CHAPTER 25: Luminara Rite

A hush fell over the crowd as Scarlett Dumont stepped on the makeshift stone podium. Torches lined the ceremonial grounds, their light casting long shadows over the gathered residents of the Dome, seated by rank —the Four at the front, the senior operatives in the middle, and the initiates at the back. Most of the residents sat in clusters, their gazes solemn, their hands clasped together in shared grief.

Tonight was not about war.
Not about victory.
It was about those they had lost.

Scarlett stood tall, her presence commanding yet filled with sorrow. Her silver hair was braided tightly against her head, the strands glinting in the dim light. She wore a flowing grey robe embroidered with golden sigils, its fabric draped elegantly over her shoulders.

She took a breath, then spoke, her voice unwavering yet heavy.

“Today, we stand together as one- not as separate houses, not as individuals but as a family. We mourn our fallen, not as those who have vanished, but as those who have paved the way forward. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten, and their names will remain etched in the heart of the Dome forever."

She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle.

"To the ones we lost…you were warriors. You were dreamers. You were the future. And though your light has faded, your legacy will burn brighter than the stars."

A respectful silence followed before Lexi Logan stepped forward.

As one of the Four, she was the head of Elite House, the most advanced faction within the Dome, —home to the healers, the strategists, the ones who ensured survival after battle.

Lexi was a woman of precision and discipline carved into her every movement. Her dark black hair tied into a perfect ponytail and the glasses on her face reflected the torchlight as she gripped the podium’s edges. Her posture was rigid holding herself together through sheer willpower.

But when she reached the podium, her composure wavered.

"I stand here not as a leader," she began, her voice tight, "but as a grieving sister."

A tremor ran through her hands.

“Crispin Logan…”

Just his name and her voice cracked.

The grief was raw, unfiltered. Lexi closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply through her nose. When she spoke again, her voice was softer but steadier.

"My brother… my little brother. He was reckless. Stubborn. He never listened. And yet—" She exhaled shakily. "He was the brightest light I have ever known. He made people laugh, even in the worst times. He believed in something bigger than himself. And he died fighting for it."

Her voice faltered, breaking on the last words forcing back the tears welling in her eyes.

“I have always prided myself on helping everyone I could. But when my brother needed me the most, I wasn’t there… I should’ve been…

She stopped herself, swallowing thickly. A long pause. Then, she lifted her gaze, scanning the crowd.

"Crispin may be gone, but his fight isn’t. And I swear... I will make sure it wasn’t in vain."

The grief was unbearable now. Her vision blurred. Before she could crumble completely, Elijah, her middle brother, was at her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Without a word, he guided her away from the podium.

The next to step forward was Mael Maverick, the head of the Glades House. Mael had not been a leader for long. At only 26 years, he was the youngest among the Four having taken leadership when his family replaced the Thunder family last year.

Although it was rare,  the Four leaders could be changed from one family to another as long as they were one of the seven Founding Families.

“Finn Maverick,” Mael said, his voice steady, “was my brother.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“He had our mother’s eyes…bright, green and full of warmth. Everyone who knew him said he got her looks but he also inherited her kindness. He was the glue that held out family together.”

Then, he turned his gaze toward Rebel, who sat among the senior operatives.

“You remember, don’t you?” His voice softened. “That fight we had when we were kids? Finn stepped between us, and we accidentally broke his nose.”

Rebel, unreadable as always, felt a single tear slip down her cheek. She chuckled softly.

“Mom wouldn’t speak to us for months after that. We made a promise that we would never fight each other again…and we never did.”

Mael smiled for a moment before exhaling slowly.

“But he is not truly gone. None of them are. Because as long as we stand here, as long as we remember them, they will live on forever.”

Huge claps and cheers followed after Mael stepped back from the podium.

The final member of the Four and the Founders’ head, Axel Griffin stepped forward but he did not speak. Instead, he raised a single hand in acknowledgment before bowing his head. It was a silent tribute,yet somehow just as powerful as the words before it.

Then came the time for those who wished to honor their fallen personally. It was a tradition of the Luminara Rite—anyone who wished to step forward and speak of their loved ones was welcome to do so.

Families stood in clusters, some supporting each other as they approached the podium. One by one, they spoke names, stories, memories of their departed.

A mother spoke of her son.

A friend spoke of a fallen comrade.

A mentor spoke of an initiate who had not yet reached their potential.

Mr. Kulisevski, voice trembling with sorrow, sang the song he used to sing to his son, Ibram, when he was young. It’s a shame he wasn’t any good but the lyrics and the message were.

As the sky darkened, the Dome’s artificial light began to dim, allowing the natural darkness to settle in. Mr. Kulisevski was the last to speak. The ceremony was not about easing grief or getting over it, it was about honouring it. And with that, the cremation began.

At the far end of the ceremonial grounds stood a Chamber, a massive circular structure made of obsidian-black stone. Within, the fallen were placed in a single line, their bodies draped in white cloth, their faces uncovered for one last farewell.

The chamber was built with a filtration system, its vents designed to purify the air, ensuring that no scent of burning flesh would taint the atmosphere. The smoke would be funneled to Elite House, where it was dispersed into the Arcadia’s green house in an unseen vapor.

A man with long, flowing dreads the colour of deep red, like burning embers woven into his hair. His eyes usually dark, ignited a piercing shade of red as he exhaled slowly. His skin was a warm brown, his arms lined with intricate glowing golden tattoos swirling in a circular pattern that extended from his chest to his palms culminating in a red rose on the back of his hand.

His name was Kuzan Tuko.

Everyone remained silent as he approached the opened chamber. He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and opened his mouth.

A spiral of dark blue flames erupted from his mouth making a roar sound. The fire spiraled into the chamber engulfing the bodies in a shimmering almost ethereal glow, disintegrating the bodies of the dead. The air trembled as the fires' warmth could be felt even by Jace and the other initiates at the back.

Everyone closed their eyes in silent remembrance.

“From ash to ash,” they whispered.

The golden flames burned on.

And the ceremony was over.