"Wait… where is everyone going?"
Shura turned slowly.
The plaza wasn't emptying at random.
It was flowing.
Not homeward.
Not scattered.
Together.
Toward the eastern district.
Zenkyou adjusted her gloves.
"You'll see."
The Walk
They walked for a long time.
No chatter.
No complaints.
Even Orin stayed quiet.
The streets narrowed. Then widened again. Homes thinned. Stone pavement shifted to white gravel that crunched beneath thousands of synchronized steps.
Ahead—
Black iron gates.
Tall.
Severe.
Beyond them—
Rows.
Endless rows of stone.
The air changed.
Quieter than silence.
Shura slowed.
"…A graveyard?"
Zenkyou didn't look at him.
"Yes."
Valryn's Home
A messenger stopped before a modest house near the city's outer ring.
He knocked once.
The door opened almost immediately.
A mother stood there.
She already knew.
The messenger bowed deeply.
"Valryn of the Eleventh Expedition… has fallen."
No scream.
No denial.
Just the kind of stillness that hollows a room.
Not long after, Captain Rhydan arrived.
He carried the body himself.
Wrapped carefully. Preserved with ritual bindings.
The mother stepped forward.
Her hands trembled—but her spine remained straight.
"Thank you… for bringing my son home."
That was all.
Her fingers touched the cloth.
And something inside her gave way.
Her knees buckled.
The sound she made was small.
Barely louder than breath.
That made it worse.
Behind her, Valryn's father stood rigid.
Not a single tear.
Not a single sound.
After a moment—
He turned and walked away.
No one stopped him.
Some grief refuses witnesses.
Rhydan
As he handed the body forward—
A memory pierced through him.
"Captain! Push!"
"A captain does not fall!"
Mud. Blood. The serpent's shadow swallowing light.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Then lifted the body again.
"I will carry him to his rest."
Not as an order.
As penance.
The Graveyard
Thousands waited.
Shura stood among them.
He saw Juro. Ren. Orin. Yura.
Yua, silent in Juro's arms.
For once—
Shura didn't ask questions.
He just stood.
The wind moved through the stones like a whisper.
Then—
Rain began.
Soft.
Almost hesitant.
Shura glanced upward.
There was no visible sky beyond the cavern dome.
Yet droplets fell.
He didn't ask.
Some moments don't require explanation.
The Arrival
Captain Rhydan walked through the gates first.
Valryn in his arms.
Behind him—
The mother.
And then—
The father.
He had returned.
No one saw when.
He walked straight, eyes forward.
Unshaken.
Uncrying.
That silence was heavier than wailing.
The crowd parted.
A coffin waited.
The wrappings were loosened just enough.
Valryn's face appeared.
Young.
Too young.
The mother brushed damp hair from his forehead.
The father placed a single hand on his son's shoulder.
Just once.
No words.
Words would have shattered something.
Royal Presence
Yun Shi stepped forward.
No escort fanfare.
No announcement.
He knelt beside the coffin.
Not above it.
Beside it.
"Valryn of Aethelgard," he said quietly,
"your name will remain."
Nothing more.
No grand vow.
No theatrical grief.
Just remembrance.
Shura leaned toward Juro, voice lowered.
"Master… why doesn't he act proud?"
"In my hometown, even minor officials demanded respect."
Juro's gaze stayed on the coffin.
"Because pride that stands above sacrifice is ignorance."
A pause.
"A ruler who has never bowed… has never understood what he rules."
Shura let that settle.
After the Burial
Soil fell.
Rain softened it.
People began leaving.
Slowly.
Black silhouettes against grey light.
Captain Rhydan remained.
Alone beside the fresh grave.
Footsteps approached.
A girl.
Young.
Eyes red.
She walked straight to him.
And struck him.
Once.
Twice.
Her fists hit his armor with dull thuds.
"You said you would protect him!"
Her voice fractured.
"You promised!"
The blows weakened.
"Why…?"
Her hands clutched his chestplate.
"Why didn't you save him?"
Rhydan did not block her.
Did not step back.
Did not explain.
There was no explanation that would make sense.
Rain mixed with her tears.
Eventually—
Her fists fell.
She collapsed against him.
Crying.
Rhydan's hand rose slowly.
Shaking.
It rested on her head.
"I'm sorry."
Not Captain.
Not leader.
Just a man.
Sorry.
After Some Time
The graveyard emptied further.
Footsteps approached again.
Rhydan didn't turn.
Shura stopped a few steps behind him.
"…Sorry for interrupting."
No response.
Shura swallowed.
"I just wanted to say thank you."
Silence.
"I know that doesn't fix anything."
"It doesn't change what happened."
He looked at the grave.
"But thank you… for fighting."
"For coming back."
Rain thickened slightly.
Rhydan finally turned.
His eyes were tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Shura."
A pause.
"Why are you thanking me?"
Shura didn't hesitate.
"Because someone has to."
That made something shift in the captain's gaze.
Subtle.
But real.
Shura hesitated.
"…May I know your name? Not your title."
A long silence.
Then—
"Rhydan."
No rank.
No armor in the word.
Just a name.
Shura nodded.
"I won't forget it."
Rhydan didn't smile.
But the tension in his shoulders eased—just a little.
Shura stepped back.
Turned.
Walked away.
He didn't look back.
Behind him—
Rain settled over fresh soil.
And for the first time—
Shura understood.
Strength wasn't about standing above others.
It was about standing after them—
And choosing to carry what they could not bring back.