The gates of the central land groan open.
The legions do not march; they walk with slow and heavy steps. Their banners are torn rags, their armour is dented and scarred. No horns sound their return. No songs are sung. The only sounds are the muffled thud of weary boots on stone, the creak of broken wagon wheels, and the faint, metallic smell of old blood that refuses to leave their steel.
Behind the living comes the silent procession. Wagon after wagon, each draped in solemn black, carries the true cost of victory. The fallen lie in rows, pale and still, dressed in clean formal clothes that can't hide the wounds beneath. Hands are folded on chests, some clutching shattered helmets, others wrapped in the torn cloaks of their comrades.
The citizens lining the streets fall utterly silent. Whispers die in throats. Mothers pull children close, turning their faces away from the grim harvest. Shopkeepers and merchants remove their hats, their faces etched with a shared, profound grief. There are no cheers, only a heavy, respectful silence that is more powerful than any roar of acclaim.
Julie walks at the forefront, a faint crimson haze clinging to her like a shroud, her eyes fixed on some distant point, her expression carved from cold stone. Beside her, Amazel rides, her back straight, her head held high in a display of strength only she feels isn't real. Her fingers tremble on the reins, and every few steps, her eyes betray her, flicking back to the black-draped wagons. Each one was a weight of command and guilt that settled squarely on her soul. Even the wind seems to still its voice in respect.
The procession halts before the great temple. At its entrance, Hades and Hectate stand waiting, their faces impassive monuments in the sea of grief. Amazel and Druvak step forward and kneel.
Druvak's voice breaks the silence, steady but carrying the weight of countless losses. "My Lord, we have returned. We are victorious... but the price was 450 of our bravest brothers and sisters."
Hades nods, his gaze sweeping over the wagons. "Their sacrifice will be remembered. Tomorrow, we will hold a funeral worthy of their valour. A pillar of black marble will be erected in the central square. Upon it, every single name will be etched in gold, so that their memory may never fade from this world."
That night, the bodies are returned to their families. Grief spreads through the city like wildfire. Mothers cling to lifeless sons, fathers collapse to their knees, and wives wail until their throats give out. Some faint in shock, unable to bear the sight. The streets echo with sobs.
Druvak sits beneath the shade of a tree, silent. Gobuka's laughter haunts him, the sharp grin during duels, the playful mocking, the spark in his eyes. He is not just a student. He is like a son to him. Druvak wants to cry, but no tears come. Only silence.
Other commanders mourn too, but none so deeply as he.
---
At dawn, the temple bell tolls.
All the fallen are laid out in formal robes, their armour polished one last time. The square is filled with citizens, soldiers, and commanders, but all are silent and waiting.
Hades steps forward, his shadow stretching long across the marble.
"Today," his voice echoes, deep and unshakable, "we stand on victory purchased by their sacrifice. Their names will not be forgotten. As god of death, I could restore them… but that would break the balance of the cosmos. Yet I will give them what I can: a brighter next life."
'Twilight Flame.' He raises his hands. Twilight Flame flares to life, shimmering with gold, red, and violet flames. He joins his palms, then lifts them high.
'Reincarnation's Festivity.'
The flames rise like a living firework, bursting without sound or heat. Golden sparks rain down, touching the fallen one by one. Their bodies dissolve into glowing orbs of light that float skyward, drifting, rising, scattering into the cosmos.
Warmth brushes against the mourners' skin, easing their hearts. It is as though the dead whisper back: Do not cry. We move on.
When the last light fades, silence holds. But it is softer now, touched by peace.
---
Later, inside the temple office, Amazel and Julie knock.
"Come in," Hades' voice calls.
They enter. Hades sits with reports stacked around him, Hectate at his side. He glances up. "What brings you here?"
Amazel steps forward and bows her head. "Lord Hades… Lady Hectate… I am not fit to remain general."
Hectate's brows draw together. "What do you mean?"
Amazel swallows hard. "I am too kind. Too soft-hearted. My emotions cloud my judgment. Enemies can exploit this weakness. My failures have already cost too many lives." Her voice is tight, the memory of the bombed refugees clear in her mind.
Hectate sighs softly, stands, and crosses to her. She brushes Amazel's hair back like a mother would a child and hugs her. "Foolish girl. You carry blame that is not yours. Any general would have bled in your place; many would have done far worse."
"But…" Amazel's voice cracks. "I can't carry it."
Ah crap! She is definitely after retirement, I can't afford to lose such a great asset. I have to pull her into something. Hectate pulls her into a gentle embrace. "Then you won't. If war breaks you, let peace hold you." She slips a parchment onto the table.
Amazel picks it up and unrolls it. "Principal... of the Underworld Academy?"
"Yes," Hades states. "We intend to establish an institution unlike any other. A school that will teach history, strategy, magic, and combat to the next generation. We need a leader of impeccable integrity and strength to shape it. We can think of no one better."
Hectate leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper only Amazel can hear. "The pay is excellent. The work is minimal and mostly administrative oversight. You'd simply manage the staff and occasionally inspire the students."
Amazel's despair visibly evaporates, replaced by a flicker of her old energy. Minimal work? Her eyes light up. "I... yes. I accept!" She practically snatches the quill from Hades's desk and signs the scroll with a flourish.
From the corner, Julie watches, her inhuman calm momentarily broken by wide eyes. General comes for retirement and gets caught in a headmaster role she doesn't even realise... Lady Hectate is terrifying.
Hades' eyes flicker toward Julie, as if he has heard her thoughts. "And you? Why are you here?"
Julie collects herself, the crimson haze around her tightening slightly. "Lord Hades. My awakening. I understand the need for a deep connection to a concept, but I have neither divine energy nor any divine bloodline. How can this be possible?"
Hades folds his hands. "Two things are needed to awaken godhood: first, understanding its concept. Second, enough energy to ignite it. Divine blood makes it easier, yes, because they can easily manipulate energy. One thing everyone misunderstands is that divine energy is not the only energy used to awaken." His gaze sharpens. "And in your case, you used demonic energy to awaken. And also, you are not a demon."
The room stills. All eyes turn to Julie. Julie freezes in place and murmurs, "Not…a demon?"
"You are one-third demon. One-third dark dominos folk. And one-third…Titan. Your ancestry is vast."
A wave of uncertainty washes over Julie, leaving her momentarily speechless. Hectate notices her distress and steps closer, offering a comforting presence. "It doesn't matter. Even if you're not a demon, you're still you." Looking into Hectate's eyes, Julie begins to find her footing. Yes, what truly matters is that I am still myself.
"You stand on equal footing with Amazel and Druvak in strength, and your feats speak for themselves," Hades says, his voice calm but commanding. "For that reason, I offer you Amazel's general role. Lead her legion."
Julie hesitates only a moment. She takes a glance at Amazel. Amazel makes an okay sign with her fingers and nods. Julie nods and kneels. "It would be my honour."
"Good," Hades says. "This is your first task. Tomorrow, gather all soldiers and citizens. Men to the right, women to the left. All must attend. Bring an extra-sized cloth. And give this to Mia and Druvak." He hands her two sealed parchment.
The two bow and leave.
Hectate leans against Hades' shoulder, her voice low. "Her godhood… unusual."
"She holds the Godhood of Slaughter," Hades replies. "It is a subdomain, just below my Underworld authority. Equal in rank to Death and Magic. Her potential is immense. If she can control it, then everything is fine. If not, then the worst is waiting."
Hectate frowns. "Then let's hope she does not drown in it."