On a secluded path leading into and out of the village, a carriage could be seen approaching. It was an imposing scene, with three horses in each row pulling the black-painted carriage. The driver was an elderly man, his face weathered by time.
When he stopped in front of us, he didn't say a word—he simply handed us a letter. The envelope was sealed with an emblem I had already noticed on one of the carriage doors: a rodent, more specifically, a mouse, which was the family's symbol. The small animal stood upright, staring straight ahead. Beneath it, the family's last name was written in fine, elegant lettering:
[Firebrand]
The man gestured to indicate that he had been sent to collect Zirael.
At that moment, we all stood there, unmoving, raising our arms in a farewell gesture. I was struck by the presence of townsfolk I had never seen before, also bidding him goodbye. Beside me, Rina and Luna looked either shy or sad, while Aziel watched from the shadow of a tree in the distance.
My father approached from behind, placing his hand on my shoulder, and said quietly, "One day, you'll leave for that place too, son."
I remained silent, watching as Zirael climbed the carriage step. Just before the door closed, he raised his arm to wave one last time. Inside the carriage, I could make out two faint shadows, but I couldn't discern who they were.
My uncle stood motionless, staring at the scene while comforting my aunt, who cried silently against his chest.
The carriage began moving slowly. The sound of its wheels on the ground faded as it passed through the entrance. I stood for a moment with my parents, Luna, and Rina, all of us silent as we watched our best friend depart. I decided to approach Aziel, who remained under the tree's shade, away from everyone. I wanted to invite him to join us.
Before I reached him, Aziel spoke, as if he knew I was coming.
"My good friend, Kaini," he said, a small smile on his lips. I replied with a smile of my own as I drew closer.
"Aren't you bored being alone?" I asked, leaning against the tree.
"No, not really. Right now, I feel fine," he replied in a relaxed tone, as if he had no worries. It was surprising how his somewhat reserved nature felt almost like an illusion. Aziel carried an enviable calm.
"Come with us," I insisted.
"No, I don't want to bother anyone," Aziel replied. "Besides, it's better to stay here in the shade than out in the sun," he added.
He was right—the sun was a bit oppressive, and enjoying the shade was an excellent choice.
"Alright," I said, leaning back against the tree to face him. "It's really a shame that he's leaving," I said, referring to Zirael.
"Well, yes, there he goes," Aziel replied, watching the road where the carriage had already disappeared. "A question."
"Yes, go ahead," I said, curious.
"That symbol on the carriage—it's from your house, right?"
"The mouse?" I replied, a bit confused.
"Yes."
"Yes, it's our family's symbol."
"So, a mouse," he murmured.
Aziel placed a finger on his lips, thoughtful, while I watched him, surprised at how calm he seemed in a situation that, for anyone else, would be filled with tension or sadness, unlike the spectacle among my relatives.
"You know what I don't understand, Kaini?"
"What's that?"
"The problem with crying. He said himself he'd come back when he could, which means he will come back. But it seems like no one understood that. It feels exaggerated to me."
In recent times, Aziel and I had grown very close. We talked whenever we could. He always asked me questions that seemed strange, observing me intently and waiting for my answers, almost as if testing me.
"Do you think it's exaggerated?" I asked curiously.
"Yes, it seems almost unnecessary. I don't understand why there's so much drama over a farewell that isn't final," he replied with a carefree air.
"So, does the situation bother you?" I insisted, trying to understand his perspective.
"It's not the action itself that bothers me, but the timing," he clarified. "It's like crying over a loved one you know will never return—then it would make sense."
"So, for you, crying is like a definitive goodbye, something that symbolizes an irreversible ending," I commented, trying to delve deeper into his point of view.
"Exactly. But it's more than that," he said, reflecting. "Crying isn't just sadness or despair. It's a reaction to fear, worry, or even happiness. It's a deep reflection of what we feel in crucial moments."
"That's true… What are you afraid of, Aziel?" I asked, letting out a small laugh at the end of my sentence.
Aziel shifted his gaze toward the road where the carriage had vanished. "Well, like everyone, I'm afraid of dying," he replied naturally. "And you, Kaini? What are you afraid of?" he asked, looking at me intently.
In that moment, I was speechless. The calm and nonchalant way he spoke about such a serious topic caught me off guard. I had never stopped to think about those things with such serenity. I reflected for a moment before answering.
"The same," I finally said, trying to match the philosophical tone he had set.
Aziel let out a laugh—not a mocking one, but the kind that eases the tension in the air. Not wanting to feel out of place, I joined in his laughter, and we both shared that moment, our chuckles dispelling any unease.
"Dying would be sad, wouldn't it?" Aziel asked, his gaze fixed on the ground.
"Yes, it would," I replied.
"Imagine dying alone, with no one by your side, no one to help you… no one to remember you," he continued. His words were so profound they created a serious and delicate atmosphere.
"Yes, I can imagine that," I replied. The conversation had taken a darker turn than I expected. "That would be a truly sad death—to be forgotten by everyone." In that moment, an idea crossed my mind to lighten the mood. "How would you like to die, Aziel?"
"Me?" he asked, lifting his head.
"Yes," I insisted.
Aziel let out a faint, almost imperceptible laugh. "Ha… Well, I wouldn't want to suffer when I die. I wouldn't want to writhe on the ground from a stomach wound, be burned alive, poisoned, stabbed, robbed, or mutilated. Or, worse yet, be decapitated. They say you remain conscious when your head is separated from your body."
His response left me frozen. I hadn't expected the conversation to take such a serious and macabre turn. Suddenly, what had begun as an innocent chat between kids had transformed into something much darker. I had only wanted a simple, ironic response—something like "dying in my sleep or from a fright." But this… this was something else.
I tried to ease the tension with a nervous laugh.
"Ha… ha…"