Two days had passed since the attack on Elian's family, and every moment of that time had been steeped in a silent mourning that seemed to seep into the very walls and air.
Maria tried to remain strong for her children, but it was impossible to sustain that mask for long. She did not cry in front of them, yet several times a day a muffled sob escaped through the walls—most often when she withdrew to bathe, where the water could hide the tears but never the pain.
Elise had taken it upon herself to handle everything concerning the burial. Inwardly, she carried the crushing weight of guilt for Arthur's death, a shadow that clung to her mind in every quiet moment. She paid for the embalming and purchased a small coffin—plain, yet dignified—so the body could be laid to rest.
The location had not yet been decided. During the discussions over where the burial should take place, Elian kept silent, sitting beside Emanuelle and trying to distract her with soft words and gentle gestures. She did not fully understand what was happening, but at one point, something in her gaze felt accusatory to him—as if she blamed him for the loss. Perhaps it was only an illusion, the familiar curse of a mind long addicted to self-blame after his sister's death in another life. Still, he chose to ignore it, swallowing the suspicion like so many other pains he had learned to lock away.
Anthony, on the other hand, wore a rehearsed neutrality, carefully avoiding any display of grief in front of the others, especially Maria. He knew how much his mother already carried in her eyes—the weight of despair—and he refused to add to her burden. But inside, each passing hour hollowed him out further, cracking him slowly from within. Elian noticed this—and knew that, without care, those fractures could lead his brother down a path from which there was no return.
"We'll bury him on our own land," Anthony said, answering Elise's question. "Father would have wanted that. And I don't think it's right to leave his body far from the soil where he worked, ate, and lived the best moments of his life."
Maria lifted her gaze to her son. Her eyes were sunken, the sadness carved into her skin and expression. It was the reflection of sleepless nights, reliving the attack and, above all, the mutilated image of Arthur's body.
"I agree with him, Elise," she said, her voice tired and broken. "Arthur wouldn't want to be far from home or buried in just any place."
Her gaze, as she spoke, drifted to the coffin.
It was simple, without luxury. Elise had been willing to buy something refined, worthy even of a man of wealth, but Maria refused. She would not accumulate debt to her—not out of gratitude, nor out of pride.
In the past few days, Maria, Anthony, Emanuelle, and Elian had been sleeping under Elise's roof. The mage had offered them shelter for as long as they needed, but at first, Maria rejected the idea, insisting she couldn't take advantage of Elise's kindness. It took persistent urging to make her face reality.
Where could they live now?
The house was gone. The crops—recently planted—had been burned or trampled. The few animals that had survived Kreld's flames had fled in the chaos. There was no harvest, no livelihood.
Elise had to be firm. There was a limit to how much pride and grief could guide decisions. At that moment, reason had to prevail, even if by force.
"Very well," Elise said in a steady tone. "We'll bury him on your land. As you've asked… and as Arthur would have wanted."
She rose from the table, crossed the room, and went to her bedroom. Moments later, she returned holding the communication amulet—the same one she had used two days earlier to contact Marduk and request aid from the Tower of Wisdom.
Holding it between her fingers, Elise channeled mana into the piece. The amulet glowed with a golden light, pulsing like a living heart.
"Marduk, are you there?" she asked, her voice lined with gravity.
"Yes," came the muffled voice from the other side. The magic of communication was never perfect; the sound carried a distant, hollow tone. "What do you need, Elise?"
Fatigue lingered in his words, perhaps a remnant from the battle against Kreld before Elise and Gremory's arrival.
Marduk was a fourth-rank mage, the same as Gremory, though he lacked great strength in direct combat. His expertise lay in earth manipulation and illusion magic—arts useful for reshaping the battlefield and deceiving the enemy's senses.
Incidentally, the Gift of Vigilance—the ability Elian had earned upon overcoming the first tunnel of the Qliphoth—was an ocular magic of mental nature, capable of striking directly at the opponent's psyche and forcing them to confront their deepest fears.
"I need your help to take Arthur's body to his land. His family wants to bury him there," Elise said without preamble.
On the other end, there was a pause. Elian sensed in that silence that Marduk was weighing his choice. He was under no obligation to agree. Even though Elise had more authority and influence, she was estranged from the order and technically no longer an active member. She could return whenever she wished, true—but the weight of that choice always lingered between them.
"Very well," Marduk replied at last, with a faint sigh. "In an hour, I'll be there with a horse and cart to carry the body."
"Thank you, Marduk," Elise said, bowing slightly, though knowing he could not see her.
The amulet's glow faded, and she tucked it away. She then turned to Maria.
"Maria, get yourself and the children changed. In an hour, we'll head to your property."
"All right, Elise," Maria replied hesitantly. "But… I have nothing to wear… only these."
The dress she wore was simple linen, in shades of green and yellow. Since the attack, all of the family's clothing had been burned. Neither Arthur nor Emanuelle had anything left.
Elian, who had earned a few coins during the week he had spent at Elise's house, offered to buy clothes for everyone. Elise refused, choosing instead to lend them some garments she kept stored at home.
Though not noble, Elise was a mage with years of service—working both for prestigious families and as a mercenary. Back when she was still part of the Tower of Wisdom, her contracts and connections had earned her many Solars. She could have lived as a noble if she wished, but for reasons she kept to herself, she had chosen a quiet village, practicing as a healer. Even now, with her healing and potion sales, her monthly income remained comfortable.
Still, Elian insisted he would at least buy a dress for Emanuelle. It was a promise he had made before leaving for Elise's home—and for him, keeping promises carried a weight far beyond mere words.
He then remembered how that day had unfolded.
To try to lift his sister's spirits, Elian had taken her to the garden behind the house. It was a quiet refuge, enclosed by low moss-covered stone walls, where the wind moved gently, as if in respect for mourning. The scent of freshly opened flowers mingled with the earthy aroma of damp soil, creating an almost soothing air. Red and blue roses rose in the beds like small flames of color, while daisies and orchids bloomed discreetly, dotting the space with delicate touches.
Elian walked beside her in silence, clinging to the serenity of the place. He noticed the petals, the sway of leaves, the distant hum of a bee—any detail that might, for a moment, break the suffocating feeling of loss. He wanted Emanuelle to see it too, to find some comfort in the simple beauty that still remained.
But she seemed distant from the garden. Her eyes wandered over the flowers without truly seeing them. She didn't fully understand what was happening, but she felt the absence: the empty seat at the table, the missing sound of her father's voice, the heavy silence in the mornings. Her sadness was made of unanswered questions and a hollow she didn't know how to name.
Elian noticed and gently squeezed her hand—a small gesture, but heavy with meaning. He said nothing; words would be too fragile. He simply stood there beside her, letting time pass slowly, hoping that this moment, however brief, might give her a shred of peace.
The garden bloomed in vibrant colors, but within them, the season was another—cold, silent, still far from any spring.
That was when Elian remembered the promise.
"Manu, do you remember what we agreed?" he asked, looking at her.
"Yes…" she whispered. "You said if I hit the target five times, you'd buy me a dress."
He watched her speak. There was a sadness in her voice and eyes that cut through him like a blade. Each trace of that pain rekindled the hatred he held for the man who had caused it. But at that moment, he forced the hatred down into the deepest corner of himself. What mattered now was kindling even the smallest light in his sister's day.
"That's right," he confirmed, trying to smile.
He took her hand and led her to a corner of the garden where a tall tree stood, its trunk marked by time.
"I want you to hit that tree five times. Let's see how you're doing after the week we spent apart."
Emanuelle hesitated. The memory of Kreld's attack surged—explosions, fire, the house's walls collapsing around her. For a moment, she thought of giving up magic entirely. But then, she remembered Arthur's words, from a day when he had praised her proudly, telling her she would become a great mage. That memory, and that alone, kept her standing.
"All right," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'll make you regret having to buy me that dress."
The smile she tried to show didn't reach her eyes, but still, she made the effort to appear ready.
Emanuelle positioned herself before the tree, feet slightly apart, just as Elian had taught her before. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to silence the storm of images haunting her since the attack. She drew in a deep breath, letting the cold garden air fill her lungs, and allowed a thread of mana to flow—shaping into a liquid form between her hands.
The first shot came out too fast—an unstable jet of water that broke into droplets before reaching the target. She frowned, biting her lip.
"Focus," Elian said, his voice calm but firm.
The second shot held its shape better, forming a denser stream, but it veered left, striking the trunk several spans away from the mark. Frustration began to weigh on her shoulders. For a moment, she looked down at her wet hands, as if questioning whether she could still do this.
The third shot was more precise—it hit the trunk, though still far from the point Elian had indicated. Even so, he gave a small nod.
"You're getting there…"
She breathed deeply and released the fourth shot. This time, the water struck the center with a sharp crack, scattering small droplets across the bark—a clean hit.
The fifth shot followed quickly, steadier, repeating the last success. With each strike, the sound of water against wood grew sharper, more assured.
The sixth shot also hit the center, tearing a small strip of bark from the tree. The seventh did the same, leaving a dark stain of moisture.
By the eighth, her hands began to tremble. The memory of the fire tried to creep into her mind, but she shut her eyes for a second, recalling Arthur's proud gaze. Then she fired—and hit again.
The ninth was the most beautiful yet: a straight, fast stream that struck the mark with such precision that Elian's lips curved into a broad smile.
Only one remained to fulfill the promise. She inhaled deeply, gathering mana until the water in her hands felt heavy. She pictured only the center of the target, nothing else. Then she released it.
The tenth shot struck the exact point, sending droplets sliding down the trunk to the ground.
"Five hits," Elian said, counting on his fingers. "Promise kept."
Emanuelle lowered her hands, her shoulders relaxing. There was still sadness in her eyes, but also a small flicker of pride. It wasn't just for meeting the goal—it was for proving to herself that she still could.
After training, they headed together toward the village, Elise walking alongside them. The sun was already beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold, and the light filtering through the clouds seemed to soften the weight of the day.