Chapter 75 #3
Kyller let out a quiet sob, and he forced himself not to interfere.
He looked again at the small pile of stones he had placed over the makeshift grave.
Although he tried to remain rational, he couldn't stop thinking about his father.
He felt that after miles of drama, cutting words, and unfounded grievances, he had finally managed to identify the reasons that made Serguei's atmosphere unstable and prone to constant storms.
Serguei was a storm, the strongest the world had ever known, and his name would be etched forever in history and in some hearts. The great man made of mistakes.
And that was why Zion couldn’t admire the open sky.
When you’ve lived your entire life inside a storm, you end up yearning for every bolt of lightning, every flash, every thunderclap echoing in all directions.
It was as if he were still waiting for the psychic to slip into his mind and tease him, telling him it had all been a joke.
Yet Zion noted, with great sorrow, that no matter how grand a phenomenon might be, no matter how much applause it received at the end of a performance, life was ruled by impermanence—even when staved off with empty words, magic tricks, or promises.
The storm had stretched across the eyes of every creature that ventured beneath its domain.
It had been solace for kindred spirits, fury for those who fought against its winds, and above all, the barrier that kept warships from reaching its protected coast. But like everything in life, the storm was now exhausted and longed for rest. It was the end of an era, and even the tears reflected the vibrant colors of a new chapter.
Now the sun broke through, heralding an open sky. The horizon gleamed with golden rays that pierced the clouds and painted the sky pink and orange. All of it clashed with the feelings in the ex-general’s chest. Such a beautiful day felt wrong when Serguei’s body was decomposing beneath his feet.
He glanced at his wristwatch and saw that the time for farewells was running out, so he took a deep breath and limped toward the grave, stopping beside his partner.
It was his turn to say goodbye. There, beneath the blood-red leaves, beside an entire field of ashes—proof of Serguei’s love for them—Zion closed his eyes and pressed his fist against his heart.
He began to softly chant the traditional Drutes rite, even though there were no drums to accompany the ceremony.
This was a farewell for soldiers who had died with honor in battle: one beat with a closed fist and another with an open hand, in a rhythm that mimicked a heartbeat.
When he was young, Serguei had told him this ritual was as ancient as the sun and moon, and that a Feeric could never depart the world without being guided by it.
The beats grew louder, rhythmic, and the first verse of the song formed a humble poetic request for the goddess of Death to accompany the man’s crossing through the Valley of the Moon.
The second was a plea for him not to be drawn into the Abyss.
The third was a wish for him to find the people he loved in the next life.
After the first beats, he saw Kyller join the ceremony, still kneeling, following the rhythm as if she could perform it with her eyes closed.
They continued for a full minute, until the words of the ancient song came to an end.
Then the two bowed in reverence before death.
Kyller finally stood and faced him, her large incandescent eyes full of tears.
Seeing her so fragile, he embraced her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her natural scent as if he needed it to survive.
The two set aside any conversation. It was clear this wasn’t the time for words.
They would grieve first, and when they were ready, they would talk about what had happened.
“We need to go.” Zion pulled away and extended his left hand to her.
The girl with the exotic eyes placed her trembling fingers on his palm, and he guided her toward the destroyed wall while she gazed at the sky. Everything was so clear and bright that her already tearful eyes spilled over with fresh tears.
In that moment, swallowing the pain of his wounds and feeling his boots sink into mud and ashes, Zion glimpsed his partner’s thoughts.
She was thinking about how she wished she had said goodbye.
How she’d had the chance to tell Serguei she loved him during the graduation party, but hadn’t.
She had lost her friend without ever admitting how important he was to her, how much she had learned to love him.
And now it was too late, because he had given his life for both of them.
Zion pretended not to see the tears blurring his partner’s vision and listened as, still gazing at the horizon, she whispered mentally:
“Goodbye, Serguei.”
The girl imagined that if her mental voice were loud enough, perhaps the psychic could still hear. One last breeze carrying the scent of the storm blew across their faces and rustled the colorful leaves left behind. Then, beside Zion, Kyller collapsed into uncontrollable, painful, broken sobs.
“I wish you a happy new life.”