The morning sun cast long shadows across Tigranakert as Ledas and Olaf made their way to the Church of the Mother of Mercy. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the solemn tolling of church bells echoed through the streets.

Ledas's mind wandered to happier times, just days ago. Finn and Flynn, the ginger twins, had been arguing over a new juggling and miming routines. "We should add more flips, and less miming, folk are getting tired of mime-play" Finn had insisted, his freckled face scrunched in concentration. Flynn had rolled his eyes, "And break our necks? No thanks. I am not Arty." Their bickering as mimes had been as much a part of the act as the juggling itself.

Arty would do a backflip on the rope and fall into the haystack dramatically. "Oh nooo, I broke my neck."

He would bend his neck in an almost unnatural position. "Just kidding, but if you want I can teach you how to do flips." smiling with his teeth.

Olaf would look at Arty with disapproval while Ledas would giggle like a little girl, dropping one of the props from his sleeve.

Now, such memories felt like ghosts, hunting both Olaf and Ledas.

The Archbishop led a Requiem Mass, offering prayers for the souls lost in the monstrous attack. The streets were crowded with hundreds of people. Despite being at a great distance, Ledas and Olaf could hear the priest loud and clear. "Mother of Mercy, accept these poor souls into your warm embrace…

Ledas, not a follower of the faith, was surprised to feel a soothing balm on his emotional wounds. Tears flowed freely down his face as the full realization hit him: he would never see Arty's eager grin, never hear the twins' playful banter again. The pain was raw, all-consuming, yet somehow, he sensed it would eventually fade.

He wasn't the only one feeling this way. A girl and her father, holding her in his arms next to him, had the same expressions. This was divine magic, and those who could feel it also felt the intention: pure and comforting, easing their collective sorrow.

"Guide them into your eternal light so the souls of the pure could open their wings as angels and look at us from above, guiding and protecting us from the forces of evil…" the Archbishop continued. " Guide the children to Norits of Rebirth, so they can start their lives again… and bless the souls of those who sacrificed themselves to hold off the beast, so they can fulfill their duty in eternal glory."

An hour later, Ledas and Olaf joined the procession to a large graveyard outside town. There they placed the bodies into the graves, it was customary in Arshakion for family and close ones to cover the bodies with the soil themselves. Ledas didn’t know much about the world and traditions in different places and the ritualistic meanings behind them, for him every spadeful of earth that fell onto the cheap casket ringed with agony.

No one spoke as people were filling the graves, only the falling dirt and sobbing were heard. Wooden plates marked the final resting places of their friends, and placing them was an informal signal that people could speak now. Ledas knelt before Arty's grave, his throat tight.

"Arty," he whispered. "I hope you pass on as a kid and the Merciful Mother guides you to Norits. Maybe in ten years, maybe twenty, we'll see each other again. We definitely will." He stood, moving towards the twins' graves where Olaf stood, his broad shoulders slumped in grief.

"Hey, here you are!" A familiar voice cut through Ledas's reverie. Nick, the owner and the innkeeper of Vishap's Belly, approached very slightly inebriated. He had a bottle of brownish liquid in his hand offering it to Ledas. "My condolences. Your brothers were really fine lads."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Ledas accepted the bottle, taking a sip. It tasted like weak mead. "Yeah, they were, glad to see you alive Nick." he managed.

Nick nodded solemnly. "Well, that’s thanks to you, saved my and a few of my friends’ lives. I'd have bled out if not for you and your magic." He gestured to a small group nearby. "There are quite a few people who'd like to thank you too, and some are not from town. And thank you for what you did, master mage."

"I'm not a master mage," Ledas protested weakly. "but you're welcome. You would have done the same." He tried to give the bottle back, but Nick raised his hand.

“Keep it.” Nick's eyes softened. "I wouldn't have run towards the beast. If you need anything, I'll try my best to arrange it. About others, should I ask them to approach later?" He glanced at the graves, then back at Ledas.

“No, its fine. ” Ledas gulped and took a deep breath, he needed at least some distraction.

"Thank you, young sir," A younger man with his head bandaged and a walking stick addressed him first. "If not for you, I would have left my daughter an orphan and my wife a widow. Sadly, my house collapsed, so this is all I can offer."

He passed Ledas a decorative brass lantern; it looked like an heirloom. Ledas didn't recognize the man, nor the woman or child who accompanied him.

"Thank you. It's nice to hear that I at least helped someone." Ledas looked down at the nameplate with "Arthur" written on it, his face impassive.

"Thirteen souls." A light-haired woman in black clothes interjected. "That's how many people you saved from dying until the priests arrived. Don't sell yourself short, young mage." Her voice was harsh for someone saying encouraging words. "That includes my brother in the tavern. He lost his leg, so he asked to thank you in his stead." She passed Ledas a dagger in its sheath with a large ornamented pommel. "He won't be swingin' it much anyway."

Ledas nodded mechanically, taking the gift. An older couple offered Ledas and Olaf to stay at a farm a few days from Tigranakert with no limit if they would need a place to stay and a fine riding horse in a year when one grew up.

One man who looked like a knight or a mercenary nodded at Ledas and handed him an envelope. Ledas nodded back, his emotional exhaustion evident. He could clearly see that the boy was trying to be left alone.

As the crowd began to disperse, Ledas opened the envelope given by the armed man. Inside was a recommendation letter to participate in the newly created Tigranakert's mage's association examination without the fee. It was signed by some Sir Alfred Ledas never heard about. He looked at Olaf.

"Have you decided to join the guards to learn more about the attack?" Ledas asked, his voice flat.

"Yes, you heard yourself. No one talked about the perpetrators, as if it was a tornado, not an attack. You noticed it too, right?"

"Yes. I was invited to try into the national mage's association. I guess I can try to learn more there," Ledas responded, his tone unchanged.

"So you will stop hiding that you are a mage?"

"You saw the line gathered towards me. I guess there is no point when I get an endorsement from a knight, and I ain't leaving till I find and destroy the bastards who did this." Ledas' eyes glowed blue for a second as the air turned slightly colder, making Olaf take a small step back.

"You looked scary right now, mate." Olaf was tense.

"Oh, sorry," Ledas mumbled, taking a deep breath. The hostile aura around him dispersed. He opened his mirror locket to see his face; it looked slightly pale, so he drank a bit of mead left by Nick to fix it.

"Let's go. We have work to do." Olaf was stern, and his expression dark. Ledas's expression mirrored that, though his eyes remained hollow. The two silently left the graveyard.