Mourning

|Gary|

The world around me crumbled, mirroring the desolation that consumed my very being. Another empty bottle clinked against the ground as I drowned my sorrows in yet another swig of subpar alcohol, its taste a bitter reminder of the technological backwardness of this forsaken realm.

What was the purpose of my role as Commander? A hollow title, devoid of meaning or accomplishment. Self-doubt and self-loathing gnawed at my soul, intertwining with the tendrils of despair that wrapped around my heart.

Lancelot, my trusted comrade, lay lifeless. Lance Aya extinguished. Telmore Forest, once vibrant and teeming with life, now stood in ruins. Elshire Forest had fallen prey to the invading forces, breaching its defenses with ruthless precision. Even the Wall, our last line of defense, bore the scars of losses inflicted by the relentless horde of beasts.

Every step I took, every decision I made, led to nothing but utter failure. Dicathen, my cherished homeland, lay shattered and defeated. The weight of my inadequacy pressed upon me, a suffocating burden that I could no longer bear.

Despair enveloped me, its grip tightening with each passing moment, as I questioned my purpose, my worth, and the futility of my efforts.

The door swung open, and Kathyln entered, her tear-filled eyes mirroring the anguish etched upon my own face. But her words, once poised to unleash a torrent of reproach, faltered as she beheld the shattered state in which she found me.

"Gary," she whispered softly, her voice infused with both concern and determination, "This isn't the end. We can't give up now."

I knew that.

Deep down, I knew it too well.

But the death of Lancelot had inflicted a wound upon my heart that seemed irreparable. It dredged up emotions I thought only you, Kathyln, could awaken within me.

Lancelot, my unwavering companion, the Kevin of this life, had stood by my side through thick and thin. His absence now left an indelible void, a void that seared my soul.

"I saw Rachel today," Kathyln continued, her voice gentle yet resolute, as she took a seat beside me on the worn-out couch, her touch a balm for my wounded spirit. "I expected to find her in mourning, consumed by grief over the loss of the one closest to her heart. But instead, she was in the training hall, drenched in sweat, her mana core teetering on the brink of depletion. She's not even seventeen yet, Gary, and yet she possesses a strength that surpasses your own."

Her words struck a chord within me, awakening a glimmer of hope in the darkness that engulfed my being.

"So, rise, Gary," Kathyln urged, her voice firm, "Remember the promise you made to me? The promise that in this life, we would find happiness. It may seem distant now, but we can't let despair consume us. We must stand tall, together, and fight for the future we envisioned."

|Alistair|

Draped in black, the somber hue that mirrored the depths of grief, we gathered on this day of solemn remembrance. It was a clandestine affair, shrouded in secrecy, for the world must not learn of the devastating loss that had befallen us. To reveal the deaths of Lancelot and Aya would be to extinguish the fragile flickers of hope that had been painstakingly nurtured within the hearts of the Dicathenians.

This was a funeral meant only for those who held an unbreakable bond with the fallen Lance and Paladin. The chosen few who shared in their victories, their struggles, and their dreams. We formed a tight-knit circle, standing shoulder to shoulder, united by our sorrow and our unwavering loyalty.

My gaze scanned the gathering, searching for Gary and Kathyln, only to be met with a surge of anger as I realized their absence. How could they not be here, standing among us to pay tribute to our fallen comrades? The weight of my disappointment twisted my features into a mask of frustration.

Kathyln should have been by Gary's side, ensuring his presence in this somber moment. But it seemed as though he had chosen to disregard the significance of this gathering. Did the lives of our fallen Paladins hold so little meaning to him? Was he already consumed by thoughts of the next battle, the next strategy, while we mourned the loss of our brave warriors?

As I stewed in my resentment, the door creaked open, drawing my attention to an unexpected arrival. A figure hunched over, their demeanor a stark contrast to the image of the renowned Commander I had held in my mind. Could this truly be Gary Whiteborn, the brilliant mind behind our victories, the beacon of hope in this dark hour?

Gazing upon him, my anger began to dissipate, replaced by a pang of realization. In that moment, it became clear that I had misjudged him. His eyes held a dazed expression, his movements lacked their usual confidence, and his posture was stooped with the weight of an unseen burden. This was not the Gary I had known, the indomitable leader who would guide us to triumph.

My heart sank, softened by the understanding that he, too, was grappling with his own inner turmoil. The sight before me shattered the illusion of invincibility that had surrounded him, reminding me that even the strongest among us can falter under the weight of despair.

In that instant, my anger dissolved into empathy, replacing it with a deep sense of compassion. We were all mourning, struggling to reconcile our losses and find solace in one another's presence. Perhaps Gary's absence was not an act of indifference, but rather a reflection of his own battle with grief.

As he assumed his position at the helm, his usual composed demeanor seemed to waver. It was evident that his words were not rehearsed, lacking the usual eloquence and force they carried.

"Lancelot Orbel," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability, "He was more than just a renowned mage of Dicathen. He was my closest friend, a companion who stood by my side through thick and thin. His loss... it reverberates through each and every one of us. We mourn not only the exceptional mage he was, but also the connection we shared, the love that flowed between us."

I witnessed tears welling up in Rachel's eyes once again, her body trembling in response to Gary's heartfelt words.

"And Aya, though I may not have shared a personal closeness with her, was a remarkable individual whose life was tragically cut short by the Vritras," he continued, his voice carrying a mix of sorrow and determination. "Therefore, I declare this now. No more games. We will obliterate Alacarya's army, leaving no room for mercy. I refuse to accept any further losses, and so, I decree that no more Paladins shall sacrifice their lives in vain. Do you all understand the weight of this declaration?"

His proclamation hung heavy in the air, filled with a resolute determination that transcended his previous vulnerability. The room fell into a profound silence as the gravity of his words sank in, each person realizing the pivotal moment we stood upon.

His gaze swept across the assembly, his eyes burning with an unwavering resolve. In that moment, I saw the transformation taking place within him, as his grief morphed into an unyielding determination to protect those dear to him.

Together, we nodded, a collective agreement resonating through the room. We understood the significance of this decree, the unwavering commitment to victory and the preservation of lives. It was a solemn pledge, binding us all in our shared purpose.

|Lancelot|

The world around me plunged into an abyss of darkness.

Within this boundless void, I floated, adrift and untethered. Time itself seemed to lose its hold, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. No sensations reached me—no whispers of sound, no tastes or scents, no touch against my skin. It was an emptiness that consumed everything, leaving only a void in its wake.

Initially, there was a strange tranquility in this vast expanse. I felt a merging with the expansive universe, becoming a tiny speck within its infinite canvas. Yet, paradoxically, I also stood alone as the sole existence in this desolate realm.

But as the passage of time blurred, fragments of my identity began to resurface. I remembered that I was once human, a being with a tangible body, complete with hands, feet, and senses. Yet, I remained severed from any physical sensations. I attempted to move, to engage my limbs, to experience even the most basic bodily functions. Yet, no response greeted my efforts. There was only an absence—a void that echoed my every attempt.

The echoes of my past lives haunted me, a cacophony of failure that reverberated through my being. I carried the weight of disappointment, a heavy burden I could not escape. I had failed my father, failed Gary, failed Dicathen, failed Bell, failed Rachel. The very thought of another existence, another chance at life, felt meaningless in the face of such overwhelming defeat.

Why should I embark on another journey, only to stumble and falter once more? What purpose did it serve to traverse the vast tapestry of existence, if my steps led only to failure?

Despair clung to my soul, threatening to extinguish any flicker of hope that remained. In the depths of this consuming darkness, I wrestled with the questions that plagued my existence. Was there a way to break free from this cycle of disappointment? Could I find redemption amidst the shadows that enveloped me?

My answered remained unanswered as I was trapped within the confines of this enigmatic void for now.

|Cecilia|

"You killed him?" I demanded, my voice laced with both anger and disbelief. My fellow Legacy merely smirked, an arrogant expression adorning his face as he casually discarded his bathrobe for more appropriate attire.

"He was no match for me," he boasted, his tone dripping with superiority. "I can't fathom how a Legacy like you lost to him."

His words stung, jabbing at my bruised ego. The memories of my defeat and the subsequent humiliation inflicted by the man standing before me still haunted my thoughts, fueling my anger.

"What are your plans now?" I managed to ask, struggling to maintain a semblance of composure despite the fury simmering within me.

A self-satisfied grin played upon his lips as he adjusted his coat. "There's only one person left to eliminate," he replied, his voice dripping with malice. "The Commander of Dicathen, Gary Whiteborn. Or should I say, Ren Dover."

Frustration welled up inside me, aggravated by his deliberate withholding of information. "I still don't understand why you won't disclose your relationship," I retorted, my foot stomping on the ground in frustration. The fact that crucial details were being concealed from me gnawed at my core.

"It's a lot like how you refuse to divulge your connection to Arthur Leywin and the reasons behind your animosity towards him," he replied, punctuating his response with a teasing wink. "Now, Cecilia, are you going to stay here, cuddling my bed and desperately seeking remnants of my presence, or are you going to join me?"

A flush of embarrassment spread across my face, and I swiftly moved past him, exiting the room in a mixture of annoyance and newfound determination.

"Slow down, Cecilia," he taunted, a hint of amusement tainting his voice. "And perhaps do a better job of concealing your embarrassment."

"Enough, Kevin Voss," I shot back, my voice laced with a mixture of irritation and intrigue. I turned to face him, noticing the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "What did you say just now?"

He shook his head, dismissing my question with a cryptic smile. "Oh, nothing of importance," he replied, the mischief in his eyes evident. "Let's get going, Cecilia."