No one spoke during the long walk back to the capital. The only sounds heard were the soft clops of the horses’ hooves, the crunch and rattle of the wagons’ wheels, the dull footfalls of the students, and the occasional sniffle and sob from someone fighting to control their emotions.

Samuel and Victoria’s bodies were in the middle wagon, resting in two crudely made coffins that the villagers had put together for them, feeling that it would be better for their families, and their comrades. Davon had written up a report of the mission’s unexpected turn of events and, with the aid of the village chief’s Spirit, had sent it off ahead of them to the capital.

Draco could not stop staring at the two coffins, his mind racing with his brief memories of the two. It had been less than 24 hours ago that they had been walking with him, chatting about their hopes, dreams, families… and now they were gone. Just like that, their lives were over. Draco snuck a peek over to Jethro and saw the veins in his neck bulging, his eyes staring down at the ground, red marks around them. He was fighting to not burst out crying, and barely keeping himself together. Draco’s mind wandered back to earlier that week, talking about those who had died in the older classes.

“They were weak. Simple as that.”

He grit his teeth, wishing he could take those words back. Sam and Victoria were not weak. No one could have expected that monster to show up. For an Eye to open on them. They were not weak… they had been…. unfortunate? Unprepared? No. They had been lucky. Sam’s dying breath crippling the beast, the old man being there to keep him and Saphira focused. The instructors arriving when they did. If that monster had showed up at a different part of the village, it would probably be two different people in those coffins. There would probably be more than just two. It could have been Willow, or Jethro, or Elizabeth….

Or him.

The thought sent shivers down his spine. The thought of having one of those coffins containing someone close to him. How many times had William come close to being in one? His head began to swim as the thoughts threatened to drown him in the rising despair as his feet continued to carry him home, one step at a time.

~

The little convoy entered into the front gates of the capital to find a small crowd gathered awaiting their return. As gasps and cries of relief came from the masses and people rushed forward to embrace their loved ones, it was quickly made obvious that the families of the dispatched students had been informed of the tragedy, but not the identities of the fallen. This was further proven as Draco and Willow were both pulled into the arms of a sobbing Maria, each receiving a kiss to the cheek as their necks were gripped in her arms.

“Excuse me…”

Draco saw a man timidly approaching Davon and Evander, a pleading smile on his face, his hands gripping one another with white knuckles. A small girl no older than five was walking beside him, her little hand gripping the side of his pant leg.

“I am Glen Ernhart, Victoria’s father. I do not see her…. is she perhaps still on her way back…” His question trailed off as he saw the two coffins roll by. Evander stepped up and placed a hand on his shoulder, his arm shaking as he struggled to find the words.

“I…” He stammered, his voice cracking. “I am so… so sorry.”

Mr. Ernhart said nothing. He looked right through Evander as tears began to roll down his cheeks. Beside him, the little girl looked up at him, confused.

“What’s wrong papa?” She asked, tugging on his pant's leg. “Why are you crying? Where is Vicky?”

Her father dropped to his knees, pulling his little girl into a hug as he began to weep, clutching her close as though he was afraid she too would vanish if he didn’t hold on to her for dear life. The poor confused girl could do nothing but reach up and pat her father’s head, softly saying “There there,” as he continued to cry.

From the other side of the road came a loud female voice, shouting for people to get out of her way. A large woman pushed her way through the crowd, her face full of worry.

“Samuel! Sammy!” She shouted, breaking away from the others and approaching the wagons. Davon approached quickly as her eyes fell on the coffins, and she made her way to them, muttering a frantic “No no no no” as she did so. Davon met her at the coffins, placing one hand on Victoria’s and the other against the woman’s shoulder.

“Ma’am,” he said gently, “I am sorry, but this may not be the best for-“

She pushed his hand off her shoulder and grabbed the unrestricted coffin’s lid.

Draco looked away as she pulled it off, his body tensing up as the air was then filled with the anguished screams of a grieving mother.

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“NO! No not my baby!”

Maria’s grip on the two tightened as Draco’s eyes bore a hole through the ground. Behind him several other women approached Sam’s mother, trying to calm and comfort her. To the side, those who did not have parents in the capital were awkwardly shuffling away.

“Come on,” Maria whispered, moving to guide them away. Draco’s breathing grew rapid. He didn’t want to go home. He couldn’t. He broke away from his sister and ran, Willow and Maria calling after him as he took off up the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saphira walked into the front entrance of her home, shutting the door behind her. She looked around at the room as she took off her boots. It had only been a little over a day since she had last been here, and yet everything seemed to be so unfamiliar to her; as though she were only now seeing it for the first time. The sun was just setting behind the other houses through the large bay window, and she paused as she saw her reflection in a mirror on the wall. She was still covered in blood.

“Bath…” she muttered to herself as she started to undo the buttons of her shirt. “I should have a bath…

She stripped the blood soaked clothes off and entered the bath chamber, a stone room with a permanent veil of steam and flowing hot water inside. Saphira sat down on a small wooden stool in the center of the room and took a small bucket, dipping it into the hot water canal and dumping it over her head. She kept her eyes down as the water washed the red out of her hair, swirling towards the drain in the center of the room. She dumped another bucket of her head, and a third, continuing until the water washed through her hair clear. She filled the bucket again and dipped her hands in it, bringing the warm water up and splashing it on her face. Opening her eyes, her pupils dilated as her hands were dripping red with blood.

“No…” she muttered, dunking her hands in the bucket’s clear water. She pulled them out; still red. “No!” She plunged them back in and out. Red. “No! NO! NO! NO! NO!” She grabbed a small brush made of wood and softened porcupine quills and began scrubbing her hands. But no matter what she did, the blood would not come clean. Tears ran down her face as she scrubbed. She screamed and cried, scraping away at her skin as the door to the bath chamber slammed open.

“Saphira!” A man’s voice called out, and Saphira stopped, choking for breath as she turned to see the silhouette of a man through the steam hanging in the air. Her face went tight as she fought back her tears, but she broke down and ran to the man, planting her face in his chest as she cried, her hands gripping into his tunic.

“I was right there!” She cried into his chest. “I was right there, and I couldn’t… I… they… I-”

“I know Saphira….” the man said gently, taking her hands in his and pulling them away. She looked at her hands and saw that she had scrubbed her skin clean off in some places. She broke free of his grip and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing as he gently hugged her back, letting the brave warrior be a terrified child for the first time in years.

~

Draco’s breath came heavy as his feet dragged along the hard packed dirt road. He had run for almost an hour, and he had somehow come to the gates of the cemetery. Smooth stone pillars rose up on either side of the intricate curved iron gates. The walls surrounding the graveyard were simple iron, connected by similar stone pillars every dozen or so yards. The gates were open, and Draco found himself walking through them as though in a haze. He could not remember the last time he had come to this place. He never felt the need to. The dead were gone, never to return. Why would he bother coming to the place where their ashes remained? They could not hear him. Could not see him. What was the point?

His feet carried him to a section of the graveyard that was separated by a foot high stone wall that marked out a large open space. At its center was a three meter tall obelisk, its four sides marked with the symbol of House Pendra. The rest of the interior of the space was healthy green grass and gravestones. He walked past them until he came to the last ones in the front row, his reddened eyes staring at the names engraved there.

Abitha Elise Pendra.

Lance Albian Pendra.

His parents lay here. Dead for over ten years. And this was the first time that Draco could remember having ever come to this place since their deaths. Why had that been? His words from earlier that week came ringing back to him once again.

“They died because they were weak…”

Tears burned the backs of his eyes once again, and he bit his lip as he fought to hold them back. He turned and left the Pendra graves in a run, blindly running deeper into the graveyard. He passed by several other Noble’s grave sites and countless headstones for commoners, never slowing until he crossed the line into the military side of the cemetery. These graves were separate from the family graves; no headstones rested here. No ashes. Here there were simple wooden crosses painted black with the name of the fallen soldier carved into the middle cross section. This was to allow surviving soldiers to visit their friends without disturbing the family sites. Draco knew that somewhere in this sea of black his father’s name was carved, and soon Sam and Victoria’s would be added. He stood staring out at the crosses until the sound of footsteps behind him caused him to turn.

Ken Granite stood a short ways off with three other Third Years. A bottle of liquor was gripped tightly in Ken’s right hand, and the one girl in the group carried a bouquet of flowers.

“What are you doing here?” Ken growled at Draco, his grip on the bottle tightening.

Draco’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, words failing to come. His hands moved at his sides as his eyes met with Ken’s, brimming with tears. Without a word Ken approached Draco, stopping less than a foot from the younger boy. Once again, Draco’s words echoed in his mind, and a choking noise escaped from his burning throat as tears began to slide down his face.

“I… I…” He choked out as his entire body began to shake, tears streaming from his eyes. Without a word Ken closed the distance between them and put his arms around the boy, pulling him into a hug.

“It’s alright,” he muttered. “I forgive you.”

Hearing these words that he knew he did not deserve, Draco broke. He returned the embrace, clinging to Ken for dear life as he wept. The older boy did not move, he simply stood there, holding the sobbing child up, tears sliding down his own cheeks as the run set, casting darkness across the scene.