Chapter Forty-One

Analu 

 Seated in Rome's room, my tears flowed freely, an unrelenting cascade down my face. The weight of pain and grief bore down on me, threatening to crush my spirit. It had only been a week since his untimely departure, yet the days stretched out like an unending, desolate eternity. The haunting image of Rome's family, overwhelmed with grief and inconsolable sobs upon hearing the tragic news, remained etched in my mind.

Recollections of the fierce fight, the relentless monster attack, and the events leading up to that fateful moment replayed in my thoughts. Rome, a stalwart and fearless warrior, had confronted countless adversaries, but even his courage couldn't withstand the relentless forces that stole him away from us.

I remembered my last word to him that "we'll figure this out. We always do." Such a fool I am.

The anguish of Rome's mother echoed in my mind—a mother's pain at losing her only son, an agony too profound to fathom. The depth of her sorrow became an abyss, a chasm of grief that threatened to engulf any hint of solace.

In the silence of the empty room, memories of Rome surrounded me, a poignant testament to a life extinguished too soon. Each tear that fell carried the weight of the sorrow I felt. It was a heart-wrenching scene, one of the saddest I had witnessed in a long time. I understood that this pain, this grief, would linger, an indelible mark etched into the fabric of my existence for a long time to come.

The village wore a somber cloak in the aftermath. A collective melancholy hung in the air, with some unable to conceal their sorrow, while a few harbored a discreet relief that Rome was no more. Despite the mixed emotions, a unanimous sentiment prevailed—he had become a hero, immortalized through the sacrifice that spared them all. Rome, once a contentious figure, now stood as a symbol of valor.

"Why didn't he share his plan, even as we rode together?" I pondered aloud, a futile attempt to make sense of the gaping void his absence had left. The words trailed off, succumbing to the torrent of tears that streamed down my face. I clutched a fragment of his clothing, a tangible relic that only intensified the ache within.

As I reminisced about the countless moments we'd shared in the preceding months, a rapid succession of memories flashed before me. His voice echoed, his smile radiated, and the touch of his soft yet undeniably strong hands lingered in my mind. The energy that enveloped me when in his presence—warm and comforting—now seemed like a distant echo. The realization hit hard, and I couldn't fathom that it was all gone.

My blouse, now drenched with tears, clung to me as a tangible testament to the depth of my grief. The pain, an insurmountable weight on my chest, intensified with each heartbeat. I found myself gasping for air, the anguish consuming me to the point where words failed, and all that remained was an unrelenting sorrow.

The creak of the door disrupted the heavy silence, and Miss Sherone stepped into the room, bearing a tray of food. The aroma wafted through the air, a stark contrast to the grief that had engulfed me. I hastily wiped away the evidence of my tears, a feeble attempt to conceal the vulnerability laid bare by sorrow. There's always something slightly embarrassing about being caught in the act of crying, but this time, I lacked the strength to hold back the tide of emotions.

As I fumbled with my attempt to compose myself, another tear betrayed my efforts. Miss Sherone, sensing my distress, didn't hesitate. She enveloped me in a warm embrace, and in that shared moment of vulnerability, our tears mingled. It was a cathartic release, a connection forged through grief that transcended words.

In the midst of our tears, memories surfaced—of my mom, her comforting hugs, the solace found in the warmth of her embrace. The lines between the present and the past blurred, leaving me to wonder why these recollections resurfaced now.

"Come on now, my dear child. Eat up," Miss Sherone gently encouraged, her words carrying a weight of sadness that mirrored my own. Her eyes, red from tears, reflected the depth of her emotions. In a fleeting moment, she composed herself, wiping away her tears, and though she avoided direct eye contact, she spoke with a quiet strength, attempting to shield me from the full brunt of her grief.

"Thank you, but I'm not so hungry," I responded, a half-hearted attempt to decline the offered sustenance. The ache within me mirrored the lack of appetite, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil that gripped my being.

"Sadness can affect appetite in different ways. Some people may lose their appetite when they are feeling sad, while others may feel a sudden desire to eat more. This can be because of changes in the levels of certain hormones and neurotransmitters in the body, as well as changes in the way the brain processes emotional and sensory information," Miss Sherone explained, her words carrying both empathy and wisdom.

"You sound like Rome," I replied, tears still glistening in my eyes.

"Yeah, he taught me that. He always said it whenever I was sad back in the days, so I know it like the back of my hand. So please eat up," she encouraged, a genuine smile gracing her lips as tears slowly traced down her cheeks.

"I'm going back out to tend to the rest of the wounded. I'll see you later. Oh, there's water in the bucket in the bathroom," she mentioned before leaving the room.

Alone, I mustered the strength to consume a small portion of the food she had brought. Witnessing Miss Sherone's effort to stay strong for my sake motivated me to do something, even if it was a small act like eating.

Once I finished eating and washing up, I ventured outside to check on the others. They had visited the day before, but my mood had deterred any conversation. This time, I caught them gearing up, ready for a new journey.

"Where are you guys going?" I inquired.

"We're going back to the dungeon to get stronger. In case something like this happens again. We want to be ready," John explained.

"We came to say it to you yesterday. We were just about to come again to ask if you wanted to come. You coming?" Sarah asked, her red eyes revealing traces of tears, yet her expression conveyed a resolute determination that fueled my spirit.

"Let's go. Rome wouldn't want us all sad. He would want us to get stronger," Celestia declared, her face carrying an unmistakable seriousness that mirrored the collective resolve of the group.

"What about the criminals and the new people?" I asked, a tinge of concern in my voice.

"Well, we found Rome's stuff, and along with the other materials from the Croc that was defeated, we created a prison which negates Nova force greatly. We tossed the ones that survived in it. So they won't be a problem for anyone," John explained.

"We're going over the cell to give them a final warning," Sarah added.

As we approached the makeshift prison, an annoying whistling sound cut through the air.

"What the hell is that?" I asked, trying to pinpoint the source.

"It's that fool Nevarro," Kero spoke up, his eyes revealing a mix of emotions—sadness, anger, and a fierce determination to grow stronger.

"If it ain't the superhero squad. You guys look like you're going for a walk. Coming to make sure your prisoners behave," Nevarro greeted with a sinister yet irritating grin.

"Man, shut the hell up. If it weren't for the good folks of this place, you'd be dead. Please, I beg you to just do something to change their minds," Kero said, his voice carrying a menacing edge.

"You got the look of a killer there, dude. I'm sooo scared. Take these bars down and let me out so we can have a rematch," Nevarro taunted, undeterred by the tension in the air.

"Hey! We just lost two people from your attack and another 10 people from that monster attack. When you were knocked out, we could have left you to die. You owe us. So shut up and be a nice doggie," Sarah snapped back, her words sharp and unyielding.

I stared at Nevarro in silence, my fists clenched, wrestling with the urge to unleash my fury upon him. Rome hadn't taken the lives of Nevarro's men, at least according to what John and Sarah had shared when they discovered him. Rome could have, but he chose not to. In that moment, I decided to honor Rome's legacy by refraining from taking the same path of violence.

Nevarro continued his taunts, blissfully unaware of the boiling anger within me. Kero, too, maintained a stoic exterior, his eyes revealing the storm of emotions within. The whistling persisted, an irritating soundtrack to this tense encounter.

"Listen, Nevarro," I finally spoke, my voice low and controlled. "You may be a thorn in our side, but we're not going to stoop to your level. Rome wouldn't have wanted more bloodshed."

"Aw, ain't that sweet, the hero preaching about mercy. You're lucky these bars are here, or I'd show you a real good time," Nevarro sneered.

"Save your threats, Nevarro. We're not here for a rematch or to entertain your nonsense. We're here to give you a chance to change your ways. There's more to life than violence and chaos," Kero said, his words carrying a weight of authority.

The air thickened with tension as Nevarro's mocking grin faded into a scowl. It was clear that our words had hit a nerve, even if he refused to admit it.

"Enough of this," Sarah interjected, her tone firm. "We've got our own journey to focus on. You can rot in here or find a way to redeem yourself. The choice is yours."

As we turned away, leaving Nevarro behind, I couldn't shake the feeling that our encounter with him was far from over. Yet, for now, we chose the path of restraint, honoring Rome's memory and hoping that even someone like Nevarro could find redemption.

As we approached the village gate, the weight of our departure pressed upon us. Ted stood beside us, a silent witness to the journey we were about to embark on.

"I'm sorry we can't stay to help expand and rebuild, Ted. You know we have to get stronger because we have strong monsters and foes to fight," I explained.

Ted nodded solemnly. "Yea, I know. We have enough hands here. You guys go ahead and do your thing."

Our goodbyes were bittersweet, especially with Rome's family. I hugged them tightly, feeling a mix of sorrow and determination. Even Atwaine, Rome's nephew, sought reassurance.

"You going to find my uncle, right?" he asked.

"Well...your uncle is always right here with you." I touched his chest while I spoke. "One day we'll all see him again. It's just a cycle of life, okay?" I replied, trying to offer comfort. Atwaine hugged me once more before running off to play with his friends.

As we prepared to leave, a fire of determination burned within me. Rome had been a hero to our village, and in his death, he continued to inspire us. I felt a responsibility to honor his memory and ensure such tragedy never struck our home again.

I wrote a letter to my family, detailing the events that had transpired. Handing it to Rome's mom, I requested her to pass it to Bobbo when he visited for trade. My family needed to know, and I needed to get stronger. Promising to return in a month, I held onto the belief that I would visit them, changed and more capable.

With our weapons and armor in hand, we set out for the dungeon. The journey ahead carried a mix of sadness and determination. I knew Rome's spirit would guide us, and I vowed to protect our village and loved ones with all my strength.