The atmosphere surrounding the memorial was somber and sullen. The heads of the crowd were bowed, out of respect for the fallen warriors. Upon a large, wooden pyre were eight coffins, one for each member who had died. A priest had given a sentimental speech, praising the lives each member had lived. He stood next to the king, who stood next to the surviving members, and wore a grand robe of white and red. He concluded his speech with a prayer to the gods and left to join his clergy. The king asked the remaining expeditionaries if they wished to say anything, but no one desired to.

Among the crowd, Adelyn Granmund and her father, Byron, made an appearance. Her father put his arm around her. She didn't shed any tears, but he was a good man, a man she felt she could've come to love. She didn't feel it fair that Danticus was taken so soon. It made her angry. Her father told her it was the way of life, that it was unpredictable, but it made her feel no better. He'd have another man for her to marry by the end of the week. 

Jenna Thornshield silently wept on the shoulder of her lover, in memory of her fallen father. Cristomir's arms were wrapped around her, holding her in a comforting embrace. Gallador was the closest thing he and his cousin had to a father. And now, he had lost another one. If only he was there, if only he hadn't let himself be broken by the Scrag, he could've done something. But he failed Gallador, he failed Danticus, and he failed Jenna. He would not fail again with Tytus.

Far from the gathering, Siegfried sat perched from a ledge atop a small building, silently watching the memorial. His fancy tunic was dirty and torn, smeared with mud and blood. His hair was stringy and matted with sweat and dirt. It was all he could do to escape the wrath of the people. His posh life was gone, alongside his reputation. People now knew what he had done. Some cried for his death, others for his exile. But all were content with the quality of his life now. The most he had eaten in the past day was a loaf of bread he stole from a tavern, alongside his bottles of wine, of course.

In the crowd, he spotted Leyanne Perrelister. She looked stunning. If only Tytus hadn't shown up. Anything he could've had with her was gone forever, just like everything else he could've had. He had all but been exiled from the city. Next to the king were the expeditionaries. He could see all of them, all of the people he had left for dead. They were all there. Tytus, Miles, Jazmyn and...Cristomir. His breath stopped in his throat. How was Cristomir there? He had died, Siegfried saw it with his own eyes. He saw that monster sink it's teeth into his neck. He saw them run off, leaving his dead body lying on the castle floor. How had he survived? How was he standing there, living and breathing? Well, then again, how were the monsters within the castle doing the same? There was something most sinister about that place, something darker than the night. He wished he could work up the courage to personally apologize to each and every living member, but facing them would be facing his past, the thing he tried desperately to escape. He uncorked the stolen bottle of wine he had and started drinking, hoping he could forget his actions.

The torch bearer had set fire to the pyre, consuming the coffins, blackening the wood as it slowly creeped up the pyre. Fire was said to purify the body and release the soul to the heavens, allowing them eternal rest. But there were no bodies to burn.

*****

(Thanks for reading, and I'd love to know what you think! Sound off in the comments! Your feedback is always appreciated!)