The sky over the lands of House Valemortis wept in tones of pale gray. The chilly morning breeze carried a heavy silence, broken only by the low murmurs of those present. The dark wooden coffin lay open at the edge of the freshly dug grave, awaiting its final rest.
Lord Vaelric and Lady Altheria observed their daughter from a respectful distance. Their hearts were tight with pain, but their eyes remained fixed on Elyandra, who stood motionless at the graveside. She wore an austere black dress, the color of mourning contrasting sharply with her usual palid skin. Her face, once so expressive, was now a mask of emptiness, marked by shimmering trails of tears that continued to flow silently. Her gaze was fixed on the interior of the coffin, where Siris lay wrapped in an identical black dress, her face serene, turned toward the sky.
Lady Altheria took a hesitant step toward her daughter, arm extended in a gesture of maternal comfort. But Lord Vaelric stopped her gently, his hand on her arm. A silent look passed between them—a tacit understanding of the need to let Elyandra face her grief in her own way. With a resigned sigh, Lady Altheria stepped back, joining her husband's side once more.
Slowly, as if moved by an invisible force, Elyandra approached the coffin. Her small steps were hesitant, each one laden with the weight of loss. She stopped at the edge, eyes fixed on Siris's pale, motionless face. The gentle breeze lightly stirred her white hair, as if nature itself lamented the departure of the one who had called her a "little piece of cloud." Siris's eyes were closed, forever sealing the vivacity that had so illuminated Elyandra's life.
Elyandra's parents exchanged a final, sorrow-laden glance before slowly walking away from the graveside, allowing their daughter a moment of solitary farewell. Elyandra's small figure remained still, her attention completely absorbed in Siris's serene face.
A man in white and gold robes, a priest of the Church of Divine Light, approached Elyandra with slow, respectful steps. His expression was solemn, marked by a reluctant sadness.
— Lady Elyandra — he said in a low voice, his words echoing softly in the morning silence —, the light that guided Siris has welcomed her back into its eternal embrace. Her body, now at rest, will be preserved by divine blessings and consecrated magical properties, maintaining the beauty you knew. May peace be in your heart.
Even in the face of the priest's comforting words, Elyandra showed no visible reaction. Her gaze remained fixed on Siris's inert face, the same empty expression and constant trail of silent tears flowing down her pale cheeks. The words of faith and hope seemed to find no echo in her deep, silent pain. The world around her faded away, leaving only the immutable image of the one who had always been by her side.
The priest observed the young noble for a moment, sensing the depth of her grief and the absence of any reaction to his words. With a respectful nod, he said in a soft, understanding tone:
— Lady Elyandra, I will leave you alone to say your goodbyes. I will call the servants for the burial when you are ready. May the light comfort you.
With those words, the priest slowly walked away, leaving Elyandra alone with her mourning once more. It was clear that Siris was being held there, in the open air, before her body was finally laid to rest in the Valemortis cemetery—an eternal resting place reserved for the ancestors of the noble family. The thought of Siris, her vibrant and warm Siris, lying forever beside the cold, solemn statues of the Valemortis, was a thought that hung heavy in the air, carrying the somber finality of loss.
Silent tears continued to flow down Elyandra's pale face, each drop a fragment of her pain. After a long moment of oppressive silence, her childish voice, choked with crying, finally broke the morning's mourning.
— Siris... — she whispered, her voice only a trembling thread of sound. — You said... you promised you would protect me... forever. Your job... shouldn't have ended... not yet.
The silence answered her desperate plea—a cold and definitive silence. There was no comforting sound of Siris's voice, nor the warmth of her gentle smile. The absence was an abyss opening before Elyandra, swallowing any hope of a response.
Emotion finally overflowed, breaking the mask of emptiness on her face. Tears now poured freely, her small shoulders shaking with convulsive sobs. She lowered her gaze to the ground, the salty drops staining the cold earth.
— I... I didn't like you at first... did you know that? — she confessed, her voice broken by crying. — You were... different. But... with time... I... I started to... to love you, Siris. So much... so much that... I can't imagine... my life... without you... by my side.
Her voice became a desperate murmur, laden with an overwhelming childish vulnerability.
— I don't know... if I even have the will to do anything anymore... I just... I just wanted... you to open your eyes... one more time... and give me... a hug... Just one more... please, Siris... just one more hug.
In the midst of the searing pain, Elyandra's mind began to pick up fragments of long-stored knowledge. Her tutor's words about spiritual magic echoed in her thoughts like tempting whispers in the dark. "A magic that transcends reality and existence... controlling life and death..."
The mental echoes intensified, weaving a tapestry of dark possibilities. "Life and death... control... bringing back..." The idea, once distant and theoretical, now pulsed with desperate urgency.
— Yes... — Elyandra murmured, her voice hoarse and broken, as if speaking to an invisible force. — I can... I can bring you back, Siris.
With a desperate, childish determination, she raised her small, trembling hands and placed them over Siris's cold, inert face. Tears continued to flow, wetting the servant's pale skin.
— I'm going to bring you back, Siris... I will... — she repeated, her voice choked with tears, her fingers caressing the face as cold as a block of ice. The reality of death, the palpable absence of warmth and life, contrasted cruelly with the desperate promise echoing from her childish lips.
Elyandra closed her eyes, concentrating all her will and despair. From her small hands, a translucent, ethereal, and unstable magical light began to emanate. The pale rays extended, slowly seeping into Siris's cold and inert skin, like roots seeking a long-extinct source of life. A faint, trembling smile appeared on Elyandra's lips, a thin hope dancing in her watery eyes.
However, before she could deepen her magic, before she could commit a potentially catastrophic mistake driven by pain, a firm and implacable hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back with surprising force. Elyandra was abruptly snatched away from the coffin, her small body stumbling backward.
With wide, confused eyes, she turned to face whoever had interrupted her. Standing before her was Dalia, her expression neutral as always, but her dark eyes carried a cold intensity and a clear stance of reprimand.
— Lady Elyandra — Dalia said, her voice calm but firm as steel —, have you decayed so far into your grief that you would consider such a... stupid action?
— Let me go, Dalia! — Elyandra implored, her voice sharp and desperate, trying to pull away from the firm hand holding her. — I have to do this! I have to save Siris! She protected me... now it's my turn to protect her!
Dalia did not yield, her hand remaining firm as a claw. Her dark eyes locked onto Elyandra's with a severe intensity.
— No, Lady Elyandra. Siris died fulfilling her role. She defended you until her last breath. And you... — Dalia's voice became harsher — you did not have the power to heal her while she still breathed. What foolish illusion makes you believe that now, in the face of absolute death, you possess such a capacity? You have neither the knowledge nor the power to challenge the very essence of life and death.
Dalia pulled Elyandra closer, forcing the young noble to face her own watery eyes.
— Siris died with honor, Lady Elyandra. It was a natural death in this world. And that... cannot be reversed just because we wish it. This is what makes us human. Finitude. Loss. The acceptance that death is not a game that can be restarted.
— You don't understand! — Elyandra cried, her voice a painful sob. — There is a pain... here... — she put her hand to her chest, clutching the fabric of her dress — a pain so strong that I don't... I don't understand why I am feeling this!
Dalia let go of Elyandra's arm, and the young noble's legs gave way, making her fall to the ground in convulsive crying.
— She... she entered my life so much... — Elyandra murmured, tears flowing abundantly — that now... it's as if... there is no more strength left...
Dalia immediately crouched down, pulling Elyandra close and wrapping her in a tight, unexpected embrace. Her voice, though still hoarse, softened slightly.
— Siris loved you, Lady Elyandra. In her own way, with every fiber of her being. She would choose to die a thousand times, without hesitation, if it meant your safety. What you feel now... this pain... is what makes you human. Remember this pain, Lady Elyandra. Remember it forever.
Days dragged on like centuries at the Valemortis mansion, each one laden with the silent weight of absence. Elyandra had retreated to her room, locking the door to the outside world. She refused any new servant who tried to fill the void left by Siris. The food brought to her remained untouched, the tray forgotten by the door like a silent reminder of her refusal to participate in the life that continued without her friend.
Lady Altheria visited Elyandra's room countless times a day, her soft, worried voice calling her daughter's name through the closed door. The only response she received was the oppressive silence emanating from within. When she opened the door with the spare key, she always found the same scene: a small body curled up under the covers, immersed in a self-imposed darkness.
Finally, after her wife's countless failed attempts, Lord Vaelric decided to intervene. His presence, usually imposing and resolute, now carried an aura of contained apprehension as he approached Elyandra's door. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the cold doorknob, before knocking gently.
— Elyandra — he called, his voice deep but carrying a rare tenderness. — May I come in?
Silence answered his question. Lord Vaelric sighed, the pain of Siris's loss affecting him too, though his expression was more contained. With a slow movement, he opened the door and entered the room plunged in shadow. The only light entering was a thin thread through the drawn curtains, barely illuminating the small figure curled under the covers—a body that seemed to have lost all its vitality, all its will to exist.
Lord Vaelric had always been a man of few words, his emotions rarely showing on his austere expression. In the dimness of Elyandra's room, he moved with uncommon slowness. The small bulge under the covers indicated his daughter's presence, a refuge of pain and silence. Elyandra noticed her father's approach, feeling the weight of his gaze through the fabric, but remained motionless.
Lord Vaelric stopped by the bed, the sight of that small figure wrapped in her own grief cutting his heart in a way few things ever had. He stared at the inert form for a few seconds, a whirlwind of contained emotions stirring inside him. Then, with an almost inaudible sigh, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress giving way slightly under his weight, just inches from his daughter's small fortress of pain. The silence between them was thick, laden with unspoken words and a shared sadness.
Lord Vaelric's deep voice broke the oppressive silence of the room.
— When I first found Siris, she was not the person you knew. Far from it. She was a criminal, an outlaw with a frightening precocity.
He paused briefly, as if the memories transported him to a dark time.
— She was only twelve years old. Her eyes carried a bitterness I have rarely seen in adult men. Her features were hardened by the street, by survival. There was no trace of the kindness or the smile she offered you.
Lord Vaelric continued, his voice carrying an almost somber tone.
— Her crimes... ranged from small thefts of food to survive to violent assaults against those who tried to harm her. She was astute, savage, and incredibly dangerous for her age. A true criminal who learned to fight and steal so as not to die in the cruel streets of Darkport. She was a skilled thief, capable of disappearing into shadows like a ghost, and a relentless fighter. The law sought her, and her reputation, even at such a young age, was already feared in the city's dark alleys.
Under the covers, her father's words echoed in Elyandra's mind, painting a dark and unexpected image of the Siris she knew. Slowly, a hesitant curiosity began to sprout amidst her pain.
"Darkport..." Elyandra thought, remembering her studies. "A village of such low caste it was barely considered part of the kingdom... a den of criminals and outlaws. It functioned almost as a black market, a place where the law of the Empire of Divine Light seemed unable to reach, or perhaps preferred to ignore."
The image of her gentle Siris, the warm and loyal protector, contrasted violently with the dark description of her past. A hint of interest, despite her deep mourning, pulled her out of her isolation. Slowly, hesitantly, she moved, emerging from under the covers like a pale flower blooming in the dark. Her eyes were still watery and her expression carried sadness, but her attention was now focused on her father's back. She watched him in silence, waiting for him to continue unraveling the enigmatic past of her beloved Siris.
Lord Vaelric proceeded, his voice maintaining the same calm and reserved tone.
— At that time, I was leading an operation to dismantle some criminal organizations plaguing the Empire's periphery. We were tracking a specific group, suspected of particularly heinous activities. I remember the night we approached an abandoned warehouse, a possible hideout of theirs. I was in the lead, my personal guard right behind me, ready to raid.
He paused briefly, a nearly imperceptible frown crossing his face.
— But when we entered, the scene we found was... unexpected. There were bodies everywhere, criminals struck down with surprising precision and ferocity. And in the middle of that chaos, moving like a lethal shadow, was a small, agile figure, attacking the few who still resisted with a skill bordering on the supernatural. Even in the darkness, her youth was evident.
Lord Valemortis's eyes fixed for a moment on a distant point.
— I stood there, watching. My men did too. It was like watching a dance, where that figure, despite her age, was the master. In a few minutes, not a single criminal was left standing. It was then that she revealed herself. Siris. She had allowed herself to be captured by that group, infiltrating their base for the sole purpose of destroying them from within.
The next revelation carried even greater weight.
— We discovered that specific group... they didn't limit themselves to crimes within the Empire. They trafficked people, selling slaves to nobles from kingdoms beyond our borders, to those who did not bow to the divine light and practiced unimaginable atrocities. Siris, even so young, had taken it upon herself to put an end to that abomination.
— When the fight ended — Lord Valemortis continued —, Siris noticed our presence. Her eyes, once focused on her targets, turned toward us. They were bitter eyes, suspicious and laden with defensive hostility. Instantly, she assumed a fighting stance, small but tense and ready to attack at any moment.
He paused.
— But it was that girl's grit that caught my attention. Not just her skill in combat, which was surprising, but the savage determination in her eyes, the readiness to fight anyone who approached. It was the mark of someone who had never known kindness. Even when I approached, showing no hostile intent, she remained in her position, every muscle in her body prepared for the attack. The deep mistrust rooted in her soul was palpable.
— With great caution and... I must admit, with an uncommon persuasion for me — Lord Valemortis proceeded, a slight trace of something that could almost be a nostalgic smile crossing his lips for a moment —, I managed to convince her to lower her weapons. It wasn't easy. But there was something... a spark of wild intelligence in her eyes, a latent capacity that made me insist. I proposed that she join me.
There was a brief pause, the silence of the room again filled only by the soft breathing of both. Elyandra, now sitting beside her father on the edge of the bed, her small bare feet touching the cold floor, looked at him.
— Please — she asked in a low, melancholy tone —, could you continue?
In Elyandra's mind, surprise bubbled alongside persistent sadness. "Father... talking so much? And about Siris? He was never one for long conversations, let alone about someone's past."
She observed her father's imposing silhouette. "He seems... different. More loose, perhaps? Or is it just the gravity of the situation making him open up?"
Curiosity, however, won out over her initial confusion. The dark image of the young criminal contrasted so strongly with the gentle and protective Siris she knew. It was as if two distinct people inhabited the same body. The need to understand this transformation consumed her. She needed to know more. She needed to understand how that wild girl from the streets of Darkport had become the Siris she loved so much.