In my village, there's a saying: "your enemies might survive the damage you wish upon them, but when that same wish is cast on you, your luck might not be strong enough to hold."
When you understand how thin your luck truly is, there are certain things you just stop thinking about doing… because the day they're done to you, it may be your last.
It's safe to say that saying had finally caught up with Idris Husafi.
A young and talented Lesser Hand. Brave, stubborn, and a little too eager to prove himself. He and I had partnered up during the Confluence contract, helping to lead a daring maneuver that saved the Southern groups from the surge of Fallen creatures known as the Voros, a brutal swarm that nearly overran the entire Central Confluence.
He was fast. Smarter than most his age. Confident in a way that made you believe he'd live longer than the rest of us.
But now...Now I was standing at his funeral, surrounded by Divine families, Madarikans, and military envoys from every part of the known world.
"Tragic day," I muttered, eyes drifting toward the clouds. They had been darkening slowly since morning. A heavy outpour was coming.
I sighed and looked back at the proceedings.
The burial ground was arranged like a wheel. Four equal sections marked by the insignias of the Divine Families. All in black, yes, but you could still tell who was who. Each family stood in tight formations, their colors subtly worked into their lining, the posture of their divines rigid even in grief.
The funeral was held in the Northern Kingdom, in Zumi Village. Idris' hometown. His birth parents were there, along with six siblings, barely able to keep their footing under the weight of sorrow. Their first son. The one who was meant to carry the family out of hardship. The one who would bring honor to the land of Zumi.
All of that… cut short.
The Husafi brothers would take care of them, of course. Provide food, shelter, monthly earnings. A quiet life of respect.
But even that meant nothing compared to the life that had been lost.
"Tragic… just tragic," I whispered again and let the second sigh leave me.
At the Husafi section, Major Hassan Husafi shifted his weight, one hand gripping his crutch, the other clenched tightly by his side.Whatever had attacked their unit that day… it wasn't a common Fallen.It wasn't something ordinary at all.
He and his fellow Hand, Abdul Husafi, had made it back bloodied and broken, but alive.Idris hadn't.Why he was the only one taken, why he was singled out for death… I had my suspicions, but suspicions weren't answers. Not yet.
The wind slowed as Major Hassan was called forward.
He limped to the center of the circle. Everyone quieted. His steps were uneven, but his back remained straight. You could feel the shame heavy in his bones.
When he finally spoke, his voice cracked just once at the beginning.
"Idris Husafi was a bright soul," he said. "The kind of young man you don't need to order twice. He served his family with joy. He wasn't just strong, he was dependable. Loyal. Warm. And too often, those are the ones we lose first."
He paused, glancing briefly at Idris' family. His mother was already weeping again. The father stood still, rigid. A pillar trying not to crumble.
"Judging by the faces gathered here, you can tell just how many burdens Idris carried… and how willing he was to carry them. Never once did he complain."
He went on to list the young Hand's accolades:Forty-three contracts completed.Recognized by four different Divine families for courage.A rising star on his way to becoming an Upper Hand.
Then Major Hassan's tone shifted.
"To Idris' family… I am sorry. I was not strong enough to protect your son. Your pride. Your light."
"I… I will never be able to face you the same way again. I beg your forgiveness."
His voice faltered.
Idris' mother shook her head through her tears, signaling that he didn't need to apologize.But Hassan lowered his head anyway, holding that silence for what felt like minutes.
Then he lifted his face to the gathered crowd. His eyes were sharper now. Angrier.
"Whatever it was that took Idris… it could've taken me too. It didn't."
"I don't know what that means. But I do know this: something terrible is out there. Something that shouldn't exist. And we'd be fools to pretend this is over."
He turned back to the family and gave one final bow.
"I promise, I'll get to the bottom of this. Idris will have justice."
And with that, he left the podium.
The air grew heavier.
The final rites began.
The coffin, marked with the Husafi brothers' Divine Family crest, was lowered into the earth.Quiet prayers were whispered.Divine Craftsmen placed sealed offerings inside, tokens from comrades, family, and mentors. A worn training band. A pendant. A black feather from the Husafi archives.
Flowers were laid next.A folded cloak.Then, the tombstone. Simple, polished:
IDRIS HUSAFIDivine. Brother. Son of Zumi."May your courage never fade from the wind."
And just like that, it ended.