The noon sun hung heavy in the sky. Its light muted as if the world itself had softened in respect.
Along the broad plaza, rows upon rows of figures in black suits stood rigid. A sea of disciplined silence stretched farther than the eye could reach.
Each face was impassive but the impact of grief pressed down like a physical force. The cold wind carried no relief. Only a whispering of solemnity, stirring the edges of coats and cloaks.
At the center, a raised platform bore the simple casket, draped in nothing but a dark cloth. Yet radiating an unspoken importance.
The tiny murmured prayers of the Atlantis Organization resonated with ritual precision. Softly against the stone walls that framed the plaza.
Cagaro stood slightly apart, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but the aura around him remained with restrained fury.
Arcee remained close, wrapped tightly in her cloak.
Her eyes lingered on the casket with a mixture of disbelief and reverence. Her hands gripped the edges of her sleeves as if holding herself together.
...
His boots clicked once against the pathway.
Then the murmurs at the far end died instantly. A figure appeared from the dizzy sights.
From the high marble steps, Arthur Pendragon emerged—King of the Atlantis Organization.
Every step he took carried the quiet authority of someone whose presence alone commanded obedience.
His hair was pure white, flowed neatly to the back. Even time had failed to dull his presence.
If anything, it had made him even more fearsome.
His attire radiated restrained majesty. A long black ceremonial coat flowed behind him, lined with subtle silver embroidery.
Beneath it, a deep navy vest carried the crest of Atlantis... a stylized trident enclosed within a circular seal. A silver chain crossed his chest, attached to a pocket watch engraved with generations of legacy.
White gloves covered his hands and across his shoulders rested a mantle edged with light gold thread.
Old, yet handsome. When he stepped onto the stage, the atmosphere changed.
Arthur turned, facing the ocean of black-suited figures before him. His gaze traveled slowly across them. He looked at them like a father surveying his children.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried across the plaza without effort.
"Today…"
A pause followed long enough to settle into every ears.
"Today is not merely a day of mourning. It is a day of remembrance and honour."
His hands rested lightly on the podium, posture straight as a blade.
"The Atlantis Organization was never built upon power alone. It was built upon trust. Upon sacrifice. Upon the belief that even in a accuraed world, there exists those willing to carry burdens others cannot.
For centuries, we have stood in the shadows but to protect a world that will never know our names. To prevent calamities before they become tragedies and fight enemies that history itself will forget. And yet… we endure.
We endure because of men and women who place duty above fear. Who step forward when retreat would be easier. Who hold the line… even when it costs them everything.
And today… we speak of one such man. Blyke Rhodes."
The crowd remained unmoving. A smooth wind whooshed.
Arthur's eyes lowered briefly toward the casket.
"He was not the loudest among us, for sure. Not a type of one who sought recognition, but he was something rarer. The kind of man who would confront thousand soldiers alone so others could reach shelter.
When catastrophe descended upon us… when chaos threatened the lives of millions… Blyke Rhodes did not hesitate. He gave his life… so that countless others might continue theirs. There are many definitions of strength. Many definitions of courage. But true strength is the willingness to stand alone against the inevitable. Even though it seems like absolute foolishness to other's sights.
His gaze lifted again, scanning the rows of agents.
"That is why today… we do not simply mourn. We honor. We remember. We carry forward."
He turned slightly toward the casket.
"The name Blyke Rhodes will not fade into silence. It will remain etched into the history of this Order. Into the foundation of everything we protect."
He ended his speech.
"Priest."
A robed figure stepped forward from the side. The long ceremonial garments brushed against the stone floor as he approached the center. In his hands rested a sacred text, bound in aged leather. Its surface marked with faint golden inscriptions.
The Priest opened the book.
A deep, solemn chant began. The Priest spoke ancient syllables flowing like a distant tide.
At once, over thousands of heads lowered in unison.
Cagaro stood among them.
His posture remained rigid. Arms held tight at his sides. His jaw locked firmly, teeth pressed together as if holding something back with sheer force.
The way he spoke like everything would be fine. His vision blurred for a brief second but he refused to let it break.
He forced the ache downward, swallowing it like poison. Shoulders stiffening further as the prayer continued.
Not far from him... Arcee.
She had lowered her head like the rest, cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. But unlike Cagaro, she could not hold it back.
Her hand covered the lower half of her face, fingers trembling faintly against her lips.
Her head remained lowered with the rest, yet the prayer around her felt distant from herself.
The Priest was chanting words to finalize the funeral, however, Arcee wasn't focused on it.
Inside, she was not standing in a formation.
She was standing alone. As always.
Since birth, abandonment had been the first language she learned. No lullabies or voice calling her name with affection. She had been left behind before she even understood what belonging meant. The world introduced itself to her as a place where presence was temporary and absence permanent.
Loneliness did not arrive later in her life. It had grown with her.
At first, it hurt. A childish ache that begged for someone... anyone to stay. But time has a cruel intelligence. It teaches adaptation where healing is impossible. She learned to replace longing and expectation with distance. She discovered solitude not as peace but as armor.
What an armor does? Gives protection but burdens weight.
Solitude was cheaper than hope. Because hope required trust and trust required the risk of loss.
She chose to live without attachments and desires strong enough to shatter her if they vanished. That was how she survived.
That was how she kept moving. Not because she wished to live but because she did not know how to die either. The will to live did not disappear dramatically; it faded slowly like ink left under sunlight.
And then… Blyke appeared.
Quietly, like a man placing a chair beside someone who had grown used to stand alone. He spoke to her without forcing conversation. Blyke always treated her like a true friend.
Sat near her without demanding attention. Treated her not as someone who simply existed and that alone felt unfamiliar, terrifying, comforting all at once.
She began to wait for his presence without realizing it. That was the first mistake. Because caring is always the beginning of suffering.
She had known from the start what boundary stood between them.
Similiar like a vertical line between two dots never meet in a straight sense.
Blyke was married. He belonged to a life that had nothing to do with her. A family, a child, an ending he didn't deserve...
So she buried her emotions under herself.
Every time a strange warmth rose inside her chest when he spoke, she crushed it down.
Love, to her, was not possession.
It was all a maze of chaos...
The confession that had grown silently inside her had turned useless, like a letter written to someone who no longer existed.
What cruel mathematics governed this world?
All her life, she had found no one worth loving. And when she finally did… he was taken before she could even allow herself to confess it.
Perhaps solitude had not protected her after all. Perhaps it had only delayed the inevitable. Teaching her how to live without attachment, only to punish her the moment attachment found her anyway.
Was this the price of loving quietly?
Was not confessing itself was her kind of cowardice?
If she had spoken… would anything have changed? No. She knew the answer. He would not have abandoned his vows. He would not have betrayed the family he cherished. That was exactly why she loved him.
....
Back here,
The earth had already been opened in the solemn that wound carved into the ground as if the world itself had prepared to receive him.
The casket was carried forward slowly. The sky above remained pale. The Sunlight dimmed behind a thin veil of clouds, casting a muted glow over the ceremony.
The ropes tightened around the casket and with quiet precision, it began to descend.
Inch by inch, the polished surface lowered into the waiting earth. Slowly vanishing gradually from sight like a memory being buried in layers of time.
Finally, the casket finally reached the bottom. Then came the first fall of soil. A dull, heavy sound struck against the wooden surface below.
More soil followed, handful after handful, shovels moving steadily, each strike sealing away laughter that would never be heard again, promises that would never be fulfilled, footsteps that would never return.
On the polished stone that rose above the fresh mound of earth. The chiseling was still shining. The letters were fresh against the gray surface.
"The Human who defied Heaven"
Beneath it, carved smaller yet heavier in meaning, rested the final words meant to outlive memories of decades,
"Scars for the many, rest for the one."
The wind passed gently over the grave, brushing the loose soil like a quiet farewell.