*****
Two days later, the sky hung heavy and gray.
Amon stood over the patch of earth where he had laid his sister to rest, his gaze fixed as though staring long enough might undo the truth. The soil was still damp, with dark clumps clinging together, the scent of it sharp in the cold air.
Beside him, Laura sank to her knees, her small frame shaking under the force of her grief.
"Why… why did you leave us?"
She cried, tears streaming down her cheek. "We could have fixed this. You promised me you'd never leave!"
Her sobs broke the silence, raw and unrelenting. Amon only stood behind her, hollow-eyed and unable to shed a single tear.
Beside their sister's grave were two other graves, their parents'– a grim reminder of how much had already been taken from them. The thought pressed down on them both, whispering who might be next.
Laura carefully set a bouquet of her sister's favorite flowers up on the mound of earth. A cold breeze swept through the cemetery, tugging at the petals until one broke free, spinning away into the gray.
She rose unsteadily to her feet and turned to cling to Amon, her tears soaking into his coat.
"Brother… she's gone. Gone forever."
Amon held her wordlessly, his silence the only comfort he could give.
When he and his sister exited the graveyard's gate, their uncle Rell was waiting for them. A few mourners also came to offer their condolences, but Amon placed his sister in the care of their uncle, whispering to him that he needed a moment alone with himself.
He strolled to the edge of the grounds, where a weathered bench sat beneath a skeletal tree. The air was damp, filled with the scent of earth and wilted flowers.
Lowering himself into the bench, Amon stared into the gray distance, his thoughts hollow and heavy. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brass trinket he had crafted for Hunter.
It was a replacement for the pocket watch she had lost. He had meant it to be a surprise. But now, his hand closed around it uselessly. He would never see her face light up again.
'No… crying won't solve anything.'
He pressed his lips into a thin line, tilting his head back toward the sky as if staring at the gray clouds might dam the tears threatening to spill.
"Amon."
A soft voice cut softly through his thoughts, and he turned, blinking as if surfacing from deep water. A young woman stood a few paces away, her cloak tugged by the cold wind, her eyes holding the kind of sorrow reserved for someone else's pain. Hunter had been like a sister to her, too.
Shame prickled at him, and he quickly looked away, unwilling to let her see him like this. But Riva came anyway. She lowered herself onto the bench with a slow, deliberate quiet, as though afraid even the sound of her steps might fracture him further.
For a long moment, they sat in stillness. Only the creak of the bench and the faint rustle of dry leaves filled the silence. At last, she asked:
"Was it… really suicide?"
"No."
His answer was sharp, certain, and it made Riva turn her head toward him.
He refused to believe it. When he found Hunter's body, she had been broken. Her stomach was slashed deep open, and her skin marked with punctures too numerous to count. Yet someone had dressed her, scrubbed her face until only faint bruises remained, as if trying to hide the torment she endured.
But because her body had been found outside a brothel, the workers there claimed she'd killed herself. The council accepted it without further investigation. What's worse, they branded her a whore who 'could not bear her own shame'. There were clear signs of rape, but no one cared enough to see.
The council had kept her body only long enough to pretend it was being examined, then insisted the burial happened within two days.
Just thinking about it, remembering the look in her eyes hollowed him out.
He knew his sister.
She would never.
Yet everyone believed the lie.
He wanted to scream. Those wounds weren't self-inflicted. They'd left her to die and then smeared her name. She must have been terrified. Alone. Without anyone to help.
"I don't care what society thinks," he said, his anger burning itself as he closed his fist around the brass trinket until its edges bit into his palm. "I'll find the bastard that murdered her. Even if I have to tear the city apart, I'll make them answer."
Riva flinched. The words caught in her throat before she forced it out.
"Murder…?"
For a heartbeat, her expression faltered— disbelief warring with the grief already clouding her face. But as she searched Amon's hollow eyes, she realized he wasn't clinging to denial. He was certain. A shiver went through her, and she wanted to ask how he came to that conclusion. The thought was terrifying… but so was the idea of abandoning Hunter to slander.
Slowly, she laid a hand on his shoulder, her touch warm against the chill.
"We'll prove it. Together."
"Do you think she'll forgive me?" His voice wavered. "I mean… Hunter and I always had a strained relationship. I never got the chance to apologize… for how cruel I was during our last meeting."
Her lips pressed into something that was between a smile and a sigh.
"Hunter never held grudges, Amon. Yes… you two have had your moments, but I don't think she ever hated you. You'll always be her brother."
Amon's chest tightened. He looked at Riva then, really looked. And though her eyes carried grief, there was something there that told him this was not the time to break down, and he averted his gaze again, letting out a breath that wasn't ragged.
He had pushed her away, acted cold, all to silence her talk against the temple. Hunter never said why she hated it, maybe because their parents had been taken by its priests during the plague, but deep down he knew. Corruption rotted at its core.
That's why he tried hard to keep her out. He feared she would end up just like their parents… and he was right.
Was he even worthy to stand at her grave, when he failed to keep her alive?
*****
In the dead of night, when the crimson Moon hung as a thin crescent across the sky, the graveyard lay in silence. Shadows stretched long between the crooked stones.
The wind stirred softly, carrying with it the faint rustle of dry leaves and the grass bending under its touch. Then beneath it all, another whisper, chant-like, and too old to belong to the living, slid through the air.
"Expergiscere, anima dormiens… expergiscere…"
The earth trembled.
A pale hand broke through the soil, fingers clawing against the night.