Upon seeing Aether arrive, Tartaglia immediately rose to his feet, eager to rush forward and ask.
Aether halted at the edge of the campfire's light, his gaze sweeping over each Harbinger present before settling on Tartaglia's anxious face.
He didn't speak immediately, but the profound sorrow and complexity in his eyes caused Tartaglia and the other Harbingers who sensed something was amiss to feel their hearts sink heavily.
The campfire crackled, casting flickering shadows across Aether's grave expression. He took a deep breath, his voice low and hoarse:
"I bring news about Angie..."
Though Aether had never met Angie personally, he held her in great admiration.
"...Though I knew her briefly, her deeds inspire my utmost admiration."
He paused, as if gathering his thoughts to accurately convey the weight of her heroic sacrifice.
"To ensure our safe passage to the Goddess's Slumbering Place, she used the power of her Pure Soul to restrain the pitch-black Abyss and guide us there. To awaken the Goddess's dormant essence, someone had to willingly bear and purify the Abyss's primordial corruption... It was a path almost certain to lead to death."
"Angie knew full well the risks, yet she still stood alone against the darkness that even the gods couldn't directly confront."
"She became the final shield, burning everything to ashes for the ultimate victory."
Aether's gaze swept across Tartaglia's pale face before settling on the flickering flames. His voice, though soft, carried the weight of a thousand mountains:
"Her sacrifice deserves to be etched into the memory of every survivor."
Tartaglia's expression froze instantly. He looked as if he hadn't understood, or perhaps refused to. A forced, almost twisted smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"...What did you say? You're the Traveler's brother, right? This joke isn't funny at all..."
Tartaglia couldn't continue. His words cut off abruptly.
Because no amount of denial could change the truth. And because...
Aether silently raised his hand. A faint glow flashed, and a coffin carved from pure, rose-pink crystal landed heavily on the ground beside the bonfire.
The crystal coffin was crystal clear, revealing its contents to all present without reservation.
Inside lay something that could scarcely be called human.
Torn fragments of clothing barely clung to the body, revealing flesh riddled with deep, bone-exposing lacerations and the unmistakable, terrifying bite marks of some colossal creature.
Bones twisted at unnatural angles, limbs limp and crushed, as if pulverized and chewed by immense force.
The once delicate face was smeared with grime and blood, the eyes tightly shut. Yet the brows remained locked in a perpetual scowl, frozen in the agony endured in life, a timeless struggle etched onto her face.
Boom—
A thunderous explosion erupted in Tartaglia's mind, tearing through his consciousness.
The person in that crystal coffin... it was his sister. He couldn't possibly mistake her!
The sister he had personally sent on this journey, the sister he had promised to bring home safely.
Tartaglia's breath caught in his throat.
His blue eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpricks as he stared fixedly at the mangled remains in the coffin.
It felt as if an invisible hammer had slammed into his chest. He staggered violently, his knees buckling as he lurched forward, nearly collapsing to the ground. Only by bracing himself against the coffin beside him did he manage to steady himself.
He didn't break down into sobs, nor did he hurl hysterical accusations.
Instead, a bizarre, strangled wheezing escaped his throat, like the desperate struggle of a punctured bellows.
His shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably, the tremors growing more violent.
The hand propping himself against the coffin clenched with such force that blood seeped beneath his fingernails. The index finger, strained at an awkward angle, had its nail torn clean off.
Such excruciating pain would be unbearable for most, yet Tartaglia seemed oblivious.
His right hand reached out to touch the crystal-clear lid of the Cryo coffin, but his fingertips began to tremble violently a few centimeters from the surface, unable to move any closer.
He stared at the broken, tortured body within, a vessel that had endured unimaginable agony. Perhaps, in that moment, he recalled his sister's final farewell, her stubborn yet forcedly cheerful smile.
"Brother, wait for me until I come back."
"...An... Angie... my sister..."
He finally forced the shattered name through gritted teeth.
His voice was barely audible, yet it seemed to have drained every last ounce of his strength.
He abruptly lowered his head, his forehead slamming heavily against the cold, rough edge of the coffin. His entire back heaved violently, like that of a dying beast, as he emitted a suppressed, yet profoundly dull and anguished sob.
The campfire crackled and snapped, casting flickering shadows across the young man's collapsing, trembling form and the remains lying within the crystal coffin, silently recounting their tragic tale.
A deathly hush descended over the surroundings, broken only by that stifled, soul-wrenching sob drifting on Natlan's night wind.
An eerie stillness descended upon the bonfire, broken only by the crackling of the burning wood and Tartaglia's stifled sobs carried on the night wind. The Harbingers reacted differently, yet all were shrouded in a heavy, oppressive darkness.
Aether lowered his head, unable to bear witness to the scene.
As a brother himself, seeing Tartaglia in such agony struck a deep chord within him.
If it were my sister...
Aether dared not finish the thought. As all the Harbingers' attention focused on Angie, he quietly withdrew.
Rosalyne's rose-pink pupils remained fixed on the crystal coffin, as if she could see through the shattered body within, reliving the dazzling, peerless strike from Inazuma's Tenshukaku, and the memory of Angie carrying her away to safety.
She also recalled the countless moments they shared in Snezhnaya...
She forced herself to maintain composure through sheer force of will, but her trembling hands betrayed the overwhelming grief threatening to shatter her.
She could never repay the debt she owed...
"She couldn't be saved after all..." Sandrone murmured.
Sandrone had harbored a grim premonition when Pulonia was destroyed, but she kept silent, clinging to the hope that it was just her overthinking.
Now, it seemed miracles really didn't exist.
Arlecchino had witnessed countless farewells, but Angie... the young woman who brought sweets and stories to the children, her eyes as clear as Snezhnaya's winter springs...
Her death left a wound just as deep in Arlecchino's heart.
Columbina stared unblinking at the coffin, then at the devastated Tartaglia.
The half-eaten grilled meat in her hand had long fallen to the ground, its juices staining her skirt, but she paid no heed.
"Angie... has become so quiet... She used to smile at me..."
Her voice was ethereal yet bewildered, carrying a naive cruelty that stung more than any tearful outburst.
Capitano, Angie's commander, the towering giant of a leader, stood motionless, his heavy helmet sealing off all emotion like a silent iceberg.
Only his clenched fists, hidden behind his back, betrayed the turmoil within.
The metal gauntlets creaked faintly under the strain, the armor plates at his knuckles warping slightly.
He recalled Angie's first time standing before him, tilting her head back, her gaze unwavering as she declared, "I can't beat you. Let me follow you..."
He had honed her to a sharper edge, and in doing so, had also tempered her into maturity...
The price of victory was brutally high. That crushing guilt, like the coldest ice, had carved a silent fissure into his heart's defenses.