Echoes of Loss

Kaito sat at his desk, a stack of papers spread before him. The rhythmic scratching of his pen filled the room as he reviewed reports from his students' FDP evaluations. His usually stoic expression softened for a moment as his eyes drifted to the calendar on his desk. Today was the day Emi Honeyfield was set to return.

Two of his students, Katsuhito and Hikari, had already returned from their FDPs the day before, their reports filled with enthusiasm and a hint of pride. The others were due back in a matter of days. He had always seen Emi’s potential and was eager to hear about her experiences, hoping she had learned and grown through her time away.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Hikari peeked in, his usual playful smile replaced by something more subdued.

“Lieutenant Fuyuko wants to see you,” he said.

Kaito’s brow furrowed. Fuyuko rarely called him unless something urgent had come up. Setting his pen down, he rose, grabbed his jacket, and made his way to her office.

The atmosphere in Fuyuko’s office was tense. She stood behind her desk, her lips pressed into a thin line, a folder clutched tightly in her hands.

“Kaito,” she began, her voice uncharacteristically heavy. “There’s no easy way to say this, but… there’s been an incident.”

Kaito’s heart skipped a beat. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on her as she continued.

“An airship en route from Kyoto exploded over the Kizu River. There were no survivors.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. His breath caught in his throat as Fuyuko placed the folder on the desk and slid it toward him. On top was the passenger manifest. Emi Honeyfield’s name was there.

“No…” he whispered, shaking his head as if denying it could undo the truth. “That can’t be right. Emi was… she was supposed to…”

His knees buckled, and he sank into a chair, his hands gripping the edges of the folder tightly. The room seemed to close in around him as a flood of memories of Emi came rushing back.

As Kaito left Lieutenant Fuyuko’s office, his steps were unsteady. His mind clung desperately to one hope: This isn’t true.

Fumbling with his phone, he dialed Emi’s number. The line rang once, twice—then the automated message played.

“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable—”

He hung up and redialed, his heart hammering.

“Pick up, Emi,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “Pick up.”

The same message played again. His chest tightened, but he wasn’t ready to give up. He called again, and again, the same mechanical response answering him each time.

“No, no, no…” His voice cracked as panic began to set in.

Desperate, he dialed the main PSIA line. After a few rings, a receptionist answered, her tone brisk yet sympathetic.

“PSIA Headquarters, how may I assist you?”

“This is Kaito Yamamura,” he said hurriedly, his voice shaking. “I need to know about the airship Emi Honeyfield was on. There was…there was an explosion. Tell me—she’s fine, right? There must be a mistake.”

There was a pause, the faint sound of keys tapping in the background.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the receptionist said softly. “The airship was confirmed to have exploded above a river. Our recovery teams have searched the area extensively, but the debris suggests no survivors.”

“No,” Kaito whispered, gripping the phone tighter.

“The team did recover some organic remains, but…” Her voice faltered. “We believe the remains were swept away by the current. We’re truly sorry for your loss.”

Before she could continue, Kaito’s hand slackened, and the phone slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. He stood motionless, the receptionist’s muffled voice still coming from the device.

The reality hit him with crushing force. Emi was gone. No amount of denial could change it now. A single tear slid down his cheek, then another. He covered his face with his hands, but it did little to stop the trembling of his shoulders.

The academy was unusually silent, a somber air hanging heavy over the usually vibrant halls. It was the day Emi’s parents were to arrive, summoned to receive the devastating news no parent should ever hear.

Kaito stood by a window in the staff wing, his gaze distant as he watched the gates. His mind replayed the same question over and over: How did this happen? His heart clenched at the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Honeyfield stepping out of a car, their expressions a mixture of confusion and dread.

The remaining students had also returned that morning. Reina and Leona had come together, chatting softly about their respective FDPs until they were met with the heavy silence in the academy. The news hit them like a freight train.

“No... no, that’s impossible!” Reina’s voice cracked as she sank into a chair in the common room, her face pale. Leona, always composed and strong, burst into tears, covering her face with trembling hands.

Hikari tried to console them, his own face streaked with tears as he gripped Reina’s shoulder. Katsuhito, usually so full of himself, stood frozen, staring at the floor, his hands clenched into tight fists. Tatsumi was shocked and wasn’t sure of how he should feel.

Shizuka leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed, her face an unreadable mask. To anyone else, she looked cold, detached, but inside, a storm was raging. She couldn’t bring herself to cry. Not yet. Not here.

The commandant greeted Emi’s parents in his office. The tense silence shattered as Mr. Honeyfield, a tall, stern man with flecks of gray in his hair, slammed his fists on the desk. “How could you let this happen?” he roared, grabbing the commandant by the collar.

The staff rushed to intervene, but as quickly as his anger surged, it crumbled. Mr. Honeyfield’s hands trembled, and he let go, falling back into his chair, his face buried in his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he choked out, “She was our only daughter…”

Mrs. Honeyfield sat beside him, silent but shattered. Her eyes, red and swollen, stared blankly ahead, as if unable to process the weight of the words that had been spoken. Slowly, her gaze turned to her husband, her voice breaking as she whispered, “We told her... we told her it was dangerous. But she wouldn’t listen. She said she wanted to protect people...” Her voice faltered, and she broke into sobs.

Mr. Honeyfield’s face contorted in anguish, his own guilt piling on top of his grief. “I should’ve stopped her... I should’ve made her stay.” He buried his face in his hands again, his shoulders shaking.

Kaito stood down the hall, watching from a distance. He couldn’t bring himself to face them. What could he possibly say? What words could ever soothe the loss of a child? He clenched the window frame, his nails digging into the wood.

He turned away, unable to bear the sight of their grief any longer. As he walked back to his quarters, he caught sight of Reina standing at the end of the hall. Her eyes were red, filled with unspoken pain and desperation.

“Tell me it’s not true!” she cried, her voice raw and broken. She stepped closer, trembling. “You were supposed to protect her!” Her words cut through him like a blade.

Kaito froze, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words came out. He lowered his head, the weight of her accusation adding to his already unbearable guilt.

Before Reina could say more, Katsuhito stepped forward, his voice firm but gentle. “Reina, stop. It’s not his fault.” He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Don’t throw shadows where they don’t belong. Emi wouldn’t want this.”

Reina shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “She’s gone, Katsuhito! She’s gone, and no one could stop it...” Her voice broke into sobs, and she turned away, sinking to the floor.

Kaito said nothing. He couldn’t. Without a word, he walked past them, his steps heavy, his shoulders slumped.

The academy felt emptier than ever.

The air was thick with a solemn silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Rows of seats were arranged under a somber gray sky at the memorial site, located near the edge of the military base. This was a place reserved for honoring fallen military personnel—those who gave their lives in service to protect others.

The space was marked by a towering obelisk of polished black stone, engraved with the names of soldiers who had fallen over the years. For this ceremony, a temporary memorial stand had been erected nearby. Pictures of Emi Honeyfield, Kasumi Ito, and Fujimoto Masuda rested on the stand, framed in black ribbons. Below each photo, their names were etched into small plaques, along with the inscription:

"Gone but never forgotten. Their bravery lives on."

The attendees were dressed in black, their faces drawn and heavy with grief. The students of TMA sat together in the front rows, their usual camaraderie replaced by quiet mourning. Reina clutched a tissue, her eyes red and swollen. Leona sat beside her, her hands clenched in her lap, her face pale and stiff as she fought back tears. Katsuhito and Hikari exchanged glances but said nothing, their usual banter replaced with somber respect. Shizuka sat apart from the others, her head bowed, her hands gripping the edge of her seat.

The staff of TMA stood together, a few offering quiet words of comfort to each other. Kaito stood at the edge of the gathering, dressed in formal military attire, his face a mask of stoic composure. Inside, though, he felt hollow, the weight of guilt and sorrow pressing down on him like an iron shackle.

From the Special Response Unit, Hirose, Nakamura, and Saito stood at attention, their uniforms crisp, their faces grim. The loss of their comrades was a weight they carried with silent dignity, but Hirose’s arm was still bandaged from the injuries sustained during their mission.

Families of the deceased were scattered throughout the crowd, their quiet sobs and muffled sniffles a painful backdrop to the event. Emi’s parents sat together, her father’s arm around her mother, who wept into his shoulder. Mr. Honeyfield’s face was ashen, his jaw tight as he tried to hold himself together.

A commanding officer stepped forward, his voice clear but subdued as he addressed the crowd. “Today, we gather to honor the lives of three brave souls—Kasumi Ito, Fujimoto Masuda, and Emi Honeyfield. They served with dedication and gave everything in the line of duty. Their sacrifice will not be in vain, and their legacy will endure.”

He paused, glancing at the memorial stand. “Though their remains could not be recovered, we remember them here, where their names will forever stand as a testament to their courage. To their families, their friends, and their comrades—we offer our deepest condolences. They were more than soldiers; they were heroes.”

The officer stepped back, signaling the beginning of the memorial rites. One by one, attendees approached the stand to lay flowers or salute in silent tribute. Kaito watched from a distance, his heart heavy as he saw Emi’s parents place a small bouquet of white lilies in front of her picture. Her mother whispered something to the photograph, her voice too soft to hear, before collapsing into her husband’s arms.

Reina hesitated, clutching a single white rose. Her steps faltered as she approached the stand, but Leona placed a hand on her shoulder, silently encouraging her. Together, they laid their flowers before Emi’s picture, their tears falling freely.

When it was Kaito’s turn, he approached with measured steps, carrying a single white feather he’d found that morning. He placed it delicately at the base of Emi’s picture, staring at her smiling face for a moment too long. His hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured under his breath, so faintly that only the wind carried the words.

As the ceremony drew to a close, the commanding officer led a moment of silence. The crowd bowed their heads, the stillness stretching endlessly, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the soft sobs of the bereaved.

The ceremony ended with a solemn salute, the attendees dispersing slowly, lingering in quiet groups. As the obelisk cast a long shadow over the memorial stand, Kaito remained behind, his eyes fixed on Emi’s picture. Even as the crowd thinned, he stood there, alone with his thoughts, a storm of emotions raging beneath his composed exterior.