His eyes remained fixed on his brother's lifeless body for what felt like an eternity, as if he were merely asleep, waiting to awaken. The room was sparsely populated, containing only Mikhael, a few caretakers, and himself. The silence hung heavily in the air, almost deafening.
"B-Brother, I—" he struggled to articulate, the words caught in his throat. Sobs wracked his body as the weight of reality crashed down on him. His brother was gone. He was no more.
"Please tell me this isn't real. Please let this be a dream. I beg you, Lord, let this be a dream…" His voice trembled, choked by grief.
The people around him gazed at him with pitying eyes as he wept for his brother. The world around him faded into darkness as he stood beside his brother's still form. He couldn't see or hear anything, remaining motionless, gripping the white sheets he had pulled away.
The funeral was a subdued, intimate gathering, shrouded in an atmosphere of solemn contemplation. Only a small coterie of mourners congregated beneath the dismal, ash-gray sky, their faces carved with anguish and incredulity. Most were unfamiliar to one another, united solely by their shared bereavement for a man who had radiated vitality and warmth, yet whose life was tragically cut short.
The modest chapel, with its flaking ivory paint and weathered oak pews, felt frigid and uninviting. Soft, diffused sunlight filtered weakly through the vibrant stained glass windows, casting subdued hues that danced across the floor like echoes of bygone joys.
His brother's colleagues, who would have filled the space with hearty laughter and conviviality, were noticeably absent, still convalescing from the grievous injuries sustained during the ill-fated expedition that ultimately claimed his life. Their absence hung like a palpable void, a poignant reminder of the devastating loss.
The mourners' faces reflected their inner turmoil: eyes brimming with tears, brows furrowed in sorrow, and lips compressed in stoic silence. The air was heavy with unspoken emotions, as if the very weight of their collective grief had settled upon the chapel like a physical presence.
As the funeral service progressed, the stillness was punctuated only by the occasional sniffle or muffled sob. The eulogies, though heartfelt, seemed inadequate, incapable of capturing the essence of a life that had burned so brightly, yet flickered out all too soon.
Outside, the overcast sky shed droplets of rain, echoing the despair that loomed over those assembled. The chapel's quaint setting, usually a peaceful refuge, now appeared grim and lifeless, a poignant representation of the grief that enveloped the mourners.
As the funeral concluded, Theoron found himself standing near his brother's grave. The relentless rain pounded against the earth, mirroring the turmoil that ravaged his heart. He stood frozen, inches from the freshly dug grave, his eyes fixed on his brother's name engraved upon it. The reality was suffocating, yet his mind refused to accept it. This had to be a nightmare, a cruel jest, he thought.
The downpour soaked through his clothes, chilling his bones, but he remained numb, impervious to the cold. His gaze drifted to the adjacent graves, bearing the names of his mother and father. The family plot, once a symbol of unity, now served as a haunting reminder of his isolation. He realized he was truly alone now.
Raindrops blurred his vision, but he didn't bother to wipe them away. Tears mingled with the rain, a bitter mixture of grief and longing. His brother's absence felt like he had lost a part of himself. The world around him dissolved into a gray haze, leaving only the ache within. He felt lost, abandoned, and forsaken. The rain intensified, drumming against the earth, echoing the anguish that thundered within him.
Yet, he stood unmoving, transfixed by the grave. His mind replayed memories of laughter, tears, and whispered promises. His brother's smile, his laughter, his guidance—all silenced now. The thought was unbearable.
As the rain continued its relentless assault, he remained rooted, suspended between denial and despair. His heart pleaded for this to be a dream, for his brother to emerge from the darkness, smiling, whole, and alive. But the cold, damp earth beneath his feet was a harsh reminder of reality.
In the deluge, he found a twisted solace. The rain became his confidant, his lament, his elegy. Together, they mourned the loss of a bond that could never be restored.
The day after the funeral, Mikhael returned to visit. He was greeted by Theoron, whose physical appearance reflected the turmoil that ravaged his soul. His face was a map of sorrow, etched with lines of pain and fatigue. His blue eyes, once bright and piercing, now seemed dull and lifeless.
Mikhael noted that Theoron's olive green hair, once a vibrant crown, now hung in disheveled strands, dull and lifeless, as if it had lost its luster alongside his spirit. Though not alarmingly thin, he appeared slightly skinnier than before, his clothes fitting more loosely around his frame. The angles of his face were sharper, and the hollows of his cheeks were more pronounced, deepening the shadows that surrounded his once-bright blue eyes. It seemed as if the weight of grief had taken its toll, leaving a fragile version of the man he had once been.
"It seems you are not doing well," Mikhael said gently as they were served tea by the house butler. "I hope you can find a way to get through this, Theoron."
Mikhael understood the depth of love shared between the brothers; he had witnessed it firsthand throughout their lives. It was clear that Theoron needed time to heal, but seeing him in such anguish made Mikhael ache for him.
"Your brother wouldn't have wanted the worst for you," he said softly, attempting to offer some comfort.
"You know, your brother was always concerned about you and your well-being. He always wished for you to be happy and healthy. That was all he ever wanted for you. He once told me…"
He continued, sharing a specific memory from the past:
"I want to live long, Mikhael. Like really long."
Mikhael could see his friend drifting off in thought as he said that.
"I can't die yet; my brother needs me."
The ache within him threatened to consume his very soul as he recalled the vibrant smile, infectious laughter, and unwavering optimism that had defined his friend's existence. He would always remember the late-night conversations, silly jokes, and deep, meaningful discussions that had cemented their bond. His friend had been more than just a companion; he was a confidant, a partner in every sense. His friend's passing had left a gaping void, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. Despite his shattered emotions, Mikhael mustered the strength to be there.
"His yearning to live was as fierce as your longing for him to survive. Life unfolds differently from how we imagine, Theo. We cling to our hopes and dreams, yet reality has its own design, weaving paths that can diverge dramatically from what we envision."
"Before we proceed any further, there's something important I need to share with you. I was going to say this sooner, but I thought it'd be better to wait until after the funeral. I thought about waiting a bit longer, but I'm actually leaving for another conflict in the East tomorrow morning. So, before I head out," Mikhael said, looking at Theoron,
"I want to convey the message he left for you before passing."
"He wanted you to pursue God's will."