A Hero In The Dark

Chapter 154: Burn to Fly

The storm dies down.

Pixie rubs her fur against my hand that hangs over my Mother's shoulder. She is alive and well. All thanks to John who stands patiently by the back door to our house.

I look to him.

My vision bleary with tears. I pull myself free from my Mother's firm hold, force my weak knees to stand and approach John with a heavy heart.

I rub my face to wipe away my tears they flow and flow and I rub and wipe.

Without any progress being made to calm my aching heart and shameful pride, John simply takes my hand and stops it from continuing its pointless task.

I don't know if he has read my mind without mine knowing, but there he holds my hand. Rubbing his thumb against the top and leading his other to trace the side of my neck before he pulls me into a tight hug.

I cry on his shoulder until he is the first to speak.

"I'm sorry Em," he says. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't get here in time."

I breathe in a shaky breath and it seems to calm me ever so slightly. I hold John in my grasp long enough that my tears eventually settle and my lungs begin to calm.

"Don't be sorry John," I whisper. "I am the one that didn't stop her when I saw her. I tried; I really tried. And I-"

"Stop Emily," John interrupts, stepping away to look into my eyes. "Don't blame yourself. Please. You did everything you could. It isn't your fault."

He wraps his arms around me again and hugs me once more and I hug back in return before we part. It is then that the question is asked.

"What do you want to do now?" asks John, his tone gentle with the utmost care.

I breathe out a heavy sigh that feels to lighten my chest and answer with the only thought that has been in my mind since I returned home, "I want to restore Lorien."

John smiles grimly, but still, I can tell that it isn't what he meant.

"Emily..." he starts but I stop him before he can continue; before the words can come out.

"I know what you meant John," I interrupt and pause, sigh. "My Father... he used to say that when he died, he wanted to be cremated. As a part of his religion and culture. Can you..."

I need to stop to prevent myself from crying again. Thankfully, John understands.

"Of course," he replies. "I am here for you."

And so, the rest of the day is spent making preparations for his cremation.

We don't call any cremation service or anything of the sort; we do it ourselves. In the field extended off from our backyard. Away from the area of his murder. Away from the blood.

I lift his body with telekinesis onto a pile of logs and branches and twigs that everyone has spent the next couple of hours or so collecting.

And I lay him at rest there.

I hug his chest and kiss his cheek one final time before covering him with the blanket.

"I love you Dad," I whisper then. "I always will."

"Ready for the burn Em?" asks John a few paces behind me as I step away. I only nod once and take his hand.

The last rays of sunlight fading into night and his body resting on our pile of wood, John ignites his Lumen in his free hand. He raises it slowly. Creates the fireball slowly. Then tosses it gently at the bottom of the pile.