The memorial was held outside the western wall, where the land sloped gently toward a field of white stones.
Each stone bore a name.
Some were old, weathered until the letters were soft. Others were new—sharp, dark, and still smelling faintly of fresh carving.
The heroes stood together at the edge of the crowd, quiet in a way they rarely were.
Rows of families knelt before the stones. Some touched the names. Some whispered. Some just stared, as if waiting for the letters to answer back.
Wind moved through the field slowly, like it didn't want to disturb anyone.
"These are the twenty," Yui whispered.
Ilyrien nodded. "And many before them."
At the front stood a raised platform. The king's banner hung behind it, unmoving. Priests from the Elemental Church stood in a line, hands folded, eyes lowered.
One by one, the names of the fallen were read aloud.
Each name felt heavier than the last.
When the captain's name was spoken—Captain Rorven—something in the crowd broke.
A woman collapsed to her knees, held up only by two others. A young boy cried out loudly, his voice sharp and desperate. And near the front, a small girl stood frozen, clutching a wooden sword.
That was his daughter.
Shun noticed her first.
She didn't cry like the others. She didn't scream or shake. She just stood there, eyes fixed on the stone with her father's name, as if trying to understand what it meant.
Shun felt his chest tighten.
That man had taught him how to hold a sword properly. How to stand. How to breathe before striking.
Captain Rorven had once said, "You don't swing to kill. You swing to protect what's behind you."
Now he was gone.
After the prayers ended, families were allowed to approach the stones.
The heroes moved slowly among them, unsure of where they belonged.
Mio stopped when she saw a boy about her age holding a spear that was too big for him.
Riku saw a mother explaining to her child why their father wouldn't come home.
Emi stood silently near a stone with no visitors yet.
Haruto felt useless. Every step felt like he was walking through something sacred he didn't understand.
Shun didn't stop walking until he reached the little girl.
She was small—maybe six or seven. Her hair was tied in two uneven braids. The wooden sword in her hands was chipped and worn.
Shun knelt in front of her carefully.
"Hey," he said softly. "That's a cool sword."
She looked at him. Her eyes were dry but empty. "Papa made it."
Shun swallowed. "He was… really strong."
She nodded once. "He said he'd come back with a better one. A real sword."
Shun searched for words. He had fought monsters. He had faced death. But this—this was harder.
"He taught me too," Shun said. "How to fight. How to be brave."
The girl looked at him more closely now. "Did he win?"
Shun froze.
He couldn't lie.
"He protected people," he said slowly. "That means he didn't lose."
She frowned. "But he didn't come back."
Shun felt something crack inside his chest. "I'm sorry."
The girl looked down at her wooden sword. "Mama cries every night. She says Papa is in the sky. But the sky doesn't talk."
Shun clenched his fists. "I wish I could make it better."
She finally cried then—not loudly, just quietly, like she was afraid of bothering someone.
Shun tried to smile. "If… if you train, you can be strong like him."
She shook her head. "I don't want to fight. I just want Papa."
Shun had no answer.
Behind him, Yui watched, her hands trembling. Mio looked away, biting her lip. Even Kenta was silent.
Shun stood slowly. He bowed to the girl, deeper than he ever had to a noble.
"I won't forget him," he said.
She didn't answer. She just held her wooden sword tighter.
They regrouped near the edge of the field.
"I thought I understood death," Akira said quietly. "But not like this."
Naoki nodded. "Monsters are easier. They don't leave families behind."
Ilyrien spoke softly. "Among my people, we sing for the dead so their names stay alive. But songs can't stop pain."
The heroes stayed until the sun began to sink.
Some families left. Some stayed, refusing to move.
When they finally walked back toward the city, no one joked. No one argued.
Shun walked last.
He looked back once more at the field of white stones.
At the small girl, now sitting beside her mother.
At the wooden sword resting in her lap.
Captain Rorven had taught him how to fight.
But today, Shun learned something harder.
Some battles are lost long before swords are drawn.
And no amount of strength can protect everyone.
The city gates closed behind them with a dull, heavy sound.
And for the first time, the heroes truly understood what it meant to be walking toward war.