— WILHELM —
Commissioner Siegmund had already driven off in a rage, muttering that the Bernheim family should enjoy their last day.
Wilhelm remained behind.
He was middle-aged, with blond hair and a short three-day beard, and always seemed uncertain—like a man constantly weighing his thoughts against his conscience.
The state regime had been gnawing at him for a long time, leaving him no peace, neither day nor night. Ever since he had witnessed several beast-folk being executed cold-bloodedly right before his eyes, he had begun to doubt his duties—and himself.
Helping Commissioner Siegmund over the past days to expose a family that aided beast-folk—and then watching that family be arrested and executed—had finally pushed him to question everything.
Especially when the regime showed no mercy toward children or the elderly. Human or beast-folk—it made no difference.
His thoughts drifted to his own family.
Wilhelm finished his last cigarette and flicked it away.
He knew Siegmund well. He knew his methods. He knew where this would lead.
"I don't want to watch this anymore," he whispered to himself.
"I will help them."
— KUBATO —
The funeral procession came to a halt at the far end of the cemetery, where an open grave waited silently for the next soul to be laid to rest.
The cemetery garden was beautiful. Trees lined both sides, and the gravestones—each belonging to a different life—were lovingly decorated.
And yet, in the midst of all this, Kubato felt like an outsider.
Out of place.
Unwanted.
As if she did not belong.
Still, she was grateful that her stepfather had done everything possible to hide her appearance. The warm hat concealed her silver wolf ears, and the long skirt hid her tail.
The bald man who had delivered the sermon earlier spoke a few final words—but they passed her by unheard.
Her gaze was fixed on the coffin.
Grandpa was in there.
No longer alive.
As the last words were spoken and the coffin was lifted to be lowered into the grave, pain surged through her heart—along with the bitter realization that she would never see her grandfather again.
Tears welled up as she squeezed Marcel's hand.
"He did everything so that you could live," Marcel said softly, trying to comfort her. "Live for his sake."
But the tears did not stop.
"I don't want Grandpa to go," she sobbed, her throat tightening as her voice broke.
Marcel didn't answer.
He simply knelt down and pulled the small girl into a tight embrace.
Many people around them shared in her grief.
The Bernheim family spent the following hours accepting condolences and kind words. It sounded nice—comforting even—but to Kubato, it all felt hollow.
Her pain was different.
Deeper.
It felt as though everyone else was wearing masks—pretending to hurt—while she truly did.
Grandpa…
— KONRAD —
It was already late evening. Most of the guests had left the cemetery after attending the funeral of Kubato's grandfather and mother.
Yet Kubato had refused to leave her grandfather's grave all day. Even when Marcel tried to guide her away, she resisted in silent defiance.
Eventually, only she and Konrad remained, while the rest of the family was scattered across the cemetery or inside the building where refreshments were being served.
"Who was Grandpa Gustav to you?" Konrad asked hesitantly, looking at the girl's tear-stained face.
Kubato noticed his gaze but did not meet it.
"My… dad," she answered quietly, almost reluctantly.
Konrad didn't know how to comfort her.
He wanted to hug her. To say something reassuring. Anything.
But he was still fighting his old beliefs. The guilt. The pain he had caused her.
It left him frozen.
A cool breeze swept through Kubato's hair, making her shiver slightly. The sun cast deep red hues across the clouds.
"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" hummed a familiar voice, as if it had always been there.
Konrad turned sharply.
It was the black-clad man from last night.
"Beautiful?" Konrad snapped, keeping Kubato in the corner of his eye.
Akumu stood beside the wolf girl, smiling. In one hand, he held a piece of chocolate cake, taking a content bite.
"I meant the sunset," Akumu said calmly.
With his other hand, he produced another slice of cake and offered it to her.
"Want some?"
Kubato hesitated, then reached out, took it, and began to eat.
"…Tasty."
Konrad noticed immediately how comfortable she seemed around him.
The irony tore at him—he had tried to kill her just last night. Akumu had saved her. Akumu had forgiven him.
But had Kubato?
She took another bite, chocolate smearing her lips slightly.
"Death is not the end," Akumu said into the silence. "It's merely the beginning of something new."
"But…" Kubato's voice trembled. "I don't want Grandpa to—"
She broke down again.
"Your grandfather lives on within you," Akumu said lightly, folding his hands behind his head. "Not just as a memory. He invested himself in you. A part of who he was now lives on in who you are."
"But it hurts so much…" she whispered, clutching her chest as tears fell again.
Akumu quietly crouched beside her.
He said nothing.
It was as if he understood her pain—shared it.
Carried it with her.
When Kubato finally calmed down, she finished her cake with soft sniffles.
"Akumu…" she said after a while. "Do you know this feeling too? Have you ever lost someone you loved?"
His gaze remained fixed on the grave. A fleeting shadow crossed his face.
"Yes," he answered quietly. "Many times."
Silence followed.
Yet Akumu's presence alone brought her comfort—something Konrad knew he could never give her.
Part of him wished he could do more. Another part was simply grateful that someone else was there to hold her broken heart together.
"Konrad!" Marcel's voice called from afar.
Konrad looked up to see his stepfather waving.
"Konrad! Kubato! Come on—we're going home!"
"Kuba—" Konrad turned toward her—
Akumu was gone.
The girl breathed more calmly now. She wiped her face and turned around.
"You must be tired," Marcel said gently, taking her hand. "Let's go home."
"Yes," Konrad replied, never taking his eyes off Kubato.
"Home."
Akumu had entrusted him with protecting her now.
Konrad nodded to himself and followed them.