The wind blew stronger, carrying a few dry leaves into the grave, where they would soon rest upon the coffin. Maria's gaze followed their descent, as if she could already see the end of the ritual before it had even begun.
The coffin was carried with care to the edge of the open earth. The silence around them felt heavier than the weight of the wood itself.
Gremory positioned himself first, his hands steady on the side handles, his grave eyes fixed ahead, avoiding Maria's face. Opposite him stood Marduk, holding just as firmly, though his movements bore a slower, almost ceremonial weight. Anthony, smaller than both, gripped the front with both hands, his face tightened with effort. His feet sank slightly into the loosened soil, but he never let go—not for a single moment—as if this act were his last way of standing beside his father.
Elian, standing next to Maria, watched each motion. There was something both painful and solemn in seeing Arthur's body entrusted to the earth by those who, in one way or another, shared in the grief or the respect for him.
Anthony clenched his teeth, willing the trembling in his arms to stop. His eyes never left the coffin. There were no tears—only that quiet, unyielding determination to see the task through.
With slow, synchronized movements, they lowered the coffin into the grave. The wood met the bottom with a muted thud, swallowed almost entirely by the earth. In that instant, Maria gripped Elian's hand with desperate force, as though anchoring herself to keep from collapsing.
The wind passed through the trees, carrying the faint perfume of wildflowers, yet for Maria, the air felt thick—almost impossible to draw into her lungs. Elian remained beside her, steady, feeling the heat of her hand and understanding, without words, that her grip was a silent plea not to be left alone—not even for a breath.
Emanuelle, until then silent, broke into despair.
It was as if the muffled sound of the coffin touching the earth had shattered something inside her. Her breath grew shallow, her eyes brimmed and overflowed, and her hands began to shake. She stepped forward twice, trying to see better, and her voice came out trembling but loud enough to tear through the silence.
"No! Don't put him there!" she cried, her throat tight, each word a knot of pain. "He's going to be alone… he's going to be in the dark!"
Her small body shook with ragged sobs, tears streaming so fast she had no time to wipe them away. Maria, driven by instinct, knelt and wrapped her arms around the girl, trying to shield her from her grief with the warmth of her own body.
"Shhh…" she whispered, though her voice faltered. "I know, my love… I know…"
Emanuelle struggled in her mother's grasp, pressing her small hands against Maria's arms to break free. She wanted to run to the grave's edge, to pull the coffin back, as if the inevitable could still be undone.
"He can't stay there!" she insisted, her voice muffled against Maria's shoulder. "He'll be cold! He'll… he'll miss us!"
Maria held her tighter, ignoring the sting rising in her own eyes. That childlike grief—raw, unfiltered—echoed her own pain, but with a purity that cut deeper.
Elian watched the scene, feeling the weight of each of his sister's words. Inside, he knew there was no answer that could soothe her. No explanation, no comfort that could make sense of such an absence.
With each of Emanuelle's sobs, Maria swayed gently, as though she could cradle the pain away. But there was no calm to be found here—only denial, fear, and the cold emptiness settling in, as bitter as the soil that would soon cover the coffin.
Marduk was the first to move. Silently, he took the spade propped beside the grave and drove it into the damp earth. The deep sound of metal slicing through soil echoed among them, mingling with the distant rustle of leaves. Every motion was measured, heavy, as though he were burying not only the body but also the weight of everything that had happened.
A chill breeze began to rise, carrying with it the scent of coming rain. Somewhere far off, the slow, mournful toll of funeral bells rolled across the air, draping the moment in an inevitable, sorrowful melody. The first drops began to fall—light at first, then steadily heavier—drawing dark circles in the soil around the grave.
Emanuelle, still clinging to Maria's dress, wept without pause. Her sobs came uneven, broken by gasps that stole her breath. Maria kept her arms locked around her, shielding her from the rain as best she could, but nothing could protect her from the pain.
The sound of shovels repeated. Earth fell upon the coffin with a hollow, muffled noise, and with every handful, Emanuelle curled in tighter, as though she could hide from that sound. The vivid red of her dress stood out sharply against the grey morning—a cruel contrast to the darkness closing in below.
Gremory stepped forward to help, his expression serious yet respectful, while the shovels steadily closed the void. Elise remained close to Maria and Emanuelle, her ceremonial mantle growing heavier under the rain, though she paid it no mind.
When at last the final handful of earth was cast, and the grave leveled with the ground, a heavy silence fell over them all. The rain, now steady, traced paths down their faces, mingling with tears, and for a moment, no one moved.
It was then that Anthony broke.
Until now, he had stood silent, his face set, his eyes locked on the coffin as it was buried. But when the grave was sealed, the fragile thread of his restraint snapped. He fell to his knees in the wet earth, his hands digging into the mud, and the cry tore free—sudden, deep, as if it had been caged inside him for years.
"Father…" was all he managed before his voice broke entirely.
Maria looked at him with a mixture of pain and helplessness, but she could not release Emanuelle, who still clung to her. Elise knelt beside Anthony, placing a hand on his shoulder without speaking. Sometimes, words were nothing—only presence mattered.
The rain kept falling, washing over the freshly sealed ground, as the muffled toll of the bells faded into the distance. That piece of earth, now marked forever, held not only Arthur's body but a part of each one left behind.
Elian had stood motionless through it all, as though each shovelful of dirt weighed down upon his own chest. The cold of the rain seeped through his tunic, clinging the fabric to his skin, but he did not move. His eyes stayed fixed on the exact place where Arthur now lay, as if trying to burn it into memory, to never lose its shape.
When Anthony fell to his knees, the sound of his brother's weeping cut through Elian like a blade. There were no screams—only a raw, torn lament, the kind that clings to memory. Elian wanted to approach, to place a hand on his shoulder, to tell him it would be all right—but he couldn't. Because he didn't believe it would.
Anthony's face, twisted with grief, merged in Elian's mind with the oldest, cruelest memories from his other life. The same look he had seen in his own reflection when he had lost everything. The same helplessness, the same silent rage, the same choking knot in the throat.
He clenched his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palms. There was nothing he could do to undo this, and that impotence burned hotter than any wound. For a moment, the image of the man responsible for Arthur's death rose in his mind—clear, vivid. His hatred was not a flame. It was a blade—cold, sharpened, waiting for its time.
The rain poured harder, running down his face and hair, but Elian did not wipe it away. He didn't want anyone to know he was crying. He let the rain hide the tears that escaped despite him.
Beside him, Maria still cradled Emanuelle, rocking her faintly like a small child. Elise, silent, stayed near Anthony. Gremory and Marduk stood guard over the grave, their presence steady and respectful.
Elian stepped forward, closer to the freshly closed earth. His gaze locked on the rain-darkened soil, and a thought formed—solid and heavy: I will make him pay.
He did not speak it aloud. He buried the vow within himself, like a seed planted in that same soil, waiting for its time to grow. And in that moment, beneath the rain, with the distant toll of the bells still echoing faintly, Elian knew this promise would not be forgotten.