The atmosphere in the clearing was deeply solemn as people gathered under the soft light of the moon. Beyond the freshly dug graves stood the Eterna trees, their silhouettes gently swaying in the cool night breeze. Some of these trees towered high, their branches stretching toward the heavens, while others were still small and fragile.
Each tree represented a life—heroes who had fallen over the last thirty years in the battle to protect Waldria from the corrupted creatures. Each was a living monument, a symbol of sacrifice, resilience, and hope. At the base of every tree was a smooth stone slab, carefully carved with the name of the hero it represented. These slabs bore witness to the lives that had been lived, the battles fought, and the sacrifices made.
The crowd stood in silence, their faces illuminated by the soft moonlight, reflecting grief. Among them were seasoned warriors, their armour scarred and worn, and young recruits, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear.
Lord Darion stepped forward, and began to speak.
"This place," he began, gesturing toward the Eterna trees, "is sacred. It represents every soul who has fallen in these thirty years of battle against the corruption. Each of these soldiers fought with honour. Some gave their lives in battle, others while saving their comrades. These fallen warriors are the reason we still stand today, the reason we still have a camp, a home, and a future."
He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "I want every person here, whether you've been with us for years or only a few days, to respect these heroes. Without them, we would have nothing. No safety, no peace, no hope. Their stories are woven into the very fabric of Waldria, and though I cannot share their tales with all right now, one day, their bravery will be celebrated far and wide. Their families will be honoured, and their sacrifices will no longer remain in shadow."
Darion took a steadying breath. "But hear me when I say this: I do not want you to throw your lives away. Every life is precious. Even an injured soldier can fight another day, can teach others, can protect those who cannot protect themselves. I want you to live, to fight, and to return home when this war is over. Every bit of training you endure, every skill you sharpen, gives you another chance to survive. And survival, my friends, is victory."
He ended with a simple yet heartfelt, "Thank you," and stepped back into the crowd, his words leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
The ceremony continued. It was now time to honour those who had fallen in the latest battle. According to Waldria's traditions, when someone passed, it was their loved ones or comrades who came forward to speak of their praises. They would recount the deeds of the departed, singing songs to list their achievements or expressing their grief through heartfelt words.
This was a time to share memories, to let the spirit of the departed live on in the hearts of those who remained. One by one, they stepped forward, their voices heavy with sorrow, each tribute carrying the weight of loss and the light of remembrance.
During the ceremony, a soldier emerged from the crowd, supported by another. He was badly injured, his bandages soaked with blood from a wound that had reopened. The injured soldier had fainted earlier from exhaustion and pain, yet when he heard of his friend's passing, he insisted on attending the funeral. Despite his weakened state, he pushed forward. Seeing his condition, those in the crowd moved aside, clearing a path for him to reach the gravesite.
When he arrived at his friend's grave, he gently shrugged off the arm of the soldier supporting him. With unsteady steps, he lowered himself to the ground, sitting before the grave. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over as he stared at the freshly turned earth and the stone slab bearing his friend's name. For a long time, he sat in silence, his grief too deep for words. The crowd watched, their own hearts heavy, as he mourned in stillness.
Someone approached, perhaps to offer a comforting hand, but before they could touch his shoulder, the soldier began to sing. His voice was raw and strained, trembling with emotion.
"They said you saved my life, my friend,
But I asked—what of you in the end?
They said you'd gone, you'd left us all,
I prayed it was just a dream, a cruel call.
But the truth hit hard, too sharp, too real,
A wound no time can ever heal.
It should have been me, I cried inside,
You saved me and paid with your life's light.
Now I carry this debt, not a burden, but love,
A bond that reaches the heavens above.
As long as I breathe, I swear to defend,
Your kin, our kingdom—until my end."