Nagan stood in a quiet tent, shuffling his things into a saddle bag that would later be connected to Ravi's saddle. It proved to be a bit of a challenge, the formal, restrictive clothing he normally dreaded fastening snuggly around his chest.

He wore a newly whitened button-up, one with subtle details embroidered in white thread, a deep purple sash wrapped around his waist to represent his name, polished black boots, and midnight purple trousers Aunt Cilara managed to send in time. Nagan didn't know how she got a color so rich commissioned within a week—it must have cost a fortune—but when he asked about it, he only got a short letter in reply: "You never ask for anything, so you will accept what I give you." Over it all, he wore his Dragonmage cloak. But this time, he didn't complain. He didn't dress up for Turn of the Year's Eve; not this time.

Today was the day of the memorial.

If anyone noticed the two gold rings—one with a red gem and the other with a blue one—attached to Nagan, Az, Milora, and Aitor's helixes, no one mentioned it. The commission arrived a little late, but that didn't matter in the end. All that night they talked around the fire, reminiscing the stories of their fallen friends as Nagan skillfully worked, piercing each of their ears.

Nagan didn't turn around when he heard someone enter the tent, assuming it was one of the others, but it was when the footsteps stopped directly behind him did the hair on the back of his neck rise. He pivoted around in an instant, startled when he didn't recognize who it was, reaching for his sword, but his surprise quickly turned to confusion.

"...Lieutenant Qentor?"

Qentor inclined his head in confirmation, light brown strands of hair momentarily falling over blue eyes. Without a word, he held out his arms, and it was at that moment that Nagan noticed the Lieutenant was carrying something. Black fabric was neatly folded in his arm, and something shimmered every now and again when it caught the light just right. But that wasn't what caught Nagan off guard the most, and he froze when he realized what he was looking at.

It was Professor Fai's sword with his Dragonmage cloak wrapped around it.

Qentor lifted his arms a bit more as if beckoning Nagan to take it.

"Is that..." Nagan breathed. "Are you giving this to me?"

Qentor nodded.

"Why?"

Qentor didn't respond, instead continuing to stand silently. Not knowing what else to do, Nagan carefully took the bundle from Qentor. For a moment, he only stood and stared down at the sword, committing each detail to memory. He had always admired it from afar. The only times he was ever close to it was when he sparred with the professor, but with it in his arms, he could see it really was a specially crafted sword. From the intricate engravings of a plum tree across the hilt and base of the sword to the little red gems representing the blossoms. He could feel the hum of enchantments surrounding the blade, even through the cloak.

"I never knew if Fai was his given name or surname."

Nagan nearly jumped out of his skin when Qentor spoke, and his head shot up in surprise. He always thought Qentor was mute, and he could only stare as the other continued speaking, Qentor's voice low and almost soothing if it didn't have a slight rasp.

"I thought his belongings would be best in your hands. He was your father's apprentice, and I doubt the Totari cared enough about him to want what remains."

"But what about General Meixong—"

"The general declined."

Nagan clicked his mouth shut, and he looked back down at the cloak and sword. Without another word, he went back to the saddle pack and gently laid it on top.

Qentor then spoke again. "Are you ready to go back to Carvolier?"

Nagan looked over his shoulder. "How did you know that?"

"I was asked to accompany you, and I'll be helping with your training."

"Really? I wasn't told that much." It was a surprise to hear that, but a welcomed one, nonetheless. Professor Fai trusted Wyvet and Qentor, and he was glad to be working under a familiar face.

The tent was silent as Nagan finished up his packing. He wouldn't take the sword and cloak to Carvolier, however, instead sending it back with Az to the Arcolven Estate, where he would recover fully within his own home. Aunt Cilara asked if he would be joining him, but that was when Nagan broke the news he chose to further his training, equipping himself with more skills as he continued fighting in the war—in his war.

Before they exited, however, Qentor caught him by the shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. A small, melancholy smile graced his lips.

"We both lost a teacher, as did many others, but we are one of the lucky few to witness his departure." A soft cough escaped him, and he turned his head away as a few more followed. "Apologies. I'm not used to speaking like this."

"That's alright, don't force yourself," Nagan quickly said, not wanting Qentor to push his voice more than he already had. "We should probably be heading to the memorial site anyway."

Qentor nodded in agreement, giving Nagan's shoulder one final squeeze before letting go and sweeping his arm to the side, lifting the flap of the tent. Nagan briefly thanked him before leading the way.

The memorial site wasn't all that far from the camp, only a mile or so away, following a travel-worn path. Nagan had visited it once before—Meixong showed it to him the day after they arrived—but he had yet to see it fully prepared.

Just as he crested over the final hill, the first thing that caught his attention was the vast lake in front of him. The waters were calm, the wind not strong enough to push waves onto the shore. Little wisps of fog rose into the chilly sky. Nagan then glanced to his left, catching a glimpse of several tents. People trickled in and out of them, all of them family members of the fallen or their guards.

Along the lake's edge were nine pedestals with braziers in front of them. A space was left, just wide enough for a person to stand between them. Each pedestal held one to four burial shrouds, all either a shade of red, green, or blue. The middle one, however, held as many as ten.

Nagan dipped into the crowd, trying to navigate through as efficiently as he could. Qentor separated from him soon after, lingering near the back. He didn't blame him, really. If anything, he wished he could do the same. He was vaguely aware that Az, Milora, and Aitor were amongst the crowd somewhere, but with the hour soon coming to an end, it was imperative he readied his brazier and pedestal.

"Master Elvar!"

Nagan stopped just as he reached the edge of the crowd, turning to see who called for him. Something akin to dread trickled through his mind as he saw Master Honoria approach, but the man in front of him was nothing like the prideful Councilman before. And...Nagan couldn't find it in himself to be angry at the man who sent him and his own son to war.

No. The man in front of him now had red-rimmed eyes, and his lips were sealed tight as they trembled. This was a man overcome with emotion but forcing himself to keep it in, refusing to show weakness in front of others. Master Honoria stopped directly in front of him, drawing a deep breath to collect himself.

"Master Elvar, it's good to see you in fair health," he began, and Nagan could hear how forced the polite tone was. "I am deeply sorry for stopping you at such a time, but I...I wanted to ask..."

Master Honoria suddenly made a choked sound, and his face momentarily crumpled in mourning. It took several more deep breaths for him to compose himself enough to speak. Nagan pretended he didn't notice the tears nearly spilling out from his eyes.

"Did...my son know I was proud of him?"

For a brief moment, Nagan froze. Every image of the dark circles under Carth's eyes—every moment he glimpsed the deep-set exhaustion Carth hid as he relentlessly worked on achieving something great—flashed through his mind. What he saw was a young man who was terrified of tarnishing his family's legacy. Nagan didn't know for how long he stayed quiet, but the lie flowed effortlessly off his tongue.

"Yes," Nagan said, watching as relief overcame Master Honoria's expression, tears now flowing freely. "He knew you were proud of him."

Master Honoria wiped his hand against his face. "Thank you...Thank you for telling me that."

Nagan went to his pedestal after that, the farthest from the middle. He tried not to let his eyes linger on the bright red and muted blue cloths upon the pedestal, instead focusing on the brazier before him. Wordlessly, he began enchanting pure white flames to rise from the coal, sometimes letting himself mouth along to the words.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching the crowd from the left, recognizing them as the young man Aitor claimed to be Valrin Honoria. Nagan could only watch as Valrin froze when he caught the eye of his parents, Master Honoria still in the same place Nagan left him with Madam Honoria having since joined him. With the spell now complete, Nagan was able to focus on the interaction, witnessing the hesitant steps Valrin took toward his parents. That was when Madam Honoria suddenly broke off from her husband, meeting Valrin halfway and pulling him into a tight hug. Valrin reciprocated, and Master Honoria joined soon after.

"I see you've managed the incantation just fine."

Nagan turned to the voice, and he nearly did a double take. Until that moment, Nagan had never seen General Meixong in anything but common clothing. It was easy to forget that Meixong came from wealth like many of the other people there. They wore a charcoal grey shirt that wrapped around them and crossed at the collar, gold thread decorating the hem. Around their waist was a wide belt with a red tassel hanging from it with a jade at the end, and loose black pants tucked into their boots. A delicate gold chain hung around their neck, but whatever pendant attached to the end had been tucked under their shirt. What caught Nagan off guard the most, however, was the subtle line of red that was painted under their eyes, smudged to a fade where it reached the corner. The red matched the scales that line their Dragonmage cloak.

General Meixong's lips twitched into a smile. "Traditions are a funny thing, but it doesn't hurt to follow them every once in a while." Meixong didn't give Nagan a chance to reply when they turned to the brazier's fire. "I just wanted to check on you. We're about to start. Do you remember the second part of the incantation?"

Nagan looked down the line, seeing everyone in their positions. Almost every eye turned to them. Some were pitying while others were indifferent. That didn't help the little ball of anxiety in his chest, but Nagan nodded regardless.

"Yes, I remember it."

"Alright. I will begin the ceremony then."

As General Meixong walked back over to their position, Nagan couldn't help but wonder how they were doing. Their pain was fresher than his own, after all.

When General Meixong stood behind their brazier, the crowd quieted. Each grew near, some daring to stand closer than others until they stood only ten feet away. The Honorias stood a step ahead of them all. Towards the back, however, Nagan spotted the Farvells. He had the pleasure of meeting them the day before, and they assured him that they didn't blame him for what happened. Gath's father, mother, siblings, and even his grandparents from both sides and great-grandmother were there, and he could've sworn he saw Gath's mother give him a sad but encouraging smile. That was when he saw the rest of his squadron standing with the Farvells. One of Gath's brothers—now the oldest—helped Az stand while one of the sisters slung an arm around Milora and Aitor's shoulders. Gath was a loved young man, and Nagan now knew where his unwavering kindness came from.

"It is unfortunate we stand here today, grieving for the loss of family," General Meixong began, their voice clear and lulling everyone to silence. "Husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters. Each one of these people meant something to us, and that hole in our hearts will not be easily healed.

"Since the end of the War of the Millenium, we hoped never again would we face this sort of violence. Peace was forged between our countries, knowledge was shared, and alliances were built. And now that the Kinsmen of the Dark have broken that peace, never in Norvean history have all of us come together like this; a unity with one goal in mind. To end this war. Each and every one of these soldiers fought with bravery, choosing the lives of their comrades—the lives of Norvea—over their own. Unity like that is crucial, in these times, and contempt will be our demise. So let us come together and remember—celebrate the lives these people lived, and may we never forget them."

General Meixong then cupped their hands around the fire, the white flames dancing around their fingers before settling in their palm. They took a step back, taking the flames with them, before lifting their head again.

"I, Fourth General Hark Meixong, true name Yenhei, carry these flames to the fallen. Lieutenant Larksong, Lieutenant Idron, Lieutenant Hoss, Lieutenant Vichousin, Lieutenant Wyr—" a pause that could have easily been mistaken as them drawing a breath, "—Captain Fai, Captain Zici, Second Colonel Rovonom, and Fifth General Jessun-Karss. May they find peace in rest, and we find peace in their departure."

With each name said, they turned their back on the brazier, taking a step forward to the pedestal. Carefully they lowered their hands, waiting until the fire caught light of the cloth bundles. They all lit up in an instant, the flames rising high over General Meixong's head and coming alive with the colors of the shrouds. Once they faced back to the crowd and brazier, the person to their right stepped forward and gathered their flames.

One by one they went, starting from Meixong's right before switching to their left, and then right, and then left again. The pattern went on, each person collecting their flames, calling the names of the dead, before lighting their shrouds ablaze. It was at the very end of the order when it was Nagan's turn.

He cupped the flames in his hand, ignoring the impulse to flinch as pure heat surrounded his hands yet didn't harm him.

"I, Acting Sergeant Nagania Elvar, carry these flames to the fallen. Sergeant Honoria and Private Farvell. May they find peace in rest, and we find peace in their departure."

Just as he turned around, he drew one hand away from the fire, slipping a piece of paper out of his sleeve. He set it on the pedestal. Cupping the flames again, feeling it grow unstable as he balanced it with one hand, he did the same as the rest, and soon the final pedestal was lit.

When he turned back to face the crowd, he was vaguely aware of General Meixong delivering the end of their speech, but nothing burned brighter than the words on that piece of paper in his mind:

I fight for the end of this war. Because with no war, we can all return home.