After a quick wash back at the place they reluctantly called their lodging, the five of them collapsed onto their cots. Sleep claimed them almost instantly, heavy and absolute. The day had been something new, something demanding, and their bodies paid the price without protest.
Only Riche seemed lesser affected by the exhaustion, as if the work had barely brushed against him.
Mihel lay back, staring briefly at the ceiling, a quiet spark of satisfaction warming his thoughts.
'My first Arivy…'
The coins felt heavier than their size suggested, as though they carried proof of something earned rather than given. He made a silent decision then and there. Half of every payment would be saved. For a suit. A proper one.
And not just from anywhere.
It had to be from Denyr, the gentleman from Skaria who had been so kind to him and Riche. He would buy it when he visited the capital of Avra, maybe on duty.
'Style is not a luxury,' he told himself firmly. 'It's a testimony of the man.'
The rough cloak and worn clothing he had always been comfortable in now felt… inferior. Ever since arriving in Skaria, seeing the polished way people carried themselves, something in him had shifted.
'The refined man respects his appearance,' he thought. 'At least the Exousia coats spare me the embarrassment for now…'
There was a strange comfort in that uniformity. Beneath those black coats, everyone stood equal. No wealth, no status, no background- just rank and common purpose to serve the people.
His thoughts began to blur, stretching and softening, sometimes hurrying and other times sluggish. One by one, they lost their shape until even the idea of them faded.
Sleep took him.
All five of them rested deeply that night, undisturbed by dreams.
Only the faint, stubborn stench of the room lingered, a quiet reminder of where they were.
***
Morning arrived with a sharp, insistent knocking at the door.
Mihel jolted awake.
For a moment he didn't move, caught between sleep and awareness, until the sound came again. He pushed himself upright, blinking away the haze. Across the room, Riche sat hunched on the edge of his cot, rubbing his eyes, while Vinelyn remained completely undisturbed, buried deep in sleep.
Mihel glanced around.
The same peeling walls greeted him. The same dull yellow light. The same stubborn, unpleasant odor that seemed to have soaked into the very wood.
'Still here…' he thought with a faint grimace. ' Hey! Vidoria never said anything about changing lodgings…'
The knocking came again.
Mihel climbed down from his cot and moved toward the door. On the other side, he could hear short, raspy breaths. He opened it to find the thin, familiar man standing there.
Mihel still didn't know his name, but privately he had started calling him 'Warty.'
The man's crooked grin stretched wider as soon as the door opened.
"Master… Kidt said to get ready if you wanna attend the funeral…" he squeaked. "He's waiting outside…"
Mihel frowned slightly, still waking up.
'Funeral…?' Then it clicked. 'Oh… theirs?'
He turned back into the room. Riche was now fully sitting up, watching him with a raised brow.
"Mister Kidt's asking if we want to attend the funerals of those Grade Ones," Mihel said. "Did you ask him about it?"
Riche gave a quiet nod before standing and heading straight to the washroom.
Mihel turned back to the man at the door.
"Tell him we'll be down soon."
The man nodded eagerly and shuffled away down the corridor, his uneven footsteps fading.
Mihel glanced toward Vinelyn, who was still fast asleep.
'Better not wake him…'
He hesitated briefly, thinking of the girls' room as well.
'They should rest too.'
Riche returned a few moments later, looking more alert. He quietly slipped on his coat and checked his Slate, while Mihel stepped into the washroom to freshen up.
When they were both ready, they closed the door softly behind them and stepped into the hallway.
From above, faint noises drifted down, other residents beginning to stir, their day already underway.
Mihel exhaled quietly as they walked.
'I can't believe people actually choose to live here…' He glanced once more at the worn walls and dim lighting.
'Must be because its cheap,' he decided. 'Because it offers nothing else.'
The pair walked down the stairs, only to find the counter empty this time. No Warty this time, and Cred had disappeared.
Mihel and Riche exchanged a brief glance.
'Something's off…'
Neither of them said it out loud, but the thought lingered.
Outside, Vidoria Kidt stood waiting, a open newspaper in his hands. He seemed calm, and self preserved. As he sensed their approach, he lowered the paper and looked up. A faint, grim smile touched his face.
"Let's go," he said quietly. "They found the bodies yesterday."
No one spoke after that.
Vidoria led them along a different route this time, one that curved away from the familiar streets. There were no lanterns lining this path, no shops, no voices. Just a slow drift southward.
Bit by bit, the city thinned out.
Stone gave way to dirt. Buildings faded into open ground. The hum of life dissolved into silence.
Eventually, they reached a fence with a simple wooden gate. A weathered sign hung beside it.
'Exousia Cemetery.'
They passed through without a word.
Inside, the ground was marked with rows of stone slabs, each one planted firmly into the earth like quiet sentinels. Ahead, a gathering had formed.
Two coffins lay side by side. In front of them, freshly dug pits yawned open, the scent of turned soil heavy in the air.
Exousia soldiers stood in formation on either side, their black coats shifting gently in the wind. They were rigid. Still. Unmoving. Like statues of stone carved stiff and straight..
Mihel's gaze shifted.
Among the sea of black, three figures stood apart.
Two women dressed entirely in mourning, their faces hidden behind thin netted veils. Beside one of them stood a well-dressed man, holding her arm tightly as if she might collapse at any moment.
They were the only ones crying. The only ones grieving.
Mihel frowned.'What…? No one else?'
Vidoria noticed.
Without looking at them, he spoke quietly.
"It is an Exousia rule," he said. "In the presence of family, no soldier is allowed to cry or show emotion during a burial."
Mihel's eyes flickered back to the scene.
'So they're holding it all in…' Some sort of grief settled in his heart when he realised this.
The ceremony continued.
The grieving families stepped forward. With trembling hands, they lit candles and lowered the flames gently to the bodies within the coffins, a final act of farewell.
The mothers were shattered. Not crying quietly. Not holding back. Completely broken.
At the final moment, the parents each brought out a glowing Destiny Slate.
Without hesitation, they dropped them into the graves. The sound was soft. But it echoed loudly from the pit.
The mother that came alone let out a raw, piercing scream as her son's Slate struck the earth below. It wasn't just grief. It was the irreversible breaking of a bond that might have been her connection to the world.
When it was over, the families turned and walked away slowly, supported by those beside them.
They passed by Vidoria and the two boys.
And the moment they were gone…
Everything broke.
The soldiers collapsed inward like a dam giving way. Cries erupted all at once, loud and unrestrained. Some fell to their knees. Others clutched the coffins, their composure shattered completely.
Grief, delayed and compressed, now tore free.
Vidoria stepped forward, moving toward a Decurion who stood nearby, quietly weeping. It was the same woman Mihel had noticed before.
'They were her students…' Mihel realized.
Beside him, Riche stood frozen.
His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes burning with something fierce and tangled. Guilt. Anger. Resolve.
Something shifted in him. Something sharp. He was making a decision to himself.
Mihel watched closely. 'Good… he's finding his footing again.'
By the time they turned away, Riche's expression had hardened into something steady.
The decision has been confirmed.
"Come on," Vidoria said gently as he returned. "Let's leave them. They need this."
The two boys nodded.
They walked back through the gate, retracing their steps along the quiet, barren path until the city slowly returned around them.
By the time they reached their lodging, three familiar figures were waiting outside.
Vinelyn. Midia. Halise.
Worry was written plainly across their faces.
The moment they saw the two boys, Vinelyn let out a relieved breath, a grin breaking through his tension.
Vidoria watched the reunion with a small smile.
Then, as if turning a page, he spoke. "So," he said, voice lightening just slightly, "ready for your first combat training?"