Olivia Alexanderia's phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the quiet of the island house. She picked it up, seeing her brother Kurana's name. "Kurana? It's late."
His voice came through strained, heavy. "Olivia… I don't know how to say this. Akshat Aether… He's dead."
The words hit her like a physical blow. She froze, gripping the phone tighter. "What? Are you sure? I can't imagine that boy being dead like… like this. He's always been untouchable, always one step ahead. This has to be some kind of mistake."
"I wish it was," Kurana replied quietly. "I've sent you his funeral invitation. Just… just give it to Alexander. It may be hard for him, but time will heal everyone."
Olivia ended the call, her hand trembling slightly. She stared at the screen for a long moment, the invitation already downloaded. No warning, no preparation. She walked straight to Alexander's bedroom and pushed the door open without knocking.
Inside, Alexander and Kuroda Haruki lay tangled under the sheets, naked and exhausted from the night before. Haruki's long arm draped over his chest, her tall frame curled protectively around his smaller one. The sight would have amused Olivia any other time, but not now.
She rapped her knuckles sharply on the wall. Alexander jolted awake first, eyes snapping open. Haruki stirred beside him, both of them bolting upright, clutching the sheets to cover themselves. Panic flashed across their faces—wide eyes, flushed cheeks.
"Olivia?" Alexander managed, voice rough with sleep and surprise. Haruki glanced between them, her usual sharp composure cracking into awkward tension.
Olivia's face stayed serious, etched with quiet sorrow. No teasing, no judgment. Just heavy sadness.
"What happened?" Alexander asked, sitting up straighter, the panic shifting to concern.
She stepped closer and handed him the digital invitation without a word. Alexander took it, scanning the screen. His expression changed from confusion to disbelief.
"Tell me you're kidding me," he whispered, voice cracking. "This can't be real. Akshat… dead?"
Olivia's silence was the only answer. She stood there, watching the color drain from his face. Alexander stared at the invitation, reading the details over and over, but the words blurred. No sharp comeback, no strategic denial. Just stunned silence. His chest tightened, breath shallow. The man who had fought through bloodlines and betrayals sat frozen, the weight of it crushing him.
Haruki shifted closer immediately, her six-foot frame wrapping around him from behind. She pulled him against her chest, arms strong and steady despite her own shock. "Hey… breathe," she murmured, voice softer than he'd ever heard it. One hand stroked his golden hair, the other rubbing slow circles on his back. "I'm here. Whatever this is, we face it together." Her touch carried the comfort of their recent intimacy, but now it was pure support—raw, human, holding him as the reality sank in.
Alexander didn't speak. He just leaned into her, eyes distant, the invitation loose in his grip. The rival who had pushed him to his limits in training now anchored him, her quiet presence the only thing keeping the grief from swallowing him whole.
---
Miles away, in a different wing of the Alexanderia network, Aavya and Ryuki received the news through the same channels. Aavya's face went pale as she read the message, her usual fire dimming. "Akshat? Dead? No way. That stubborn idiot can't just… be gone." She paced, fists clenched, refusing to let the tears fall. "He always came back. Always."
Ryuki sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. "I don't believe it either. Feels wrong. Like the world shifted without him." His voice was thick, the bond they'd all shared cracking under the impossible truth. They sat in heavy silence, memories flashing—fights won together, risks taken, the unbreakable crew now facing a hole that couldn't be filled.
---
Word spread quickly through Akshat's old college circles. Friends from the early days gathered in stunned clusters, messages flooding group chats. One guy from the dorms slumped against a wall, muttering, "He was supposed to outlast all of us. This doesn't make sense." A girl who'd studied with him wiped silent tears, remembering late-night strategies and his unyielding drive. Sadness hung thick—quiet disbelief mixed with genuine loss. No grand speeches, just raw human ache for the flawed, brilliant force that had touched them all.
___
The funeral gathered under a heavy sky, everyone dressed in black, faces drawn with quiet grief. Alexander Vane stood pale, the color drained from his features, eyes hollow. Kuroda Haruki stayed right beside him, her tall frame a solid presence, one hand resting lightly on his lower back in silent support.
Gunjan Aether stared at her son's photograph, tears streaming freely. Ritik Aether held her close, letting her sob into his shoulder without a word, his own face tight with restrained pain. Nearby, Akshat's big brother Arnav gazed upward at the broken-looking sky, as if searching for answers that would never come.
Alexander stepped away from Haruki and approached Kurana Alexanderia, voice low and strained. "Are you sure Akshat is dead? Did you all find his body or something that actually proves it?"
Kurana's expression darkened with regret. "As much as I hate to admit it, we found his… his several body parts lying around the accident area near the waterfall he fell from."
Alexander's breath caught. "I just can't believe it. He taught me everything… how to live, how to protect myself, how not to grieve. And now… I just can't believe he's dead."
Adeline Alexanderia and Shogun Kurogami spoke at the same time, their voices overlapping in raw disbelief. "Neither can I."
A somber silence followed as flowers were released into the river, drifting away as a final gesture of respect. Vanya gave Gunjan a gentle nudge, whispering encouragement. Manya stepped forward, hesitant but determined, approaching the grieving mother.
In a soft, comforting voice, Manya said, "Hi aunty… you may not know me. Akshat never introduced us like this. I have something to say to you."
Gunjan wiped her tears forcefully and took a deep breath, composing herself. "Thank you for coming to show my son the last respect. What is it, dear? Do you have something to tell me?"
Manya's hands trembled slightly. She looked down, cheeks flushed with shyness and terror, voice barely above a whisper. "Aunty, I… I'm pregnant. And the child belongs to Akshat."
A single tear slipped down Gunjan's cheek again, but this one carried a fragile spark of happiness amid the sorrow. She reached out, gently taking Manya's hands in hers. "Pregnant… with my son's child?"
Manya nodded, eyes wide and glistening with fear. "I'm so sorry to say it like this, here. I'm terrified. What if I can't do this? What if the baby grows up without him? I feel so shy even admitting it… like I'm intruding on your grief. Akshat and I… it was complicated, intense. But this little life inside me is real."
Gunjan pulled her closer, her voice warm despite the fresh tears. "look at me. You're not intruding. You're giving me a piece of him I thought I'd lost forever." She cupped Manya's face tenderly, thumbs brushing away the younger woman's anxious tears. "It's okay to be scared. I'm scared too. But this child? This is hope. Akshat's blood, his fire, living on. You don't have to carry this alone. We're family now. Whatever you need—support, strength, even just someone to cry with—I'm here."
Manya let out a shaky breath, leaning into the embrace as relief mixed with her lingering terror. "Thank you, aunty. I didn't know how you'd react. It feels overwhelming… exciting and heartbreaking at the same time."
Gunjan hugged her tighter, a small, genuine smile breaking through the pain. "Thank you to give me this good news at the moment like this, thank you. We'll face it together. For the baby and for him."
The river carried the flowers onward as the two women held each other, a quiet pocket of comfort amid the mourning crowd. Alexander watched from a distance, Haruki's hand still steady on him, the weight of loss pressing down but now carrying the faintest thread of continuation.