The Festival of Ashes
December 20th. It was a day Lila had been dreading for weeks. Ever since their final battle she had worked tirelessly. Searching for survivors, organizing rebuilding efforts, recovering remains, communicating with their neighbors. All of that was easy compared to what she had to do today.
She had ordered there to be no celebrations of their victory until they had found every survivor and recovered the remains of those who didn't make it. It's been two months now, and while they had found most everyone according to her head count they were still a ways off from a full count. Those still missing had to be presumed dead.
Lila let out a sigh as she arranged herself to look a touch more put together.
"You didn't fail them."
Lila glanced at her sister in the mirror as she spoke. "Well, I certainly didn't find them." She replies.
"Lila, there was no way for you, or anyone else to find everyone. The city was coming down before the explosion vaporized everything else."
Lila lets out another sigh. "It's easy to say when you're not the one that needs to explain that to their families."
Jari places a hand on her shoulder with a sympathetic smile.
Lila takes a deep breath. "I'll be out in five minutes."
Jari nods and gives her sister one last hug from behind before heading out and closing the door behind her. Snow crunches under her feet as she heads down to the beach where a crowd gathers around several braziers that have been set up on the beach, several large ships sitting at the water's edge as a light snow falls.
"How's she doing?" Kettil asks as Jari approaches, a mug of hot cider in his hand, draped in heavy cloaks and furs.
"About as well as you would expect." Jari replies. Kettil gives her a worried look. "She'll be fine. She's tough."
"Still..." He spares a glance at the ship in the center. The one which held no remains and sighed as he looked back into the fire.
The Felman family had this day marked for quite some time. After the final battle against High Central, Chief Grey, Sir Brandt, their children, and their dragons remained to help with rescue and recovery for almost a week. Then once the Chief decided that it was time for them to head back to Haligan Island, she made absolute sure to send volunteers to assist the new Queen whenever possible. Even Sven, Dagny, and Kari volunteered on those assignments, and the Chief herself made an effort to pop in when needed. Grey and Brandt also followed suit in respecting Lila's wishes in holding off on any celebration of any kind until the funeral.
Then the day finally arrived. The celebration of the defeat of High Central was scheduled, but before that...the funeral, which Grey found herself dreading. So, the Chief put the plans for all of Jugen's suggestions on hold, and she and Brandt along with Shadow, Sven, Dagny, Kari, Sven's new friend Phelma, and their respective dragons made their way to the Phoenix Sovereignty.
As she braided her hair and prepared for the day that morning, the Chief realized that she had been to one too many of these in her lifetime. There was the funerals for all the children who perished in the epidemic on Haligan Island, but...she was 3 years old at the time. She didn't remember much of it, if at all. According to her parents, she was still recovering herself at the time. However, there were the ones she did remember...Leif's funeral...then those who perished in the first Grounded Dungeon Rebellion...then her father's...then Greg's...then Magnus'...and now...one for those who perished in the second Grounded Dungeon Rebellion.
Grey could only sigh at how much harder it was becoming. Then again...she could only imagine how hard it would be for Lila as the former Commander and now Queen of the new Phoenix Sovereignty. This was one of the hardest parts of being a leader, and she knew that she needed to be there for her niece in any way possible.
She was jolted out of her thoughts when she felt two hands on her shoulders, and she looked up only to see that it was her husband, Brandt looking at her with a sad smile. "You okay?" he asked.
Grey smiled at him sadly as she placed a hand on his holding it in place. "I think so," she said. "It's just..." she sighed, "this never gets easier."
Brandt sighed as well. "I know," he said, "but they were all proud to fight for this rebellion. They will be honored and remembered for a long time."
"Yes, they will," Grey said. "And they will never be forgotten."
With that said, husband and wife walked out of the bunkhouse hand-in-hand with their dragons, their children, and Phelma and made their way to the beach.
Taking up nearly a third of the lakeside, the size of the gathering dwarfed its sound, which was only a smattering of hushed conversations not much louder than the crackling of the brazier coals. Clear groups could be sorted out with the naked eye—there were many huddles of white-haired nixes, their breath invisible in the chill air compared to those around them exhaling hot clouds of condensation. Among them was Nio, and the deer half-breed Alita had her thin arms tucked into the nix's arm. Some were less obvious—families and friend groups and squadrons, bundled up against the cold, many of them comforting each other. A small cluster of Arnasons, accompanied by Daybreak's huge, watchful silhouette, stood nearer to the ships on the right.
Tree remembered. She remembered holding a handmade bow in her freezing paws, standing underneath the drifting snowflakes, staring hollowly out at a single vessel instead of many, holding a king instead of his people. She glanced sideways, somewhere near where the Warden hovered invisibly, and knew that the demon was remembering both Haddock's funeral, and others that Tree herself hadn't even been present for. The event was made uniquely strange by the knowledge of the oldest body amongst the others, wrappings distinguishably dirty and decomposing, but laying just as nobly with the dead as though he'd always belonged. As far as Treepelt understood it, an exact copy of the man she currently stood entwined with. She hated that her children were with her, to experience what she wished she hadn't, but she tried to insist with herself that it was a good thing—it was the end of a terrible era, and the start of a much better one.
Dario stayed near the Arnasons, antlers rising like a crown above the group's heads, and Milae was not far off, standing huddled with a boar half-breed with whom he shared the same distant, hollow look. Milae knew Bhaem had not had enough time to say goodbye to Tulli's tiny form, but he knew any amount of time would not be enough.
By the boat with an empty deck, a man stood at its stern, one paw on the rear figurehead, another on the railing. He was bent over slightly, and the thick shawl around his shoulders still bared his auburn hair and feline ears to the freezing air. The shoreline gravel gritted against itself as he rocked almost imperceptibly, forward and away, keeping his head ducked against his chest.
Liam's two months of mental sedation had been a godsend. Both he and Nala had learned their lessons seven years ago after the death of the Praetor. He had fought off her comfort and she had hesitated to give it, fearing the removal of his autonomy or agency, and the result was a very tumultuous recovery that was difficult for not just Liam, but for Kendra and Tree, too. With both of them fearing another devastating blow to his psyche, they agreed that the next traumatic experience he went through, they would do things differently. His rescue from the now-dubbed Blackout Timeline definitely qualified, and he had been heavily dependent on Nala's ability to quickly cut off a flashback or a panic attack, holding his memory hostage until he calmed down. It made a huge difference, and made him far more useful for tying the loose ends of the Rebellion into the new tapestry of the Sovereignty.
Today, Liam had not only requested a few minutes away from his family; he also asked the Warden to withdraw completely. It upset her, not because she was offended, but because she had so few other ways to soothe him. As of now, she held at a distance, gently sensing Liam, but doing no more than brushing her mind against his in solidarity. He paused in his rocking, buckling slightly over the ship's railing and dry heaving once, wiping away sour saliva with his wrist.
She stirred, uncomfortable. Let me—
"No. I'm okay." Liam fixed the empty deck with a hard stare, trying to bring the details of its wooden planks into focus instead of his memories. Treepelt was standing behind him, ready to embrace him once he returned, but at the same time…she wasn't. She had bled out in the shadow of High Central's walls, under a scarlet sun. The same went for Kendra—at a distance, Kezia had disintegrated her, Jin and Daybreak in a blaze of radiance. He had no clue what had happened to Vox. The thought of his father possibly still being alive, still searching for him, brought the nausea back tenfold. And Nala…
"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. Survivor's guilt didn't even begin to describe it. But he wanted--needed--to feel it. "Fuck, fuck…"
