Knock. Knock.

"Ah! One moment, please!"

Two slow knocks at the door. That has to be him. I wasn't sure he was truly going to make it, but it seems he has.

I rise from my reading chair and trot across the floor of my second-story flat, around the mess and the clutter that has built up, and towards the outside-facing door. Stopping on my way, I pause to ignite the gas lamp on the wall near the kitchen. It would be rude to welcome my guest in the dark that has permeated my home these past few days.

I adjust the lock and pull the door open to see a Dutch Rabbit in a wrinkled waistcoat gazing idly at the carpet. Slowly, he raises his head and grants me my first look at the man I spent so much time comforting that cursed night mere days ago.

His face is pale, and his hair unkempt, styled to be the bare minimum presentable in a gathering between friends. Bags had formed under his eyes, red and wrinkled, the telltale signs that fresh tears had flowed recently. Although I haven't known this friend for long, I'm confident that tardiness is not one of his qualities. Seeing the condition of his face, It's clear he got sidetracked by his emotions on the way here.

He stares at me blankly, uncertain how to react. I loosen a smile and hug him once more, and a moment later he does the same. He exhales and his grip tightens.

"Duncan," I pull myself back so he can view the relief on my face. "It's good to see you again. I'm so glad you came."

"A-As am I,” he says, his voice meek. “…Officer Roland."

"Please, call me Finch," I softly correct. "We've been granted leave from our duties, after all."

He grimaces and inclines his head. "Yes, I suppose that's true... Finch."

I wonder how many animals he's spoken to the past few days? Musn't been a lot. With the state of his voice, I wouldn't be shocked to learn I was the first.

"Come inside," I say, gesturing my arm through the open door to welcome him. He lingers a moment longer and passes through the door. I follow his back and close the door behind us.

"Sorry about the mess," I apologize, feeling anxious over the trash that has built up around the furniture. "I tried to get it cleaned before you arrived, but—"

"It's quite alright," he murmurs, angling his ears behind him. I always see him wearing bowler hats in the palace, so it's strange to view his bare head. "I'm afraid I haven't been much better."

He enters the living room and stands in the center by the coffee table, gazing at the pictures hung on my wall. His movements are slow and labored like it’s taking him all his strength to put one foot in front of the other.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Ah, um, no. No, thank you."

"Let me know if you change your mind," I smile. For the slightest moment, he flashed a smile back.

I return to my reading chair and quickly push aside some trash around the coffee table. Ah, what an absentminded thing to do in front of him. I don’t even intend to put something there. Oh, well. It’s not like anything has made sense these past few days.

"Sit wherever you like," I tell my friend, noticing his eyes wandering about the room for a place to rest. He eyes a spot on the green velvet sofa and slowly settles himself down. He sits with his legs close and his arms tensed to his sides, staring idly at the wall behind me.

"Well," I say, breaking the ice that has formed between us. "How are you holding up?"

For a moment, he says nothing, switching his gaze towards the wall, to me, and the floor below him. His expression was empty like his soul had been sucked away from him. After what he's been through these past few days, it may as well have.

"This is the first time I've left the palace since the day of the incident," he whispers, flicking his eyes towards the window. Even for autumn, It’s an unusually dreary day with curtains of rain lapping against the sides of the window. Outside is the heart of the Crimson District, usually bustling with commuters and eager shoppers going about their day. But today has been eerily quiet, just as it has the past few days. Even though the Crown has ceased the period of mourning, it seems nobody’s in the mood to return to normal just yet. “It has been difficult to bring myself to accomplish… anything productive at all, I’m afraid.”

My fears of ceaseless closed-door debriefings turned out to be accurate, and I believe I’ve met every ranking officer in every armed forces division. Perhaps rightfully so, everyone was insistent on learning every scrap of information about the tragedy, no matter how small. I’d imagine Duncan’s experience the past few days has been similar, despite the unassailable grief he must now contend with. To feign productivity is something only Duncan could accomplish, that much I am sure.

His eyes lower, and he stares into the dirty carpet. “I’ve had to sleep in guest rooms, asking for help from the guard to retrieve clothes from our quarters. I haven’t yet had the strength to return there and sort through Calypso’s personal belongings.”

“Take as much time as you need,” I remind him. “I don’t care what anyone orders you to do.”

He pauses to lift his head with a sigh. “I’ve been assured that I will have enough time to grieve. Queen’s orders.”

I feel numb at even the mention of her. Duncan’s loss is heartbreaking, to say the least. But to lose the Princess in the same breath of senseless violence is an unspeakable tragedy for the Kingdom. “Have you spoken to her yet?” I dare ask.

“No,” he quickly replies. “The Queen has not asked to see me. I dread the time I must go before her and explain the loss of her daughter. But I will do so. I must atone for my failure.”

For a moment, we said nothing as the silence stretched between us. What was there to say? What could possibly dull the pain of the past few days? There’s no bright side, no silver lining to it. Just inexorable pain and grief.

I wish I knew how to console him. I wish I knew him better.

He stares into a picture on the wall and releases a sigh. “The failure of the Beatrix has compounded our issues, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” On hearing of the Beatrix, I straighten myself up. “Are you aware of what’s happened to it?”

This morning, it was announced on the radio that the Beatrix's subjugation mission had failed. And strangely, that’s all they said. No details, no other information, just that it failed to locate and eliminate the Lithan.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Such a senseless, petty response it was. Exploiting our only treaty with Nortane to send a warship through their airspace on flimsy pretenses. It’s a wonder they haven’t declared war on us for that act alone. Though I’ve kept the radio off since I woke this morning, by now they very well could have and I’d be none the wiser.

Duncan nods but keeps his gaze averted. “I’m afraid I can’t share the details. That it failed is all the information worth knowing.”

A pang of dejection weaves through me — I can’t help it, but I still feel guilty. I’m just a lowly Ensign, nothing in rank compared to Duncan. Why do I expect special treatment? But when I study Duncan’s face to try and glean any hints from his demeanor, something becomes apparent.

“It was a catastrophic failure," I conclude, tightening my tail around my legs. “Something so terrible occurred that it can’t be shared with the public.”

He looks at me a moment, then frowns and turns his face away.

“The Beatrix was lost,” I say to myself, competing with the rain against the window to be heard. “You don’t have to share the agonizing details with me. I can’t imagine the misery of losing one of our warships, compounded wi—“

“The Beatrix still flies,” he corrects my monologue in his most vital voice yet. I silence my yapping muzzle, and guilt rips me that he had to raise his voice. Lowering it, he continues, “It still flies, though not without damage. The Lithan encountered it.”

I shift in my reading chair uncomfortably. Truly, it was able to locate the terrible monster in the vastness of the Northern Continent? I never thought such a thing could remotely succeed. But to have encountered the Lithan and failed must mean, “It took heavy damage.”

Duncan’s face twists. He sighs and drops his elbows to his legs. “Finch,” he runs his fingers through his hair, speaking almost normally. “I believe you and me, Bryant, Harper, and LaRoche, are all bonded together through the tragedy we experienced. We will always carry with us the events of that day.”

I nod in understanding. I’ll never, ever forget what I saw in the hollow for as long as I live. We will always have the shared experience, for better or worse, of being the first responders to what occurred there. It is a stigma we must carry until the end of our days. Duncan’s reason for bringing it up is not lost on me; certain things transcend the boundaries of duty and rank.

“The Beatrix’s encounter with the Lithan… defies conventional understanding. Like so many things about this damnable affair,” he lowers his forehead into his white fingers and sighs. “The Lithan appeared promptly after the Beatrix arrived at the Northern Continent like it knew it was going to show up there all along. It flew in front of the ship’s bow and…” he trails off, keeping his gaze drawn into the carpet below him.

“…And?” I ask gently.

“And it began talking to the ship,” he says, frustration and anger building in his voice. “Yelling and braying like the s-sense-…”

His body begins to quiver, pain and emotion swelling as his misery returns. I bolt across the room and sit by his side, putting one arm around his shoulder and leaving the other for him to grasp. He returns to my shoulder, the place he spent most of that miserable night, trying in vain to hold off the tears once more.

Finch comforts Duncan while he buries his head into Finch's shoulder. [https://www.sarlain.net/img/m2/ch35-1.png]

Curse that beast!! If only it knew the pain and suffering it still causes. Conflicting emotions tap me on the shoulder, reminding me that mere moments ago I thought of the mission to subjugate the Lithan as senseless and petty. Yet I can’t help but wish it had succeeded in ending that cursed feral. If our world were a just one, then the Lithan would be lying in a pool of its own blood.

“Please,” I tell him. “You don’t have to continue the story. I can infer what happens next.”

He lifts his head and murmurs, “You deserve to know the whole story.”

I watch him in silence. I don’t want him to continue, but if he insists, then I will allow him. He will have to learn how to live with his grief, and I suppose this is part of it in some small way.

“The Beatrix wasted no time readying the cannons,” he speaks slowly, trying to calm himself. He pauses to twist around and sit in a more dignified position. “But when they fired, the Lithan, it… it knew it was coming.”

“What?” I hiss under my breath. “It knew the shot was coming?”

Duncan nods solemnly. “It fell into a steep dive right as the cannons fired. As a result… they missed.”

I stare into him, scarcely able to believe his story. “Missed?! How is that possible?” I’d outright call it a lie if the precedent of the past few days hadn’t made the inane believable.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Finch. And it gets worse, I’m afraid. The Lithan came about to the ship’s bow, seething in anger. It screamed like it did in the weald, loud enough that it blew the windows of the pilot’s deck out. And, then…” he pauses to look me straight in the eyes. “Fire.”

My eyes go wide. “The Lithan?”

He nods solemnly.

I stare across the room, unable to locate my voice. Then, are the legends true? Lithans can breathe fire?

“Across the bow of the ship,” he continues. “A threat; a warning to retreat or its next attack wouldn’t miss. And so, unable to harm the beast and facing certain death if they tried, they retreated.”

…

I fall into the back of the couch, trying to process everything he’s revealed to me. A Lithan that appears from nowhere, kills our Princess, dodges mortar rounds, and breathes fire?! What sort of unholy hellspawn is this monster?!

Duncan’s mouth rises into a soft smirk. “I know. How could you possibly explain any of that to the public? You can’t.”

It would be a disaster, unquestionably. Melicola has already lambasted the notion of our Princess being murdered by a Lithan as a false flag for an invasion. They dispute there ever was a Lithan and claim Asha will simply reappear once we have control over the disputed island near their border. Even for Ellyntidians, what happened to the Beatrix is… challenging to comprehend.

We sat silently, staring at the walls and listening to the passing of steam carriages outside. All we had was our grief.

“What will you do now?” I ask, breaking the silence.

His whiskers twitch, and he thinks for a moment like he’s never seriously considered the prospect until now. “Go before the Queen, I suppose. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’ve failed her and failed to live up to my family’s reputation. Perhaps my sister would be better suited to fill my role…”

“You’d leave the palace?”

He remains quiet, refusing to face me.

“Oh, no, no, no, Duncan…” I take him by his hands, clammy and cold. “Listen to me, Duncan. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but among those of us in the guard… we look up to you. As a leader.”

His head swivels back to mine. “…You do?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “I’ve talked to the others in my unit, and nobody blames you for what happened. We all understand how insane this whole ordeal has been, and everyone is looking forward to your leadership in the coming days.”

Duncan works with the guard quite often and is well-respected among us. Some higher-ranking officers and nobles can be pretty challenging to be around, but not him. He treats us with dignity. It’s heartbreaking to hear he’s considering leaving.

His expression softens, and he removes his glasses to wipe away tears. Calypso and I, we talked about what would happen if one of us was lost in the line of duty. He told me once, ‘If I go, then I want a good show from you, Dunc. You better not let me down, alright?’”

I smile at Duncan’s colorful impersonation. It certainly sounds like something the Captain would’ve said.

“Do you believe in it, too?”

The resurrection of the soul? That in the afterlife, Lemurs will be shown the future events of those close to them? “I do.”

For the first time, he smiles ever so slightly. “I never took the time to learn Lemur’s beliefs on the afterlife. Finch, could you…”

“I’d love to.”

And so I explain to him what we believe, what will be shown to us in the afterlife, and the world that awaits us beyond this one. The great temple below the clouds of Maki, where all Lemurs come to live until the end of days. I can’t say I blame him for not knowing the whole story. Rabbits have a much simpler set of beliefs. But as I talked, I could see his grief beginning to fade. It brought him comfort that Calypso, and Asha, would still be following him in spirit.

“I think it would best if I returned to the palace,” he says after we finish talking, his voice more vital than before. “It won’t be easy to sort through Calypso’s belongings, but knowing he’ll be there with me… it helps.”

I smile, relief swelling that I could begin to calm his restless heart. We exchange passionate hugs, and Duncan rises to his feet. I re-ignite the light in the hall and follow him to the door.

He turns to look over his shoulder. “There’s one other thing you should know. About what’s happened.”

My tail tenses up. “There’s more?”

He nods. “I learned this morning they found rudimentary radio equipment around the hollow, buried deep in the grass. Finch…” he trails off, his voice turning rough again. “It’s not strong enough to communicate off-continent.”

I look at him in disbelief. “It’s not…? Then, who were they talking to? Here?”

“I don’t know, Finch. I just don’t know.”