The bell tolled thirteen times.
Each chime echoed through the stone-paved square like a nail in a coffin. Grief hung in the morning air—thick, silent, suffocating. Villagers stood shoulder to shoulder, heads bowed, eyes brimming but dry. No one had the strength to cry yet. Not until the last of the wagons arrived.
Mothers clutched the sleeves of their husbands. Fathers kept arms around trembling daughters. No one spoke. The only sound was the hollow groan of the wagon wheels and the rhythmic clang of the bell. A white cloth had been draped over each body—soft, respectful, cruel. It made them look peaceful. They weren't.
The dead had names. They had favorite toys and dreams and places where they liked to fish. Now they had linen, numbered tags, and the silence of the crowd.
The bodies were laid out gently, side by side beneath the statue of Saint Ilena. No names were spoken aloud. Everyone already knew.
Then, from the edge of the gathering, a voice cracked.
"Where is he?" The woman's voice trembled. "Where's my boy?!"
Evan's mother shoved through the crowd, her hands trembling with desperation. "Where is he? Where's Evan?!"
Soldiers reached to steady her, but she fought like a mother possessed, shoving them aside with raw panic. Her voice grew more ragged with every breath. "You said you'd help him! You said he'd come back!"
Kael and Ciena stood still at the far end of the platform. Neither answered right away.
"You promised—" the woman choked, rounding on them. "You said you'd bring him home! Where is he? Where is my son?!"
Kael didn't flinch. His tone was calm, but not cold. "He's safe."
"You liar!" she screamed, pounding a fist against his chest. "You—"
"Mom!"
The voice cut through the air like a breaking dawn.
The crowd parted. A small figure stumbled forward, covered in dust, eyes wide and glassy. Barefoot. Alive.
"Evan?"
He threw himself into her arms, and she caught him in stunned silence before collapsing to her knees. Her cries finally broke the stillness—guttural, disbelieving sobs. She pressed her face into his hair, whispering words no one else could hear.
Around them, the villagers wept.
Some cried in joy. Others in sorrow, knowing their sons wouldn't come running.
Ciena let out a slow breath, folding her arms. "He's stronger than he looks."
Kael nodded. "Or just too stubborn to die."
The mourning bells echoed faintly through the infirmary windows.
Inside, Rein stirred beneath clean sheets. His face was pale, hair tousled and damp with sweat. Light from tall, arched windows painted golden slats across the bed.
He groaned. "Ugh... Where am I? If I died and this is heaven, someone needs to fire the decorator."
A voice from nearby answered flatly. "You're in the infirmary, smartass."
Rein blinked.
Diana sat beside his bed, arms crossed, a half-empty mug of tea steaming beside her. Her eyes looked tired, rimmed with dark circles, but she tried to smile.
"You've been out for a while," she said. "We weren't sure you'd wake up."
"Oh good," Rein mumbled. "That means I haven't missed midterms."
Diana snorted despite herself. "Still making jokes. That's a good sign."
Rein sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Or a coping mechanism."
She hesitated. "You saved Evan. He's alive."
Rein blinked. "Really? Not just an emotionally manipulative fever dream?"
"No. He's with his mom." Her voice softened. "You brought him back."
"Then why do I feel like I got hit by a minotaur and then emotionally gaslit by a wind spirit?"
Diana laughed—a little too hard. Then she looked down. "I should've reached you sooner."
Rein glanced at her. "It's not your fault."
"I'm supposed to be the strong one," she said. "The one who saves people. I didn't."
"You came," Rein said gently. "You all did. That's more than anyone did before."
A silence settled between them.
Diana finally whispered, "You almost died."
Rein's voice was quieter now. "It don't think this was the first time."
Her head snapped up. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing, just a figure of speech."
Diana reached for his hand but stopped midway.
He noticed. "It's okay. I don't break that easily. Just bruise... and occasionally combust."
She smiled faintly. "Seeing how you just went straight for the succubus, you're a man of desires."
"Well, you knew about my past. It's not all a bad experience, mostly"
"I wanted to say sorry but as someone that's revered as a great researcher, you really are an idiot"
"Well, I guess I am", they both laughed, the weight between them finally easing.
Outside, the village still wore its grief like a cloak.
The clatter of hooves echoed down the cobbled street.
A black carriage, sleek and gleaming, pulled through the square. Its silver inlay glinted faintly under the afternoon sun. Two silver-maned horses huffed, halting before the old chapel.
The crowd parted instinctively.
The door clicked open.
Lucius stepped down—robes pristine, eyes sharp. Behind him, a woman in crimson followed, her hood casting her face in shadow.
Lucius surveyed the village in silence, his gaze passing over the grieving families… and finally drifting upward to the infirmary window.
There, two figures sat: one upright in bed, the other still in her chair.
Lucius's lips curled faintly.
"So," he murmured, "the boy survives. Good."