"Leave it to me."
Egon took a shovel strapped to his back and began digging a grave for the First Oracle, the dim light from the singular mana cluster reflected off the straight, strong lines of his features, Meanwhile, his wife and son stood watching in silence, the sounds of their breathing mingling with the sounds of digging and echoing against the cold, stone walls.
Noctavian reached out and held his mother's hand. "It will be all right."
She stared at him with eyes that didn't have to go much lower, for he was almost her height now. His hand was also colder than usual, and regardless of the strong front he was putting up, the situation had to be overwhelming for someone his fragile age.
A cry from Noctavian's brown falcon outside grabbed their attention. She had just landed by the entrance and was gracefully preening her feathers with her beak now.
