A Fairytale In The Making

31. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE

Never Let Me Go

Akira's POV

When we were little, we would always play the same game. 

The holy warriors against the evil necromancer.

But the problem arose when none of us wanted to be the necromancer.

 Who would want to be the heinous wielder of forbidden magic when you can be the brave warrior waiting to seize the glory? 

After all, who was strong enough to willingly be the dreaded villain when the chances of being the hero were within reach? 

So we all pestered the older kids. But them being too busy in teenage angst, refused to let themselves stoop down to the level of humoring their younger siblings with the act of playing in their make-believe. Naeem's brothers would just shut the door on our faces and let's not talk about Amad's sister.

All of the older kids were mean. Except for Torhild.

He was our favorite. Too many times have I wished for an older brother like him. 

And he was, he was our older brother.

He would humor our childish musings, help us with our first love, do our homework at the last moment, play the necromancer to our heroic warriors.

He would play his assigned role with the outmost enthusiasm, you see. He would put on a black cape, mark his face with ink to resemble the dark mages, talk in a low menacing voice. In short, perfect casting for the role.

We would fight him with our toy swords and shields, tackle him to death.

And then with a dramatic gasp, he would go still, pretending to be dead. Us being the little children we were, would think it was real and get frightened. We would try to shake him awake in panic and just as we let our guards down, he would tackle us with a scream.

But today no matter how much Eboni or Kishar shook him, he didn't get up, didn't say, "haha, fooled you," with a grin.

 No, he just laid there peacefully, selfishly in his burial ship. 

His face looked hauntingly pale with no sign of flush from the morning chilly air. It was as if mother nature knew she was losing a beloved son. So she sent her tears with the sprinkling rain and her mourning with the howling wind making the branches shiver. Dead leaves carpeted the ground like a lover withering away in wait of her warrior.

 I look around to see my friends, some standing with expressionless faces, some with tear-stricken ones. But all of them in complete silence, as if a sudden sound might break the delusion of Torhild still being with us.

The Grand general stands tall in front of the procession. With his back straight and head held high, he does not look like the father of a newly deceased son. He looks like how he always did, like a warrior. 

Among the crowd of people dressed in black, Zahra stands out the most in her beautiful white dress, looking every part of the bride she should've been this winter before the sinister wielders of the dead stole her beloved in this month of dead leaves.

 She wasn't crying, she was so eerily quiet that it was starting to make Naeem worry for his sister. Did she even remotely expect this to happen? Her love of twelve years abandoned her for the journey towards the afterlife in a moment, leaving her with only stunned silence and stabbing memories?

I took out the dagger I had bought for their wedding gift which now will be a part of his grave good. I laid the dagger down next to his still body and one last time caressed his forehead.