When Noah passed the warm-lit window of the Old Oak Tavern, the boisterous chatter and clinking of cups and mugs spilled out without restraint.
The noise startled him for a heartbeat.
He had not intended to stop, but a group of adventurers seated around a table, loudly debating over large mugs of ale, drew his attention.
A burly man with a face full of coarse flesh and missing a front tooth gulped down a mouthful of beer, wiped his mouth, and shouted.
“I’m telling you, those gray-skin bastards have claws sharper than steel daggers! One swipe and old Barton’s iron-oak shield goes to shreds like it was made of paper!”
“Ain’t that the truth! And those gray scales—hard as dwarf plate armor! Hit them with an axe and you’ll see sparks fly.”
“Hey, did you hear? That noble who had to go try his luck by the Reed River a while back—what’s his name… Belmont?”
“Ha! That numbskull who can’t tell his own weight? He probably fed the swamp’s water lizards, or became a chew toy for those gray-scaled beasts!”
The front-tooth man bellowed with laughter.
“Who in their right mind would let a soft-skinned pretty boy like him poke around a place like that? A noble lord? Pfft! Dead and not even anyone to collect his body!”
At another time, hearing such profanity desecrating his family name and the honor of knighthood would have ignited a blazing fury in Yano, enough to make him draw his sword on the spot.
But now, a strange calm wrapped around him.
He stopped walking, stood outside the tavern window and listened quietly, his face blank, not even clenching his fists.
Only a profound exhaustion and complete release from the meaningless vanity remained in his heart.
He shook his head and was about to head back to the inn when the adventurers’ next words pierced his calm like an ice spike:
“Poor thing—heard his little widow is at the small chapel having his funeral today! Tsk tsk, with two kids in tow, life’s gonna be rough for her!”
Funeral?! Lola?! The children?!
Yano’s heart felt as if a cold giant hand had squeezed it hard enough to stop beating for a moment, then it thundered wildly, nearly bursting out of his chest!
All the fatigue, aches, the fog of uncertainty about the future, and the terror of the demon vanished in an instant.
He had to see them immediately!
No longer caring about attracting attention, he spun around and with every ounce of strength sprinted toward the small white stone chapel on the town’s west side.
…
Twilight was nearly upon them. The sunset’s afterglow gilded the neatly arranged white tombstones in the churchyard with a dull gold-red that brought no warmth, only a deeper desolation.
The air carried the damp scent of freshly turned earth, the faint fragrance of wilting white flowers, and a heaviness of sorrow that would not dissolve.
The low bell tolled one last time. The elderly priest in a simple black robe stood before a hastily erected wooden cross; sunlight stretched his shadow thin and long.
He folded his hands and held up a bronze holy emblem symbolizing “the sun and strength,” his voice aged and low but carrying a comforting power.
“In the name of the Sun, Ignis, we gather here…”
“We commemorate Arno Belmont, who once walked beneath the sunlight, wielded sword and shield, and fulfilled his duties.”
“May the holy flame of Ignis illuminate his road to a peaceful long night, soothing all unfinished regrets and pain.”
“…”
After a long while, the memorial concluded. The old priest inclined his head slightly and turned to Lola, his voice gentle and compassionate.
“Mrs. Lola, my condolences.”
“Ignis will burn away his greed and sins, and will grant the living the strength to move forward. May you find solace in your memories, not sink into perpetual night.”
“My condolences…”
Those words struck Lola’s already-ruined heart like a cold iron hammer.
She wore a coarse black linen dress, her blonde hair hastily pinned at the back, strands of hair stuck to her pale, bloodless cheeks from tears.
Where once generous tenderness filled her blue eyes, now only hollow despair and endless tears remained.
She stared at the fresh pit before her, at the symbolic cross marking the grave, feeling as if her own heart had been buried alongside it.
Her Arno…
The proud squire he had been, the clumsy but determined husband who tried to provide for his family—reduced to a mound of cold earth.
She could not even imagine what he had endured in his last moments.
“Mom…”
A small hand gently tugged at the hem of her skirt.
Four-year-old Emily looked up with a confused, innocent face; her clear blue eyes reflected bewilderment.
“Is dad… sleeping in the ground? When will he wake up? Emily wants to show him the new picture I drew…”
Beside them, their seven-year-old son Little Arno kept his lips tightly pressed, trying to seem like a man, but his trembling shoulders and reddened eyes betrayed his grief.
Lola’s body shook violently. She crouched down and forced out a smile that was more painful than crying.
“Daddy… Daddy went to a very, very far place… to find… find yummy candies and toys for Emily and Little Arno… he’ll be gone for a very, very long time…”
The sadness in Lola’s eyes deepened as she spoke. The overwhelming sorrow finally swallowed her, and she sank to her knees, overcome with sobs.
“Arno… my dearest Arno… wah…”
Just as her vision darkened and she nearly fainted from crying, an exultant cry cut through the dusk behind her.
“Lola!!!”
Lola froze instantly.
A hallucination? It must be from too much grief… she thought desperately.
But the voice sounded so real.
She turned with a near-death desperation.
In the sunset, a tall yet utterly bedraggled figure staggered over the low stone wall of the graveyard and raced toward her!
Tattered coat, face smudged with mud, deep chestnut hair matted and disordered—those familiar features…
It was Arno!
Alive and breathing!
Not a hallucination! Not a dream!
Elation, strong enough to break down any dam, instantly washed away all sorrow and despair.
Lola let out a short choked sound and, weeping, flung herself into the man’s arms.
Arno looked at the trembling form in his embrace, felt how tightly she was clinging to his back and waist, and heard the wail suppressed deep in her throat.
A storm of conflicting emotions surged within him.
It was a taste he could not classify.
A fierce guilt rose to his chest.
He raised his head and saw the light that immediately erupted in little Arno’s eyes and the boy’s effort to hold back tears; he saw Emily’s bewildered, astonished little face—and he saw the grave that had been set up for him.
Relief swelled inside him.
Cardos above…
No, perhaps he should be thanking that muck-dwelling demon.
In any case, he had returned!
He had not let the desperate funeral become an irrevocable end!
“Sorry… Lola… I’m sorry…”
He murmured against his wife’s ear again and again, his voice choked and hoarse.
Then he tightened his arms, pulling her and the children in even closer, as if trying to press them into his own body, using the real, solid feel of them to chase away the chill of the tombstone.
The sunset’s afterglow faded, stretching the long, long silhouette of the four of them huddled together.