Funeral for a Friend (友の葬儀 / Tomo no Sōgi)

Morning came, but Solarii did not look like it.

The sky was a low lid of smoke, pressed down over the ruined city. Ash floated in slow spirals. Whole districts had been reduced to black ribs of collapsed buildings and warped glass. Towers leaned at sick angles. Craters broke up streets that had once been polished and bright.

Half the population was gone.
The silence made that number feel even higher.

Hajime walked with the others toward the upper terrace, every step a dull throb in his chest. The makeshift bandages around his ribs were tight enough to hold him upright, but it still hurt to breathe. Izumi stayed close to him, just off his shoulder, her hand hovering near his back without quite touching. Her hair fell in dark, uneven strands where fire and smoke had singed it, and there were faint shadows under her eyes that no healing could erase in one night.

Rei followed at a distance.

His right arm was pinned in a sling across his chest. The thumb on that hand was thickly wrapped, stained through with red. His nose was still crooked from the last break. He did not look at the people around him. His eyes stayed low, watching the cracked stone and scattered ashes underfoot.

They reached the terrace.

The city gathered in a silence that felt too heavy for any one place to hold.

Soldiers lined the edges, armor blackened and dented, some standing with the help of makeshift crutches. Civilians clustered in the gaps between them, burned clothes hanging loose on thinner bodies. Verdant refugees stood together along one side, eyes wide and unfocused, as if someone had pulled them out of a nightmare and left them in the middle of another.

At the center of the terrace, on a raised stone platform, lay Hayate Tsubasa.

They had done what they could to prepare him. His armor had been scrubbed clean of most of the blood and soot. What remained looked like a map of the last hours of his life. His spear rested beside him, the metal bent and scorched. His sunfire banner hung behind him, torn nearly in half, the emblem still visible through the singe marks.

Even in death, he looked like he was about to stand and shout orders again.

Hajime swallowed hard, throat dry. He had seen bodies before. He had buried his own people. This felt different. Hayate was not just another casualty. He was one of the reasons the line was able to hold at all.

Izumi lowered her head for a moment in respect, then straightened. Her expression stayed composed, but her fingers were curled so tight at her sides that her knuckles had gone white.

Rei stood near the back of the crowd, finding a place close to a broken column. From there, he could see the platform clearly, but no one had to stand beside him. His gaze moved over Hayate once, then settled on the torn banner instead. It was easier to look at fabric than a man who had burned himself out trying to hold the world together.

High King Sorahiko II stepped up to the platform.

He wore formal robes, but they hung loosely off a frame that seemed to have lost weight overnight. There were lines on his face that even royal composure could not hide. He rested one hand on the edge of the stone near Hayate’s shoulder, as if he needed the contact to keep himself standing, and lifted his head to face the city.

“Hayate Tsubasa gave Solarii another dawn,” Sorahiko said.

His voice was not loud, but it carried. There was a roughness to it that no speech could polish away.

“He stood at the breach when others would have run. He put his body between this city and evil forces all the time. He bought us time with his life. Not because Solarii was worthy of such a sacrifice, but because he believed we could become something more.”

The terrace remained still. Somewhere behind Hajime, a child sniffled and was hushed quickly. Ash drifted down through the gray light.

“We failed him,” the King said quietly. “We failed many. We allowed our pride and our rigidness to rule this city. We turned away from compassion. We let the council cling to old ways while the world changed around us.”

He glanced toward the lower rings, where entire blocks lay in black ruin.

“The council is gone,” he went on. “Burned along with the choices they made. I stand alone as your king. That means if we repeat their mistakes, the blame lies with me.”

Sorahiko’s gaze swept over the crowd. It passed over Rei without stopping. There was no accusation there, no buried resentment. Only exhaustion and something like resolve.

“Solarii will not be rebuilt as it was,” he said. “From this day forward, we will adopt some of the policies of our Verdant Veil neighbors. Our citizens will receive better treatment. Punishments will be measured, not cruel. There will be no forced labor. We will secure housing protections for those who have nothing. Food will be distributed fairly. We will create support for the vulnerable instead of using them.”

Izumi’s eyes flickered up, surprise breaking through her tired calm. For a moment, she looked almost like herself again, the woman who had argued for mercy in council chambers far from here.

“This is not charity,” the King said. “This is the only way to honor the lives that were lost. Hayate did not die to protect a city of iron walls and cold laws. He died to protect people. From this day on, Solarii will be worthy of his last stand.”

Kazuki’s hand tightened slightly where it rested on Hayate’s breastplate. His lips moved with a whisper that no one else could hear.

Raiden stared straight ahead, eyes rimmed with red. A single tear rolled down his face and dripped from his chin. He did not wipe it away. His fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were nearly as pale as his hair.

Rei watched without moving. There was no satisfaction in his expression, no anger either. Just a quiet recognition that something old had snapped, the same way the former king’s hold on this city had once snapped beneath his blade. This time, it had taken a demon invasion and a dead Lord to break it.

Sorahiko bowed his head to Hayate.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “Heir of Adam, I'm indebted to you for holding the frontlines and taking a stand with our army.”

He stepped back.

A knight approached with a torch. He knelt, touched the flame to the tip of Hayate’s spear, and then retreated.

Sunfire caught at once.

Light crawled along the metal, not in a wild flare, but in a steady line, like the last breath of a long, hard day. The fire moved from the spear to the cloth beneath Hayate, then spread carefully across the platform. It washed over his body in warm gold, wrapping him in the same light he had once sent hurtling across battlefields.

The terrace stayed silent.

No one cried out. No one tried to speak above the sound of the fire. They just watched until the sunfire burned itself down and left only ash, a warped spear, and a charred banner that would never fly again.

When it was done, the King dismissed them with a small gesture. The crowd broke apart into smaller, quieter streams. Some went back to dig through rubble for the bodies of their family. Others went to the makeshift infirmaries. A few simply sat down where they were and stared at nothing.

Rei followed the summons to the council hall with the others.

The hall that had once held polished floors, tall windows, and a glittering ceiling now felt like the inside of a cracked skull. Chunks of stone had fallen from above, leaving jagged holes open to the sick gray sky. Soot streaked the walls. Tables lay overturned, maps burned to curled, brittle scraps.

But it was still standing. That was more than much of Solarii could say.

High King Sorahiko II stood at the far end of the hall, near what remained of the central table. Raiden, Kazuki, several captains, and a pair of grim-faced strategists surrounded it. Hajime and Izumi took their place near one side. Rei lingered slightly behind them.

Sorahiko’s voice was calmer now, but not softer.

“The Celestine Order has lost a Lord,” he said. “Hayate is dead. Our council has been wiped out. Our defensive wall is broken. Half our city is gone, and what remains is wounded. We are exposed.”

He turned his gaze to Izumi.

“The Verdant Veil has lost a Lord in all but name. Eryndral is weakened without you there. Its own enemies will not ignore this.”

Izumi nodded once. The admission hurt, but pretending it was fine would only insult the dead.

“The First Seal Scroll has been stolen,” the King said. “We all felt the pulse when the vault was breached. We know they didn't come here only to burn our homes. The Hellbound Legion and their allies will strike again, and not only at us. They won't stop until they have all seven scrolls.”

A murmur ran through the captains.

Raiden slammed his fist against the edge of the ruined table. “Then why are we standing here?” he snapped. “Akane Yatogi is still alive. Her Hellbound filth still walks free. We should be chasing them now, not talking about it.”

“You won't reach her,” Rei said quietly.

Raiden snapped his head around, eyes wild.

Rei’s expression did not change. His broken arm sat in its sling, but his gaze was as clear as if he were back in Uriel’s Ascension instead of standing in a wrecked chamber.

“You'll just end up leaving this city half defended,” Rei said. “You can barely stand as it is. She is in retreat with an army around her. You won't kill her. You'll just die the moment she sees you, and she'll enjoy it.”

The words hung in the air between them.

Raiden’s jaw clenched. His shoulders shook. For a moment, it looked like he might lunge across the table anyway, whether at Rei or at the memory of Akane. Kazuki’s hand gripped his arm and pulled him back.

“Rei is right,” Kazuki said softly. “I could barely keep you on your feet during the last hours of the fight. If you go after her now, I'll be burying you next to Hayate.”

Raiden swallowed hard and turned away, shoulders hunched. He did not agree, but he did not argue further.

Sorahiko watched all of it with a tired but focused gaze.

“We cannot win this war alone,” he said. “As it stands, our alliance with the Verdant Veil is no longer strong enough. Hayate was one of the brightest lights we had, and they put it out. The Thorned Pact and Chainbound Doctrine will not stop with just us. They will attack both our territories next time while we are weak.”

He moved his hand over the charred remains of a map. The ink was burned away, but the outlines of the world were still faintly visible.

“We need steel. We need walls that were built to take punishment. We need people who respect strength enough to listen when we tell them what is coming.”

Hajime knew the name before the King spoke it.

“The Crimson Legion,” Sorahiko said. “We need to head to the capital, Barakos.”

The room fell quiet again.

The Crimson Legion had stayed neutral so far, selling arms and mercenaries to whoever could pay, never committing fully to any side. If they joined the alliance, it would tip the world. If they sided with the enemy, it would crush them.

“If the Crimson Legion stands with us,” the King said, “the Doctrine and the Pact will think twice before attacking. If Barakos shuts its gates and watches us die, then Solarii was only the first city of many to fall.”

He looked at Rei.

“Rei Kurayami. You will go to Barakos as our commander.”

Rei met his gaze without flinching. “Understood.”

The King turned to Hajime.

“Hajime Takeshi. You will go as well. They will understand the language of a man who can stand against giants and live.”

Hajime straightened as much as his ribs allowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Finally, Sorahiko faced Izumi.

“Izumi Rin. You carry the heart of the Verdant Veil with you. Eryndral is weaker with your absence, but with you as a representative from there will help negotiations. If the Crimson Legion can be convinced, it will be because they see this alliance as more than a desperate plea. They must see the future you all showed me yesterday.”

Izumi placed a hand over her chest and bowed her head. “I will go.”

Raiden lifted his head.

“At least let me accompany them part of the way,” he said. “I can still fight. I can still—”

“No,” Kazuki said, more firmly this time. “Solarii needs its remaining Lords. They will not have Hayate to look up to anymore. They will have you two. If you leave now, we will be rebuilding with no one to hold the line.”

Raiden’s hands opened and closed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to argue, wanted to scream, wanted to tear the world apart with his bare hands. In the end, he dropped into a chair instead and stared at the floor.

Sorahiko nodded once.

“Then it is decided,” he said. “Rei Kurayami. Hajime Takeshi. Izumi Rin. You will leave as soon as your bodies can handle the journey. Rest while you can. There will not be much of it where you are going.”

The guards escorted the trio from the hall.

The inner castle felt different now. The polished floors were streaked with soot. Tapestries hung in tatters. Hallways that had once been quiet and ceremonial were crowded with wounded soldiers and civilians seeking shelter. The air smelled like herbs, blood, smoke, and something sweeter from the kitchens where people tried to boil what food they had left.

Hajime and Izumi were led to a side chamber that had been converted into a temporary treatment room. Kazuki waited there, sleeves rolled up, eyes tired but sharp.

“Sit,” he told Hajime.

Hajime did, biting back a groan as his ribs protested.

Kazuki set his staff aside and pressed his hands carefully against Hajime’s side. A soft glow pulsed from his palms. It wasn’t the overwhelming radiance he had used on the battlefield. This was smaller, more focused, threading between bones and torn muscles, easing the worst of the strain without pretending the damage was gone.

“This will keep you from tearing them open with every step,” Kazuki said. “It will not stop it from hurting. You aren't meant to be back in the field yet.”

“Got it, doc,” Hajime muttered.

Izumi stayed nearby, watching Kazuki work. Her shoulders sagged now that she wasn’t forcing herself to stand in front of an army or hold a line. The adrenaline had burned away, leaving only exhaustion behind.

When Kazuki finished with Hajime, he turned to her.

“Your turn,” he said.

“I'm fine,” she started.

He gave her a flat look that said he had no interest in being lied to.

“You are not fine,” he said. “You've been holding other people together since yesterday. Sit.”

She sat.

Kazuki didn’t pour much Seiki into her. He didn’t have that much left to give and still keep the city from collapsing around them. But what he did send into her muscles and joints loosened the knots that had built up there. Some of the trembling in her hands eased.

When he stepped back, she exhaled slowly and looked almost surprised at how much lighter she felt.

“What about Rei?” she asked.

“I'll see to him next,” Kazuki said.

Rei was waiting just outside, leaning against the wall.

Kazuki worked on his arm with the same efficiency. He reset the worst of the damage, binding the bones and reinforcing the joints with a mix of practical bandages and subtle Seiki, the kind that would not knock a man out if he was stubborn enough to stay awake.

“I can numb this,” Kazuki offered as he tightened the last wrap.

“No,” Rei said.

Kazuki did not push. He knew the look in Rei’s eyes. Some men refused pain because they saw it as penance. Others refused it because it was the only thing reminding them they were still alive. He suspected Rei sat somewhere in the middle of that line.

Later, when the healers were done and the orders had been given, the three of them were led down a different corridor.

The royal bathhouse had escaped the worst of the damage. There were cracks in the walls and missing tiles along the floor, but the stone pools were intact, and hot water still flowed from deep beneath Solarii’s bones.

Steam curled up to meet them when they stepped inside.

For the first time since the war started, the sound around them was not screams or crumbling stone, but the gentle echo of water moving against rock.

Hajime lowered himself into one of the pools with slow, careful motions. The heat bit into bruises and strained muscles, making him hiss under his breath. Once he settled, though, the ache flattened into something duller, easier to live with.

Izumi slipped into the water beside him. The warmth softened the tightness in her shoulders. Her hair floated lightly around her as she leaned back against the edge, eyes closing for a moment. She looked like she might fall asleep right there if anyone let her.

Rei sat in a separate pool nearby, close enough to hear them but not quite sharing the space. He let the water lap at his injured arm, soaking through the bandages. Drops slid down his skin, pink where they carried away the last of the dried blood.

None of them spoke for a while.

The quiet felt strange. Not empty. Just different. The kind of silence that came after the screaming had finally stopped.

Hajime watched the ripples move across the water.

“Do you think we'll make it to Barakos in one piece?” he asked eventually.

Izumi opened her eyes and gave him a small, tired smile.

“We always do,” she said.

Rei’s voice came low from his pool, almost lost under the sound of the water.

“I won't let anyone else I love die. I promise.”

Hajime huffed out a breath that was half a laugh and half a wince. Izumi’s smile didn’t quite fade, but it dimmed around the edges, accepting the correction.

They stayed there until the water cooled and the weight of their eyelids became too much to ignore.

When they left, attendants had laid out clean clothes for them. Simple travel gear, nothing ornate. Shirts that would not restrict movement. Sturdy pants and boots. Cloaks lined just enough to keep out the worst of the wind that waited beyond Solarii’s broken gates.

In the entry hall of the inner castle, High King Sorahiko II waited with a small escort.

He looked less like a king and more like a man who had not slept, but his back was straight and his gaze clear.

“Solarii stands because you three fought,” he said. “Because Hayate believed in you. Because Raiden and Kazuki held when others would have run. We will rebuild what we can. We will honor the dead. But the world will not wait for us to finish mourning.”

He stepped closer to Rei first.

“I don't hold you responsible for my father’s death,” Sorahiko said quietly. “You know that. I will not hold you responsible for this war either. But I am asking you to walk into its next part with your eyes open. Not as a weapon. As yourself.”

Rei met his gaze and dipped his head once in acknowledgment. There was no warmth in his expression, but there was respect.

The King turned to Hajime.

“You carry a Will that terrifies the world,” he said. “But you chose to stand at the front of the line for people who did not understand you. Do not lose that choice in Barakos. They will test you. Let them see your strength.”

Hajime’s hand tightened on the strap of his pack. “I'll remember.”

Finally, Sorahiko looked at Izumi.

“We will implement the reforms you fought for,” he said. “Not as a favor to you. As a debt to everyone who died here. When you speak in Barakos, you do so with the weight of Solarii and Eryndral both. Don't underestimate the power of that.”

“I won't,” she said.

The King stepped back.

“Then go,” he told them. “We will keep up our logistics team working and report any findings on the other six scrolls we come across.”

They stepped out into the light.

The main gate of Solarii was still a ruin, a jagged bite torn out of the wall. Work crews had already begun clearing debris, stacking broken stone into temporary barriers, but it would take time before it resembled a true defense again.

Beyond the gate, the road stretched away through a landscape still scarred by the previous day’s battle. The air outside the city walls felt thinner, colder, but cleaner than the smoke-choked breath of Solarii.

Hajime adjusted his pack and looked back once.

The city that had nearly died looked smaller from here, its broken towers hunched under the gray sky. Fires still glowed in some pockets, like the last embers of a burned-out hearth.

Izumi followed his gaze, expression unreadable.

Rei did not look back at all.

They stepped onto the road, side by side, and began walking toward Barakos, toward the Crimson Legion, and toward a future that no longer had room for ignorance about what hunted them.

Solarii remained behind them. Not as it had been, but still standing.

For now, that would have to be enough.