The bodies in the center were uncovered one by one. Faces pale, still, some with the faint traces of the final battle a scar, a mark, the last expression they wore before falling. Priests in white robes moved between the rows, sprinkling silver ash that shimmered in the air before settling onto the still forms.

Wooden platforms, carved with runes of protection, had been set at the far end of the ground. One by one, the bodies were lifted by squads of armored mages, each step slow and deliberate. As they passed, the crowd lowered their heads, some whispering blessings, others simply standing in silence.

At the platforms, families waited. Mothers clutched scarves against their mouths, fathers kept their faces rigid though their eyes burned red. Children stared, uncomprehending, until the shape beneath the burial cloth made their small bodies tremble.

Some bodies were embraced tightly the moment they were placed down, the cloth pulled back so loved ones could see one last time. Others were taken without a word, carried away on floating boards inscribed with the sigils of their home cities.

Then Ervin raised his golden sword towards the sky again. Thousands of swords appeared in the sky. Their swords slowly slowly descended towards the dead. Then they came near to them. Pierced their forehead between two eyebrows.

They entered their forehead and the Sword mark appeared exactly the same as the sword looked like. After that everyone kept silent and closed their eyes. They prayed to their gods. After the long silence, Ervin stepped backwards and looked towards dead bodies. Then he raised his hand with a sword and after that they started to move and hand over the bodies to their loved ones. When they reached Arkenhall from the battle. They informed the dead person's family members already.

In the tradition of the Northern Continent, the dead were to be returned to the soil of their birthplace. Couriers, guarded by mage escorts, formed lines that stretched beyond the preparation ground. One by one, they vanished in flashes of light teleportation circles opening and closing in quick succession, each departure sending a ripple through the magical field above the valley.

By the end, only the empty platforms remained. The ground felt heavier, the air colder. The wind carried away the faint traces of incense and the silver ash that had settled like fallen snow.

Before the mountain gates closed, crystal towers embedded in Arkenhall's walls began to glow. Their magic linked to the vast communication network that spanned the continents, the MageNet channels used by cities, kingdoms, and guilds alike.

In every city square, in the halls of noble courts, and across the glowing panels in market stalls, the same image appeared: the valley of Arkenhall, its ground lined with the fallen, and the solemn faces of those who remained.

A calm but grave voice read the message aloud in every tongue:

"Hello, viewers. Hope you all are safe and healthy. As you and I saw something in the sky. We saw red sky, echoes of fighting or war, and at the end some words that mentioned that they give us 10 years. So what is that? Don't worry about everything we post on our sites with every minor detail. You will go there and see everything. This news is not about that. As I already told you earlier, war happened. And in that so many died. The battle was between Arkenhall and Vestiges. That entire thing is also uploaded to our sites."

"The battle of Arkenhall has ended. Fortunately we defeated our opponents, Also we paid a large cost of that. Our Mage King, the first mage, died. Also, you all thoughted that what is Arkenhall? Don't worry you will see about it in our sites. So I will not talk about it. This news about what we lost and to give respect to all brave soldiers. This news is about all information regarding that battle. The names of the fallen will be honored in the archives of the Mage Alliance. May their sacrifice be remembered by every soul who lives in the light they defended."

The message ended, but the image lingered. Across taverns, markets, and homes, silence spread. People stood still, some with hands over their hearts, some with eyes closed in prayer while others simply stared at the screen, unable to look away.

At that moment, the world shared the same grief. In the current world they had become so advanced that they didn't need satellites. Scientists made a mana threats communication system. They broadcast everything through mana like telepathy or that parasite invasion.

People across the continents heard the message. It traveled over mountains, across rivers, through crowded cities and quiet villages. In taverns, markets, and hidden rooms, voices clashed over its meaning. Some whispered in fear, eyes darting to the shadows.

Others spoke with fire in their gaze, eager to fight the vestiges despite knowing nothing of their strength. The reckless ones wore their defiance like armor, seeing the world as a challenge to be broken. Yet among the frightened, despair spread like a slow fever. Panic took root, and in the days that followed, grim stories of hopelessness and sudden deaths began to surface.

★★★

Before that we saw the funeral...

Kaelin and the Mage King were not among the bodies. Still, their families were not left to grieve alone. Kaelin's two brothers stood with their parents, shoulders pressed together, hands gripping each other as though afraid to let go. The Mage King's daughter stood apart, a lone figure in the cold air, her eyes fixed on the horizon as if the sight of the land could hold her father's presence for a moment longer. Those around them placed gentle hands on backs and arms, speaking quietly, voices trembling but steady enough to carry comfort.

One by one, the shrouded bodies were lifted into the arms of family members. The white cloth shifted with each careful step. Tears fell freely, some silent, others breaking into sobs that cracked the still air. The living parted around them, bowing heads as the dead passed.

Slowly, the crowd began to thin. The injured leaned on companions or were carried toward the healers' tents. Families clutched each other, their paths lit by the fading braziers, the air filled with the muted sound of footsteps over trampled earth. A few remained with the counseling members, unmoving, their eyes following the last departing figures until they were gone from sight.

When the silence settled again, Ervin turned towards the Lark. His voice was low and weighted, the kind that carried grief even in its gentleness.

"Everyone take some rest. Three days from today, we will have a meeting and decide what to do next." His gaze drifted for a heartbeat, as though his mind had wandered somewhere far away.

Lark's eyes softened. "Okay, my friend. We will have a meeting in three days." He glanced at the others. They answered with slow nods, no words needed.

When Lark called him "friend," a faint smile touched Ervin's lips, not bright, but warm enough to cut through the cold for a moment.

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