image [https://i.imgur.com/9s19VLK.png]

A few days later, Taiyo

Today, the village of sun helm did not wear red. Today, they wore white. The temple was still in ruins, and though the village had made their best efforts to clear it up, it was still not a suitable place for a funeral.

So we decided to perform the final rights in the town square. What had been left of it, anyway.

This time, I was not on a stage. I was with the rest of the village, seated on the prayer matts on the ground. The gingery, and spicy smell of incense filled my nose, and the sound of praying filled my ears. I prayed along with everyone else, as my father stood atop the stage, four urns lay atop the table behind him, which was adorned with a red tablecloth. They had moved the statue of Yiho to stand behind my father, something only permitted for serious events.

My father, the high priest, picked up the first urn, holding it before the rest of my village. The urns were topped with flammable clay, and fashioned out of porcelain–like wood. Each urn had the symbol of the sun emblazoned onto it, and the lids were decorated with a square, red, silken cloth with golden trim on the side.

Only the dead were allowed to wear red today.

“In my hand,” he spoke. “I hold the ashes of Ruyi. He was a devoted son, and he gave his life protecting my daughter, and thus, the village. Was it not for his sacrifice, many of you may not be standing here today.”

That was my childhood friend, in that urn.

Sunlight concentrated on the urn, and enveloped it like a ball of magic energy. It was the same spell I cast, and lost control of, on a much smaller scale. Embrace of heat, embracing the ashes of the dead, and vaporising them, so their souls may be freed.

Father lifted his hands, and the urn floated upwards as he pushed the sun energy into the sky. To actually move matter with magical energy, and whilst not blowing up the place, well. He deserved his title as high priest.

He was the most powerful, and terrifying person I knew to exist.

And he was not there when Ruyi died.

“May his soul join Yiho in eternal flame,” Pawan said. “May he become one with the sun, and shine down on us, watching us live onwards.”

The villagers repeated his words in unison.

The urn of Ruyi blazed one last time in the sky, beaming light down on each of us. It fizzled, the urn, his ashes, and the spell. All disappearing without a trace.

My father picked up the next urn.

“In my hands are the ashes of Miss Saba,”

The ashes of my dance instructor.

“...The ashes of Rivan,”

A boy who hadn’t even turned fifteen.

“...The ashes of Garyu,”

The man who had started it all. And caused all the deaths before us.

We prayed for each of them, even Garyu. Kamal stood by my father, performing the rites for each of them. Including the rites for his own son. Unlike the time I saw him in the temple, his old hands did not tremble. His back did not quiver. He was solemn, and he carried out each duty without a sound.

People cried, but no family made a speech to the village today. We all knew them, we all had memories of them, we all felt it as deep in our hearts as each other.

These people were never coming back.

And I cried along with them.

image [https://i.imgur.com/XIZL0SH.png]

Later that day, Victor.

“A funeral like this needs whiskey,” I said to Bronx. “Not this weird yogurty stuff.”

Bronx gave me a suffering expression as he sighed. Using his one remaining arm to ladle out spoons of a milky white drink into cups before him.

“Victor, you can’t have whiskey today. It’s a funeral.”

“What even is this anyway,” I took a sip of the white stuff in the cup. It tasted refreshing, slightly salty, aromatic, and zingy. “Not bad, actually.”

“It’s curd, mixed with water and spices. It’s traditional to drink at funerals. It’s called Chaas.”

“Well, it’s alright.” I said. I looked at Bronx’s remaining arm, watching him struggle to ladle the spoonfuls into the cups without being able to hold them with this second arm.

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“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t there when it happened.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bronx glared at me. “It’s an arm, It doesn’t stop me from cooking, or eating. Maybe if I’d lost both arms, that would be a problem.”

“But it does stop you from fighting,” I said, lowering my gaze. “And–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Bronx said firmly. “I’m a cook, not a warrior.” He pointed his ladle at me. “If you’ve got the time to feel like shit, you’re better off standing here and helping me out.”

Normally, being spoken to like this would annoy me. This time, however, it didn’t.

I stepped behind the table, picking up a ladle. We spooned the liquid into the forty or fifty cups on the table in front of us. Once we were done, people in white clothing, sarees and the like, came up to us. They pressed their hands together, like they were praying, and bowed to each of us. I did the same back, not quite sure what it meant or what I was doing. They would then take a cup, and leave.

This went on for an hour or two.

“Do you think the monument is ready?” I asked.

“They were placing it down in the village square,” Bronx said. “It’s probably done now that the funeral is over.”

“I’ll go have a look,” I said, getting up. The Chaas was done, and nobody else was coming to take any. I looked at Bronx, and he just shrugged.

I walked over to the village square. The sky felt like it was full of clouds. It wasn’t, but it felt like it. Something about the world seemed grey. The sounds of crying, talking, mumbling, praying. It was everywhere. The village felt still.

I observed the wreckage. The broken temple, with the roof caved in, the smashed walls and houses. Nobody had time to rebuild, they first wanted to do the rights, perform the rituals. Out of order in terms of priorities, if you asked me. But well, nobody did ask me.

I’d still tell someone anyway.

Two villagers heaved a red cloth off something in the centre of the village. It was a wooden carving, of a sun blazing, and on the bottom it read ‘In loving memory of…’

I pulled out a flask I had been hiding in my coat pocket. Taiyo said that she’d stitch up my armour for me, which was nice of her. I stared at the statue of the sun, the monument to the fallen.

“One for me,” I said, taking a sip of the whiskey. The burning sensation filled my throat, it hurt. But it was good, like I deserved it.

“And one for you,” I poured some whiskey over the monument, then sat down on the floor. Time went by, I took more sips, not too many, for it was forbidden and I’d comply somewhat.

“Victor?” A voice came from behind me.

Damn, I hope she didn’t notice.

I stuffed the whiskey bottle into my coat jacket as I turned around, it was Taiyo, wearing a pure white saree. Her eyes were always piercing, in a nice way. And those eyes went straight into the bulge in my coat pocket.

She sighed, shaking her head.

“Victor,” she said. “You can’t drink today, it’s a funeral.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” I grumbled. “But I’ll have you know drinking alcohol is the only traditional way to honour the dead for adventurers, not this chaas stuff or whatever.

She chuckled, putting an arm on my shoulder. It felt gentle, comforting. It calmed something inside of me that was ripping me a part.

“How long have you sat there?” she asked, softly.

“A while,” I said.

“Come with me,” she said. “There’s still work to be done.”

I stood up, following her.

We walked in silence. I said nothing, she said nothing. I didn’t mention that her eyes looked red, and she didn’t mention that my face was flushed. The only sound was our feet crunching on the cobbles, then rustling on the grass, and finally, we arrived.

At a dead body, and a sun fox.

“Well, this is grim,” I said.

“The Fox won’t leave his body,” she said, and sighed. “I think we need to give him a funeral.”

“Isn’t this the guy who tried to destroy the village?”

“Yes,”

“And the guy who tried to kill you?”

“Yep.”

“Why does he get a funeral?” I asked.

“Everyone gets a funeral, Victor.” she said.

I nodded, though I didn’t agree.

“Life villagers have a tradition of burying their dead,” she said. “I could use your help.”

“Alright,” I said, and we got to work.

The Sun Fox watched us as we dug a hole in the ground. The thing was huge, not as tall as me, but definitely taller than Taiyo.

“Why don’t you help instead of just watching?” I asked it.

The sun fox cocked it’s head to the side for a moment, then came next to me and dug at the ground with it’s massive paws. Each one digging out huge amounts of earth, and sending them directly towards me.

“You stupid fox,” I said. “Not like that!”

Taiyo chuckled from behind me.

In mere moments, the hole was made. I carefully lowered the man’s body into the hole. Taiyo recited a prayer, and the sun fox gave him one last lick, as if to say goodbye.

We buried the body. The fox watched us, until the last piece of dirt was placed. It ran off, soon coming back with a black stick in it’s mouth.

“This was his bow…” Taiyo said.

I brought some rocks, and stacked them in a pile on top of the grave. I then took the broken pieces of the bow and placed them upright on the grave.

I noticed Taiyo’s eyes staring at the grave, her fists clenched tightly and her lips pressed together.

“Do you hate him,” I asked. “For what he did?”

Taiyo clenched her fist tighter. “He took away people I cared about,” she said. “He nearly took away you, and I can never forgive him for that.”

I nodded.

“However, she said. And then sighed and her shoulders relaxed slightly. “In the end, Garyu did all of this. This man, and this fox, they were both Victims of something else, someone else. I can’t forgive him for what he did, but I do not hate him for what he became.”

“I see,” I said.

We stood there for some more moments, and the sun began to set. As the sun finally fell below the horizon, The fox gave one last look at the grave, and then bounded away, never to be seen around Sun Helm ever again.