Drakonis

Ohla

Rain battered the land with relentless fury, each droplet merging with the sea of tears that cascaded down my face. The sky was a somber, unfeeling gray, matching the heaviness that weighed on my heart. Beside me, Nymara sat, her face etched with deep sorrow. We rowed in solemn silence towards the looming volcano, our small boats bearing the precious, lost bodies of our loved ones.

The rain drenched us completely, mingling with our tears and making the boat's wooden planks slick and treacherous. I could barely see through the downpour, my vision blurred not only by the rain but by the ache of our shared grief. Nymara's quiet sobs were a constant reminder of the depth of our loss. Her hand, cold and trembling, was tightly clasped in mine, providing a small comfort amidst the storm.

The journey to the volcano was a heavy, mournful ordeal. Each stroke of the oar seemed to pull us further into a pit of despair, and the distant, fiery peak loomed ahead like an unforgiving sentinel. The mountain's presence was a stark contrast to the calm we once knew, now only a harsh, fiery testament to our losses.

My father sat in the boat beside me, his face an empty canvas, devoid of any expression. It was as if the very essence of his soul had been stripped away, leaving only a hollow shell. Since the moment my mother took her last breath, he hadn't spoken a single word. The once strong, commanding presence that had led our family was now a ghost of its former self, crushed under the weight of unbearable grief.

Nymara's quiet sobs beside me only amplified the silence that clung to my father like a shroud. His eyes, once filled with determination and resolve, were now vacant, staring blankly ahead as if seeing nothing but the endless rain that poured down on us. It was as if he had lost not just his family, but his very reason for living.

As we rowed toward the looming volcano, the reality of our loss settled over us like a suffocating fog. My father, who had fought so hard to protect us all, was now left with nothing but the memories of those who had been taken from him. He had watched his children fall, one by one, and now his beloved wife, the woman who had stood by his side through countless battles, was gone too. The pain of losing his entire family was written in the deep lines on his face, though he made no sound, no movement to betray the turmoil within.

The boats cut through the water in eerie silence, the only sound the relentless drumming of the rain and the occasional sobs that broke through the air. The others in our small procession were no better off. Faces were downcast, shoulders slumped under the weight of shared grief. Every person here had lost someone—family, friends, loved ones—and the collective sorrow was almost too much to bear.

When we finally reached the base of the volcano, the grim reality of what we were about to do hit us all like a physical blow. My father moved mechanically, his hands trembling as he helped lift the bodies from the boat. He handled my mother's body with a gentleness that was heartbreaking, his touch lingering on her cold skin as if he couldn't bear to let her go. It was the last act of love he could offer her, and it shattered what little composure he had left.

As we placed the bodies on the pyres, the flames leapt up, fierce and unyielding, consuming what remained of the people we loved. My father stood by, his face a hollow mask, but I could see the silent tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. The fire's glow flickered in his empty eyes, a cruel contrast to the darkness that had consumed his soul.

I forced myself to look at my brother's lifeless body, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to break me. He had promised me he would come back—that we would see each other again, laugh, and fight side by side as we always had. Those promises now felt like cruel lies, echoes of a future that had been ripped away from us. My chest tightened, the ache deep and all-consuming, as I realized that the person I had shared my entire life with was truly gone.

The memories of our childhood flooded my mind—those carefree days when we were just boys, unaware of the world's cruelty. We had fought together, grown up together, and now... now there was only silence where his laughter once filled the air. My heart ached with the unbearable weight of his absence, every beat a painful reminder that he was no longer here.

I wanted to scream, to rage against the world for taking him from me. But all I could do was stand there, my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white, as the flames consumed him. The warmth of the fire did nothing to thaw the icy grip of despair that had wrapped itself around my heart. I felt so utterly alone, lost in a sea of grief that threatened to drown me.

Each crackle of the fire was like a dagger to my soul, reminding me of everything we had lost. My brother's face, once so full of life, now pale and still, haunted me. How could this be real? How could someone so strong, so full of life, be reduced to ashes in mere moments?

"In the sacred name of Ohla, we return these souls to her embrace, that they may stand steadfast at her side, guarding them as they once guarded us. Let their memory be a beacon to guide us in this dark time. We offer our prayers for their peace and for the swift end to this war. Ohla, grahn vakara inthar vas, un karvasth hera sa vrelda nar mor'vakarth," Queen Velera intoned, her voice wavering with the weight of her sorrow.

(Ohla, take them into your care and uphold their families with your strength)

The funeral was a bleak, soul-crushing affair. The rain mixed with the ash that rose from the pyres, creating a thick, gray haze that blurred the lines between earth and sky. Nymara clung to me, her tears soaking through my already drenched clothes, but I couldn't offer her any comfort. I was as lost as she was, drowning in my own grief.

Around us, the others mourned in their own ways. Some wept openly, their cries echoing in the desolate landscape. Others stood in silence, their faces etched with the same grief that had consumed my father. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and flesh, a brutal reminder of the lives we had lost.

As the flames died down and the ashes settled, we began the slow, painful journey back down the mountain. My father walked beside me, his steps heavy and uncertain, as if the very act of moving forward was a burden too great to bear. He had lost everything—his wife, his children, his entire family—and the weight of that loss had crushed him completely.

The silence between us was deafening, filled with all the words we couldn't bring ourselves to say. Nymara's hand was still in mine, a small comfort in the midst of our shared pain. But even her presence couldn't pierce the wall of grief that surrounded my father. He was lost to us, trapped in a world of sorrow that none of us could reach.

As we finally reached the base of the volcano, I could feel the finality of it all settle over me. We had left behind the bodies of our loved ones, now nothing more than ashes scattered to the wind. My father, who had once been the pillar of our family, was now broken, his spirit crushed by the relentless tide of loss. And as we walked away from the mountain, the rain still pouring down on us, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.