The weight of the moment pressed down on Malachi, a suffocating blanket of grief.

He flicked his thumb against his nose, a nervous gesture that did little to soothe the turmoil within.

The air thrummed with a collective sorrow, heavy and palpable.

Drawing a deep breath, he raised his voice, tinged with solemnity.

"First off, I wanna say, God is good."

A murmur rippled through the crowd gathered under the white tent, a collective acknowledgment in the somber air. The scent of lilies and damp earth hung heavy, a stark reminder of the finality of the occasion.

"So, how's everyone doing tonight?"

His eyes scanned the faces before him, finally settling on Miguel and Bianca. Bianca gave him an encouraging nod, and he managed a faint smile, his heart heavy.

"I know everyone has an expectation of what I'm supposed to say," he began, his voice trembling slightly.

"Some want me to say my dad was crazy, that he killed himself. But that's far from the truth."

He gazed down at the polished casket, his vision blurring with tears. The polished surface was too much to bear, its gleaming perfection a stark contrast to the raw grief that swelled within him. He knew his father would have hated the polished wood, its smooth surface a breeding ground for germs, a thought that sent a shiver down his spine.

"He saw his family as a reflection of himself.

He always did what he thought was best for us – not just for us, but for the whole island.

I learned a lot from him, and I know how I want to live the rest of my life because of him.

I really wish 'RIP' meant 'return if possible,' but I know that's not possible."

He looked up again, swallowing hard as the grief clawed at his throat. The tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he held them back, a familiar, almost involuntary reaction to the raw emotions swirling around him.

"Put up your lighters for him," he urged, his voice breaking.

One by one, lighters flicked open, tiny flames illuminating the mourning faces of the crowd. The heat of the flames momentarily chased away the damp chill of the air, offering a flicker of warmth in the cold abyss of their loss.

Malachi looked over at Catherine, who pressed her lips together in empathy and patted his back gently. He felt her touch, but a fleeting shiver of discomfort ran through him. He knew he should be grateful for her support, but the touch of another's hand always left him feeling slightly uneasy.

With a resolute breath, he walked to the casket, his heart aching. He paused, hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering just inches above the polished surface. Finally, he reached out, his fingertips barely grazing the wood, a hesitant touch that spoke volumes of his internal struggle.

"Even though you're gone, your memory still lives on," he whispered, his eyes welling up with tears.

"Travel safe," he added, his voice choked with emotion.

He kissed his fingers, a gesture he had learned from his father, and tenderly touched the symbol engraved on the casket, a final farewell to the man who had shaped his life in ways words could scarcely capture. The symbol was intricate, carved into the wood with precision. He knew his father had designed it himself, a powerful symbol that represented the Shaka lineage.

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The flames of the lighters flickered in the dim light of dusk, a poignant tribute to a life that had burned brightly, now extinguished but never forgotten.

Malachi stepped away from the casket, turning to see Miguel and Bianca approaching.

His heart ached at the sight of Miguel's red, tear-filled eyes. The sight of his brother's raw emotion stirred a deep empathy within him. He knew Miguel was struggling to hold back his grief, just as he was.

"Come here, man," Malachi said, opening his arms wide.

Miguel rushed into the embrace, breaking down as he clung to his brother. Malachi held him tightly, offering silent support as they shared the weight of their loss. He could smell the lingering scent of salt and sweat on his brother's skin, a testament to the raw emotion that consumed them.

He patted Miguel's back in steady, comforting motions.

"I know, bro. I know," he whispered, his voice laden with the weight of their shared grief.

His eyes caught sight of Bianca, her lone figure standing against the backdrop of the twilight.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed sorrowfully at the sky, a silent plea to the universe. He knew she was grieving too, her pain etched on her face, a silent echo of his own.

Malachi extended his hand toward her, his own emotions threatening to boil over.

"B," he called out, voice trembling but resolute.

Meeting his gaze, Bianca crossed the distance. She moved with a grace that reminded him of a wilting flower, fragile yet strong.

Without a word, she stepped into the circle of his arms, and Malachi held them both tightly.

His head dropped, a gesture of humility and unity amid the anguish.

Catherine watched them from the side, her own composure barely holding.

The pain etched lines on her face, and she blinked back tears as she continued her speech.

"We gather here to honor a man whose spirit touched each and every one of us," Catherine's voice faltered but regained its strength.

"We remember not his end, but the life he lived and the legacy he left us."

As Catherine continued, Malachi walked Miguel and Bianca back to their seats.

They sat down, the exhaustion of their emotions weighing heavily upon them. Suddenly, a firm hand rested on Malachi's shoulder, jolting him back to the present.

His Uncle Aron stood there, his eyes filled with a grave yet determined look. The touch of Aron's hand on his shoulder sent a jolt of discomfort through him. He slowly looked down at the hand, its calloused skin a stark contrast to the smooth, polished surface he preferred. He recoiled slightly, a fleeting gesture that went unnoticed by his uncle.

"Malachi," Aron began in a low voice, "we need to talk later.

And Pa wants you both to come by the mansion tomorrow," Aron added, his voice carrying the weight of something significant.

Malachi nodded, his heart racing and thoughts scattered. He glanced at Miguel, who wiped his tear-streaked face and gave a faint nod of understanding.

They both knew that their ancestral home held deeper layers of family secrets and duties they were yet to uncover.

Catherine's voice interrupted their thoughts.

"We will now follow the Shaka family traditions, led by the eldest uncle, Aron."

Aron patted Malachi's back before stepping toward the casket. He winked at Catherine, drawing a bittersweet smile from her teary eyes.

As Aron reached the casket, his eyes took on a shimmering blue hue, a sign of his spirit energy spiking.

The atmosphere grew dense and heavy, as if an invisible weight was pressing down on everything around him.

Malachi's skin tingled, and a shiver raced down his spine, leaving him breathless in the face of such overwhelming presence.

He could almost feel the earth itself pulsating beneath his feet.

"Enoch lived and died a true Shaka," Aron intoned, his voice resonating with authority.

"He wasn't just my brother; he always played the father role when Pa wasn't around.

Shaka men are never allowed to stop fighting, even in death.

As our father and all the fathers before him walked, so will I."

Aron reached out and touched the casket.

Moonstone seemed to flow from his fingertips, spreading across the wood in a shimmering wave.

The casket glowed, encased in ethereal radiance. The ground pulsed in response, and moonstone crystals erupted upwards, their soft light casting an otherworldly glow.

The crystals wrapped around the casket, gently lowering it into the earth.

The soil parted smoothly, accepting the descent with a quiet, natural grace.

When the casket had vanished from sight, the moonstone crystals retreated, leaving behind a solitary tombstone.

Its surface was polished like a mirror, reflecting the ambient light in delicate, luminous hues.

The Shaka family symbol appeared on the tombstone, etched with precision.

Underneath, the words "RIP Enoch Shaka" glowed softly, a silent epitaph.

Malachi stared, eyes wide with fascination, as the scene unfolded.

He had never known the family was capable of such acts.

A spark of desire ignited within him—he wanted to learn it.

Slowly, a smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

To be continued…