A cold rain fell upon Ebonheim, the droplets weaving through the ancient Eldergrove and splattering against the rooftops of the village. The chill wind carried the scent of wet earth and something else, something that stung the nostrils, the bitter fragrance of loss. The storm of the Elemental Conflux had passed, leaving in its wake the residue of sorrow. Gravestones of wood and stone sprouted like dark mushrooms amidst the labyrinth of dirt paths in the village.
Ebonheim stood on the periphery, her vibrant gold eyes, normally the incarnation of the sun's brightness, dulled by the veil of dreary mist that shrouded her heart. Her iridescent hair, usually dancing with life, lay flat against her, soaked through by the rain. Her silken white dress clung to her skin, weighing down her limbs and making her sluggish as she trudged to the center of the village.
The villagers mourned around her, each wrapped in their own world of sorrow, their whispered prayers mingling with the drizzle. They gathered at the communal graveyard, each taking turns to visit their fallen kin and honor their memory with prayers and eulogies, before taking to their homes to mourn alone.
Her hands gently caressed the wood of the newly crafted headstones, each one a testament to a life given in service to the village. She gazed down at the first of the graves, belonging to a farmer who had taken up arms to protect his home. His name was Leiv, a simple man who had dedicated his life to tilling the soil and nurturing life from it. Now, he lay beneath it, surrendered to the same cycle of life and death he had once controlled.
Another headstone marked the grave of Caleb. A young man of only twenty summers, he had left behind a family—a mother, a father, and an infant sister. His smile had been infectious, lighting up the village with its mirth, and his comrades that joined him on the morning guard shift had agreed on one thing: he had always been the first to volunteer for any task that needed doing.
Ebonheim glanced up as an elderly woman approached her with a small smile and placed a woven wreath of flowers on Leiv's grave. Then, the woman shuffled to the side, making room for a young woman who placed a similar wreath on Caleb's grave. The young woman looked up to meet Ebonheim's gaze, her eyes meeting Ebonheim's own before she nodded to her and left.
The rain died down, the droplets now falling with a gentler patter against her skin.
On the fringes of the village, the Aslankoyash tribe, once considered invaders, were now grieving alongside their newfound family. Their funerary rites were different; They believed in celebrating life, not mourning death. With their vibrant body paintings and haunting, solemn songs, they honored their fallen. Serrandyl, her wild crimson mane reflecting the firelight, led the ritual, her voice raising in an anthem of life, not of death. The echo of her primal roar, a final salute to their fallen warriors, carried through the village.
The bodies of those fallen who were born from the same homeland as Bjorn and Thorsten, lay atop large pyres, waiting to be burned so their essence could find peace and move on to whatever waited in the beyond. The warriors who had chosen to protect Ebonheim and her village were treated with respect, their bodies being removed from their battle gear and laid on bedding of grass and leaves to ease their passage into the afterlife.
She looked on as each funeral pyre was lit, the flames leaping skyward as if reaching for the heavens. A tear slipped from the corner of her golden eyes, trailing a wet path down her cheek.
Ebonheim sank to her knees and cradled her head in her hands, letting out a choked sob as she wept. It wasn't long before a gentle hand rested on her shoulder, and a soft voice consoled her.
"Grief, dear one, is the final act of love." Hilda knelt beside Ebonheim, her voice a soothing balm on the turmoil roiling in Ebonheim's heart. "It's the price we pay for having something worth losing."
Engin stood beside them, his green eyes reflecting the dancing flames. He turned to Ebonheim, his voice a low whisper, "This... is a part of life too, Ebonheim. A painful part, but one we all must face."
He placed his hand atop Ebonheim's shoulder and squeezed gently, before turning towards those gathered around as he delivered his eulogy for the fallen.
"We mourn today, for we have lost a part of us. Lives that lit up our village are now stars in the sky, guiding us through our darkest times. Lives that embraced us are now nourishment for the earth, giving us strength to endure. But in our hearts, they remain, in the laughter we share, the grain we harvest, and in every leaf that falls; they remain... within us. Life, as it is, brings moments of joy and sorrow, beginnings and ends. But in every end, there is a new beginning. In our loss, we find a chance to cherish life anew. To stand strong against the chaos, to adapt, to grow. That is our testament to those we've lost. Our promise to never let their light fade."
The flames blazed as Engin spoke—their fire leaping higher and higher with each word he uttered as if his words alone could keep it alive.
Hilda, her voice soft and kind as she spoke her own words of solace to Ebonheim. "They have not left us. They have simply changed, as the seasons change, as day turns to night. And so, we must change with them. Grow with them. For to grow is to honor their memory, to honor their sacrifices."
Ebonheim buried her face into Hilda's shoulder and sobbed, her heart breaking all over again at the weight of Hilda's words. "I'm sorry," she choked out, "I'm so sorry. I should have protected them..."
Hilda nodded, acknowledging the guilt that hung in Ebonheim's words. "And you did, dear. You saved this village from a fate much worse. Those who fell, fell with honor, protecting their home, their kin. And in their sacrifice, they've taught you the value of what you protect."
"I feel their absence, Hilda," Ebonheim admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I feel the void they left."
Stolen novel; please report.
Engin knelt down and embraced Ebonheim too, his arms wrapping around her like the trunk of a great oak as he held her. "You will carry them with you," he said as he pulled away to look at her in the eyes. "Their memories are etched in your heart."
Bjorn approached from the side, his footsteps soft against the mossy forest floor, and knelt by Ebonheim's side. "They defended their home, their people. There is no greater honor than that. They may have fallen, but their spirits remain with us, their stories forever woven into the fabric of Ebonheim."
Thorsten joined them with his arms folded across his chest. "We'll mourn for them," he said with a nod as he met Ebonheim's gaze, "but we will not wallow."
Bjorn nodded in agreement and patted Ebonheim's back. "They wouldn't want us to." He placed his hand atop Ebonheim's head and ruffled her hair gently, before pushing himself to his feet and gesturing for Thorsten to join him. "Let's help with the cleanup."
Thorsten gave Ebonheim a small nod and followed after Bjorn, leaving Engin and Hilda with her.
Ebonheim wept for a while more, until her tears were spent, and she sat motionless beside Engin and Hilda. As she watched the flames dance, she could almost picture their souls hovering above their bodies—their laughter like a sweet breeze as they shared stories of their lives. Then, as though they had taken leave of her, they vanished into a sea of embers and smoke that rose to the heavens—each speck of ash a burning star.
It wasn't long before Engin and Hilda bid Ebonheim goodbye with soft, encouraging words before they too made their way back to the village, leaving her to her own thoughts as she stood over the smoldering pyres.
For a long time, she remained like that, standing over the fires and watching the flames dance until all that remained were tiny embers. She was not sure how long she stood there, or if she even slept. The world had stopped for her on that day—the world had ceased its flow.
Life went on without her, but she did not move.
After a while, the night wore on, and a gentle breeze swept past her, carrying the scent of dawn's approach on its wings. The night sky brightened with the glow of the waning moon as Ebonheim stood alone in the clearing—a lone figure surrounded by pyres and gravestones.
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Serrandyl and Thorsten watched over Ebonheim as she stood vigil over the pyres and graves like a silent sentinel. She had remained unmoving throughout the night, not even sleeping as she waited for the pyres to cool and the sun to rise. Thorsten had asked if she wanted company, but Serrandyl shook her head, telling him to leave Ebonheim to her vigil. So, he had done so, leaving her to her thoughts, and continued his duties around the village until the morning had come.
"Do you think she'll be okay?" Serrandyl asked with a glance at Thorsten.
Thorsten looked up to meet Serrandyl's gaze and nodded. "Give her time." He turned to the direction of the village and began to walk back to the village, gesturing for Serrandyl to follow. "Come," he said, "There's work to be done."
Serrandyl followed him into the village and helped as they finished preparing for the day's activities; tending to the livestock and making preparations for their next harvest. Then, as the morning passed into the afternoon, the villagers set about tending to their farms and repairing the damage caused by the storm.
As the sun began to set, Serrandyl made her way to the graveyard only to find Ebonheim still standing vigil over the graves. She approached her and knelt by her side, unsure of what to say as she looked at Ebonheim's still form. Her hair had lost its luster, and her golden eyes lacked their usual glow as she stood silently and unmoving.
Serrandyl couldn't help but feel an ache in her chest at the sight. She placed her hand on Ebonheim's shoulder, rubbing it gently. "Hey," she said with a small smile, "Don't stay here all day. People will get worried."
A small nod was the only response she got as Ebonheim's lips pulled into a tiny smile. "I'm fine," she said quietly. "I just need to be alone."
Serrandyl nodded and stood up. "I understand," she said as she started to make her way out, "I'll leave you then."
As Serrandyl turned to leave, Ebonheim stopped her with a soft word, "Serrandyl."
Serrandyl paused and turned back to face her, "Yes?" she asked as she approached Ebonheim again.
Ebonheim gave her a smile. It was small and weak, but it was a smile, nonetheless. It was enough for Serrandyl. "Thank you."
Serrandyl nodded, and gave her a wink, before taking her leave, leaving Ebonheim alone again.
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Ebonheim remained by the graveyard until the night began to fall again and she could no longer stay awake. Her eyes closed, and her mind drifted into the motes of quintessence that swirled within her body—the quintessence gifted by each and every one of her subjects that bore their hopes, their aspirations, their happiness, their fears, and their love for her.
Within the sea of her followers' quintessence, Ebonheim found herself wandering a gentle stream—its waters meandering through a vast and beautiful meadow as it ran through an endless, idyllic landscape. Flowers bloomed in the meadow's lush green fields, their scents drifting on the air like a sweet spring breeze.
Ebonheim sat down on a flat rock on the bank and watched as the stream rushed past her; the water washing over stones and reeds as it continued on its journey. As the water rippled across the surface, creating tiny eddies in its wake, she reached down and scooped up a handful of water into her palm.
The water shimmered in her hand, reflecting the sunlight that danced through the canopy overhead, before coalescing into motes of light. They spun and swirled around her hands, weaving among her fingers like a swarm of fireflies.
These motes of quintessence... belonged to the will of the fallen: Caleb, Leiv, Ivor, Roland, Audri, Milo, Ferand, Symon, Siegmar, Wendelin, Nykso, Hathu, Mikyrr. The last vestiges of the quintessences that had been given to Ebonheim by her subjects before the day of their passing—the final imprint of their life force.
These motes, these life-affirming fragments of her subjects' essence... she will never heartlessly spend them away. Such a gift would be an affront to those who had given them. If only there was a way to bring them back...
[Error. Resurrection is beyond your current capabilities.]
If only she had the power to bring them back...
[Error. Resurrection requires the Greater God - Dawn Stage divine rank to be achieved]
If only she could have shared a fraction of her power...
[Error. The Divine Transcendence Ability 'One for All' requires the Intermediate God - Dawn Stage divine rank to be achieved]
If only...
if only...
if only...
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[https://i.ibb.co/28DTb7h/Ebonheim-gravestones.png]