A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

22 | Bury A Friend (edited)

Beneath the moonlit arches of Crepusculem, where magic had thrived like a living symphony, a heavy gloom thick as fog smothered the ancient grounds. The sanctum grounds felt drained of life, shrouded in a pall of grief. The sacred grounds were rather cold and humid this afternoon—mist clinging to the earth, wrapping the stones in a veil that whispered of loss and secrets waiting to be uncovered.

The air no longer carried the sweet scent of lavender and other enchanted fragrances. It carried a smoky scent, like the remnants of something beautiful turned to ash.

In the heart of the courtyard, a solemn crowd gathered around a towering pyre. The body of Head Mage Shinatzai Zen lay atop it, swathed in ceremonial robes, every inch of skin hidden.

The mourners, dressed in sombre white robes and trailing black cloaks, moved with the slow, measured steps of those bearing a heavy burden. Children, pupils of the late mage, huddled at the edges of the gathering, their wide eyes filled with confusion and disbelief.

His death had been a violent one, and even now, the memory of his disfigured corpse—discovered three days ago in a pool of his own blood—cast a shadow over the proceedings. A group of young mages had found him in the Sun Tower during a routine practice, and the horror of that discovery still hung in the air, like a dark cloud no one could escape.

The grounds, usually filled with the hum of magic and the vibrant exchange of knowledge, were now eerily quiet. The only sound was the crackling of the pyre and the soft notes of a flute, playing a haunting melody that seemed to echo off the ancient stones.

Hannah stood at the head of the congregation, appearing to be calm as she ever had been, draped in her plain white robes—her hair unadorned for the first time in memory. The officials of Crepusculum, holding their ceremonial staff, stood like statues on either side of her, their faces grim.

From inside Hannah was anything but calm. Her thoughts raced one past another each making her little more anxious than the previous. Only two weeks ago, the heir of Romersai had vanished, threatening the fragile veil that separated their world from the normies. Now, Shinatzai Zen—one of the few who had been working to solve the mystery—was dead. She was left to bear the weight of Crepusculum's future alone. Her mind spinned with fear and doubt, though her face betrayed nothing.

"Milady, it's time," whispered Aric, the High Chronicler, his voice low and reverent.

Hannah nodded, her gaze steady as she took a deep breath, steeling herself. With a calm that belied the storm swirling within, she began the Final Tribute.

She stepped forward, her voice steady, "We gather today to honour Shinatzai Zen, not only as our Head Mage but as a mentor, a protector, and a pillar of our community. His wisdom guided us, his strength upheld us, and his magic lit the darkest paths. In life, he sought knowledge not for himself, but to lift us all. Now, as he joins the stars, his legacy remains—etched in our hearts and woven into the very magic that binds Crepusculum."

She paused, her gaze sweeping the gathered faces. "Though his light has dimmed in this realm, it will shine in the next, where his spirit will continue to guide us. Let us carry forward the lessons he taught and the magic he believed in. Farewell, Shinatzai Zen. May your journey be peaceful, and may we honour your memory with every spell we cast."

She bowed deeply to the pyre, and the attendees followed her lead in reverent silence. It was time for the final prayer, the sacred words to guide Shinatzai Zen's spirit beyond. As Hannah began to recite the ancient incantations, her voice steady and melodic, the flames of the pyre surged, leaping higher into the night. The fire's light flickered across the stone courtyard, casting long, wavering shadows over the gathered crowd, their faces illuminated by the glow.