into view, no one spoke. The wind passed harder, lifting the cloth over the coffin, as though the earth itself breathed with difficulty before what was about to happen.
The cart stopped before what remained of the entrance. The wooden gate, split in two, hung from a single hinge, swaying lightly in the wind. The stake fence surrounding the land was broken in several places, like open wounds in the earth's skin.
Around them, the marks of the attack were still visible. The ground bore the grooves of wheels and footprints, now mixed with the mud from recent rains. Further ahead, what remained of the house stood like a charred skeleton — blackened walls, roof gone, windows staring into emptiness. The smell of burnt wood still clung to the air, tinged with the faint scent of damp ash.
Maria stepped down from the cart slowly, her eyes fixed on the ruined house. No tears showed, but her face was set hard, as though she needed to shield herself from herself. Emanuelle gripped Elian's hand tightly, her gaze shifting between curiosity and fear, as if trying to recognize the home that no longer existed. Anthony stepped forward in silence, jaw tight.
Gremory moved ahead, clearing a path toward a small space beside an old oak, where the earth was softer. Maria stopped there, placing her hand on the rough trunk as if to draw strength from it.
"Here," she said, her voice almost inaudible. "Here is where he will rest."
Elise nodded, sharing a brief look with Marduk. Without words, they began to prepare the spot. Marduk raised his staff, and with a precise motion, made the earth shift slowly, forming a wide, deep grave. The sound of magically turned soil was low, like a deep whisper.
As the grave was dug, Elian stayed close to the coffin. His fingers ran over the dark cloth, feeling the grain of the wood beneath. With each touch, fragments of memories of his father surfaced: the calm voice on cold nights, the firm hands at work, the subdued laugh when Emanuelle did something amusing. Each memory felt heavier than the last.
The wind rose again, stirring dry leaves across the ground. That sound, mixed with the distant scent of wildflowers, seemed to defy the moment — as if the world insisted on staying alive even when everything here felt dead.
Maria stood motionless before the open grave, as if the act of approaching were an impossible weight to bear. Her eyes were fixed on the dark hole, but it was as if she saw far beyond it — the past she had built with Arthur, the mornings working side by side, the shared silences, the small joys that had nowhere left to return to.
Her hands trembled slightly, not from cold, but from restraint. She would not cry in front of her children. Not now. She knew that if she allowed the tears to fall, they would never stop.
Elian watched his mother in silence, a knot tightening in his chest. It was not only grief. It was something deeper, almost suffocating — the feeling that the world had suddenly lost one of its pillars. Arthur's figure was etched into him in so many ways that it was hard to accept that this still body was the same man who had welcomed him without hesitation.
Maria passed a hand over her face, as if to erase any trace of emotion before speaking.
"He… always said this would be the place," she murmured, her voice so low it almost vanished into the wind. "Every time we passed here, he'd say… 'If I ever go, I want it to be here.'"
Elian stepped closer. He did not try to touch her, nor offer words of comfort. He simply stayed near enough for her to know he was there. His gaze shifted between his mother and the coffin, and with each glance, reality pressed down harder.
The sound of magic-turning soil continued, slow and steady, marking the time like a funeral clock. Maria lowered her eyes, and for a brief moment, her eyelids closed. In that instant, the image of Arthur alive came with sharp clarity: the tired smile at day's end, the firm voice scolding Anthony, the quiet tenderness of tucking a blanket over a sleeping Emanuelle.
When she opened her eyes again, they were damp.
"Yes… here," she repeated, as though reaffirming the choice was her last way of honoring him.
Elian drew a deep breath, swallowing the words he wanted to speak. The truth was, nothing he could say would outweigh the silence that reigned here. He only bowed his head slightly — a gesture that said, I understand without a sound.