TBATE: A Hero's Return

Should Have Asked

TESSIA ERALITH

There was no funeral.

Elenoir was under lockdown from the news that one of her lances had fallen, which meant the vast majority of his friends and comrades were unable to come.

Caera prevented Ellie and Alice from making the trip, forcing them into protection in case of retaliation or further attacks. I had half a mind to chew her out for keeping them locked up like prisoners, but I didn't have the heart to. I knew she was simply doing what Art would have wanted in this situation.

I guess the lack of people able to come must explain why the supposed hero of Dicathen didn't even get a damned funeral. There's probably a grave somewhere, but I had not asked where. Meaning there's no place to say goodbye. All I was left with was a festering empty place with no explanations for why.

"He will be listed among the other lances of Elenoir that gave their lives. Right next to Alea's name," Grandpa explained calmly to me as he sat on the edge of my bed, looking at me. Concern for me was apparent on his face.

"What good does that do anyone?" I mumbled.

"It's all we have."

It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

Over the past week, I had met a number of people who cared about Art. They all seemed to fade away though, their condolences and gentle speech doing little but aggravating me. I was numb, smothered. Like I was underwater. Everything was soft edges and garbled tones, except the sharp pain in my chest like the straining last breath before sucking in nothing but water. Like I was moments away from drowning.

Was this what it felt like for him in the end? Or was it quick? Did it hurt?

The door to my room opened with a creak, and I looked immediately towards it as if it was him. That he would show up and say it was all a mistake and take me on some date, and kiss me, and whisper sweet nothings in my ear.

Only he won't. He can't I remember as I slouch, noticing that a maid had come in with breakfast instead.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Nothing. There wasn't even a body.

I shoved myself to my feet after ensuring Grandpa I was fine, knowing full well I was not.

I got up to go on a stroll with the intention of clearing my head, but I instead found myself in front of Art's room because I clearly hated myself.

The door opened under my hand without issue, still keyed to my mana signature as if Art was waiting on the other side for me to surprise him.

The inside of his room looked quiet, desolate, and empty, a far cry from how it appeared in my memories. But of course, it would be. The light of my life was not there to illuminate it for me.

The room seemed to already have the hollow, neglected feeling of an abandoned space. No sign that someone once lived here. Once breathed, ate, and slept. And smiled. And kissed. And made love.

The flannel shirt he wore the last time I saw him is carelessly strewn across the back of the sofa. Still resting right where he left it, the last time he was here. I swore I was going to have nightmares filled with regret where that stupid shirt will play a prominent role.

Turning away from it, I crossed further into the space.

The closet door was slightly ajar, as if he hadn't managed to get it shut properly, or left in a rush.

My eyes fell on the soft material of his lance uniform, still hanging perfectly pressed and waiting. I touched the stripe that was red with gold borders, resentment for the stupid role he had to take in the war. The stupid target on his back that took him from me caused a flare of anger in my stomach. I wrenched the uniform he worked so hard for, that my grandfather looked so proud to give him, down off the hangers, throwing them to the floor. I wanted to burn these clothes and never see them again in my life.

But how could I? He worked hard his entire life to get to this position.

Climbing up on the bed, I instead curl myself around his pillow and finally let myself cry. Despite it being early in the day, I drifted off to sleep in the comfort of his fading scent that was all around me.

I woke the next morning to the sharp annoyance of a beam of light in my eyes. I rolled over, the other side of the bed stretching empty.

Did you really think he would somehow miraculously come back? My own mind began to taunt me.

There was a paperback on the bedside table, a ratty piece of parchment marking his place. Pulling myself up against the headboard, I reached over, picking the book up, reading a few words on the last page he read. Setting it aside, I reached for the rather large box kept next to his bedside table, worn from frequent use. I felt pulled to it, as I knew that Art was not really a sentimental man. I was curious as to what he could have possibly kept inside.

It creaked a bit as I opened the lid. The first thing I saw is a compass, realizing after a moment of staring that it is the very one Grandpa gave him so many years ago. Underneath was a small and no doubt precious collection of photographs, names and dates carefully written on the backs. One was a small gathering of people back at the Helstea Estate when I had visited during a break from Xyrus Academy. Art, Ellie, Alice, Rey, Lilia, Tabitha, and Vincent all looked back at me with smiles on their faces. Even I did.

I reached for the last picture, completely unprepared to see my own face staring back up at me. It had been carefully clipped from the newspaper, and I was smiling broadly, flush with victory after I had successfully been able to get the poor of Elenoir the supplies needed to survive a particularly harsh winter a couple of years ago. I didn't even know Art was aware I had done that.

I love you, Tessia.

Dropping the pictures and compass back in the box, I scrambled up off the bed and abandoned the room. I had no idea where I am going. I just knew that I couldn't stay in that place a moment longer. I practically ran down the stairs, bursting out of the palace and towards the pathways. Without even bothering to make sure I am unobserved, I turned on the spot, no clear destination in mind, and I miraculously appeared at a location of note, like maybe I knew where I wanted to go all along.

I found myself in an alleyway, this one narrow and lined with trash, the brick walls covered with stains and faded art.

Of course, I came here.

Art's hands were in my hair, my back hard against the wall as he fought against whatever the hell was chasing him, as he tried to forget it all here with me. His shaking hands and his wild eyes and his expression. I realized he hadn't really been on vacation enjoying time with his family when he left after our shared moment in this location.

Please don't ask.

I should have asked.