They made their way toward the far end of the village — a quiet clearing surrounded by old stones, where the air smelled faintly of pine and smoke. Once, it had been a place for harvest rituals and prayers to the heavens; now, it was used for bodies too damaged to bury. The ground was dark with ash, the scent of burned wood forever etched into the soil.
Haru and Tama followed behind, carrying a small bundle of dry wood between them. Their steps were slow, heavy. No one spoke. Even the birds seemed to avoid the sky above that clearing, as though silence itself had settled to mourn with them.
The pyre was already built — a thick stack of logs forming a small hill in the center of the stone ring. Nova and Haru lifted Elaine's wrapped body from the cart and placed it gently on top. The white fabric fluttered faintly in the wind, as if breathing one last time before the fire claimed it.
Nova crouched beside her, his fingers brushing the edge of the cloth. The fabric was cold, rough, lifeless — a cruel reminder of how warm her hand once felt when she'd hold his after a long day. He stared at the still shape beneath the shroud, the realization finally setting in that she would never wake again.
His lips trembled. Every word he wanted to say — every plea, every thank you, every sorry — felt too small for the moment.
"...Thank you," he whispered at last. "For everything."
The wind stirred, carrying his words into the trees. The leaves rustled softly in response, as if the world itself had paused to listen.
Haru stepped forward and held out a torch, its flame swaying in the breeze. "You should be the one," he said quietly.
Nova hesitated, staring at the firelight reflected in Haru's eyes. Then, with a slow nod, he took the torch. Each step toward the pyre felt heavier than the last. When he lowered the flame to the wood, the dry bark caught instantly. Crackles whispered, then roared, and within moments, the pyre burned bright — a tower of fire reaching toward the sky.
Mira buried her face against Maela's arm, trembling. The firelight danced across her tears. The air shimmered with heat, wrapping around them like a living thing. The flames rose higher, painting the clearing in hues of orange and gold.
Nova didn't look away. He stood still, letting the warmth sting his skin, as if the pain could remind him that he was still alive. His voice, low and hoarse, broke the silence.
"Demons… I'll slaughter you the way you did my family. Every single one of you…" His whisper trembled between fury and grief. "…I swear it."
Maela stepped closer, her eyes glistening. "She's free now," she said softly. "The fire will guide her to peace."
Tama muttered a faint prayer — one he barely remembered from the old teachings — and bowed his head. Haru stood quietly beside Nova, his gaze distant, lost in the flicker of the flames.
The sun had climbed high, its light blending with the fire until the sky itself seemed to burn. When the flames finally began to wane, a strange calm settled over the clearing.
Nova knelt before the fading embers. The ground was warm beneath his fingers. He brushed the ash gently aside until he felt soil — firm, cool, real. His lips parted, his voice low but steady.
"Goodbye… Mom."
The last ember glowed faintly, pulsing like a dying heartbeat, then faded into gray. Only the smell of smoke and wood remained.
No one spoke after that. They stood there for a long while, five silhouettes beneath the still noon sky, watching the smoke drift upward — like a soul finding its way home.
Maela was the first to move. She stepped beside Nova and rested a trembling hand on his shoulder. "Let's go home," she said softly. "You two must be hungry. Lunch should be almost ready."
Nova nodded faintly. "Yeah… let's go."
Haru looked toward him and spoke quietly. "We'll leave too."
Tama gave a silent nod, and the five began walking away from the clearing. When they reached the turn in the road, Haru and Tama split off toward their own homes, leaving Nova, Mira, and Maela to continue down the familiar path.
Soon, they reached Maela's house. The warmth of the small home felt almost foreign after the chill of the pyre.
"You two sit," Maela said, moving toward the kitchen. "I'll bring lunch."
The smell of cooking soon filled the air — warm broth, cooked barley, faint traces of spice. It should have been comforting, but everything felt quieter than usual. Fewer people came by now. Most of the villagers had already gone home after the funerals, leaving the village wrapped in a heavy stillness.
Time slipped by, and before long, night had fallen.
Nova and Mira slept in Maela's house again that night. Mira's small sobs reached him through the dark. He turned toward her, pulling her closer, his arm around her shoulders.
'How will I manage the living of both myself and Mira?' he thought, staring at the faint glow of the dying hearth. 'How will things go after they leave tomorrow?'
But after a moment, he shook his head. "No," he whispered. "It's going to be okay."
The words barely left his lips before exhaustion claimed him, and he drifted into uneasy sleep.
When dawn came, Nova woke before the sun had fully risen. The air outside was cool and quiet, carrying the scent of dew and pine. He didn't wake Mira — she needed the rest — and instead took a short walk through the village.
The streets were empty. Ash still clung to the edges of the clearing beyond the trees. He took a slow breath.
"Today… we leave the village," he murmured. "I just hope we can reach the Verdant Mist Sect without any problems."
By the time he returned, the first light had touched the rooftops. He went inside, gently waking Mira. After they spoke with Maela one last time, they began preparing to leave.
"So, do we just go now, big brother?" Mira asked, rubbing her eyes.
"I wish we could," Nova said, tightening the strap of his bag, "but the village head is coming soon. I need to meet him before we go."
"Oh… okay."
Once they reached home, he tied the cloth bag carefully, securing their clothes and books inside. The coin satchel hung from his belt, and the slingshot rested at his waist, the strap crossing his chest from shoulder to hip.
"You sure you can manage that bag?" Mira asked.
Nova smiled faintly. "It's heavy, yeah. But I'll manage."
And then, with nothing left behind but memories and ash, the two stepped out of the house — not knowing if they would ever return, or what waited for them on the path ahead.