The question lingered in the air long after Celestia asked it.

"What do we do now?"

No one answered immediately.

The village square had become strangely quiet. Not peaceful. Just hollow.

The kind of silence left behind when someone important disappears and the world has not yet figured out how to continue without them.

Theai was gone.

Only moments ago she had been here, speaking, breathing, carrying answers that might have changed everything. Now there was nothing.

No body.

No grave.

No final words beyond a broken sentence.

Only drifting ash scattered across stone, already being swallowed by the wind.

Celestia stared at the place where the elder had died.

Her vision blurred.

She blinked once.

Twice.

Then suddenly the tears came again.

Not the quiet tears she had shed moments before. These hurt. The kind that tightened your chest until breathing became difficult.

The kind that arrived when reality finally settled in and you couldn’t pretend it was temporary anymore.

"I could not save her."

The words escaped before she realized she had spoken them. Her voice was small, fractured, barely audible over the wind. But everyone heard it.

Drazeil glanced at her. Both his eyes were soft for once — not cold, not calculating.

Just... there. Present.

Celestia laughed softly. A terrible sound. Small. Broken. Hollow.

"We came all this way." Her shoulders trembled. "We fought those things. We survived the fog. And she still died."

Her voice cracked on the last word.

The grief hit harder than she expected. Not because she had known Theai for long — they had met only days ago. But because she had promised. And promises carried weight. Especially promises made to dying people.

Promises made with the breath of someone slipping away.

A hand settled against her shoulder.

Heavy. Warm. Steady.

Drazeil...that was the only form of comfort he could afford to give her.

She hated how comforting that felt.

Hated how much she needed it. For several moments neither of them spoke.

The square remained empty of sound, except for the wind sweeping through the candles that had already begun to burn low.

Then a voice broke through the silence.

"We have to prepare."

Everyone turned.

Tristan stood in the center of the square. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes red and swollen. But he was standing. Standing when most adults looked ready to collapse.

Standing when the weight of his village should have crushed him.

"The Elder’s funeral," he said. His voice shook, but it held. "We have to do it now."

Several villagers lowered their heads. Others wiped their eyes. A woman stepped forward, her hands trembling.

"What funeral?" The question hurt.

Because it was true. There was no body left. Only memory. Only ash.

Tristan swallowed. The sound was loud in the quiet.

"The old way."

The villagers exchanged glances. Recognition slowly spread through the crowd. Understanding. Then grief, deeper than before.

A few began crying openly. One elderly man covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking.

"The Circle Ceremony," someone whispered.

Tristan nodded. His throat tightened.

"The Elder always said if she died before the fog lifted... She wanted the Circle Ceremony."

For the first time since her death, something resembling purpose returned to the villagers. Not hope. Not yet. But direction.

People began moving. Quietly. Slowly. Like wounded animals forcing themselves forward.

Women gathered candles from the storage houses, their hands moving with practiced grace.

Children carried baskets of flowers — white lilies, pale roses, the kind Theai had planted in her garden years ago.

Men fetched old wooden lanterns from storage, their faces grim.

Within minutes the village square transformed. Not into a place of mourning. Into a place of remembrance.

Celestia watched everything unfold.

Her chest still ached, but she was watching now. Watching the way the villagers moved together. Watching the way they honored Theai even in death.

"The Circle Ceremony?" she asked softly.

An elderly woman approached. Her face was lined with age, her eyes clouded but kind.

"The oldest funeral rite of Wrenhollow," she said. "It is performed when there is no body to bury." Her gaze drifted toward the empty place where Theai had vanished. "It is meant to guide the soul home."

Celestia’s chest tightened. "I see."

As the preparations continued, villagers began drawing symbols across the center of the square.

Large circles. Ancient markings.

Strange runes carved into the stone using white chalk and ash. Layer upon layer. Ring after ring. A pattern emerged — complicated, beautiful, ancient.

Even Drazeil seemed interested. His violet eyes followed every symbol carefully, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out and trace them.

"Old magic," he murmured.

Celestia glanced at him. "You recognize it?"

"Partially." His gaze narrowed. "Very old. Older than the monarchy. Older than the realms we know."

That answer somehow felt more concerning than helpful.

Hours passed.

The sky slowly brightened toward dawn.

Gray light crept across the horizon, bleeding into gold and pink.

The candles burned low.

The flowers rested between the symbols.

The lanterns swayed gently in the morning breeze.

The entire village gathered around the completed circle. Hundreds of candles surrounded it. Flowers rested between the symbols.

Lanterns swayed gently in the morning breeze.

The air was thick with scent — wax, petals, ash, and something else.

Something ancient.

No one spoke. No one moved.

At the center of the circle stood Tristan.

The new leader.

The realization still felt strange. Even to him.

Celestia could see it. The uncertainty. The fear. The way his hands trembled when he thought nobody was watching.

Yet he remained standing.

Theai had chosen him. That meant something.

Eventually Tristan took a deep breath. Then spoke.

"The Elder taught me this ceremony."

His voice carried across the square, steady despite everything. "She said every life leaves echoes behind."

The villagers listened. Silent. Respectful.

"When someone dies..." He swallowed. "...those echoes return to the world. And we remember them."

A woman began crying quietly.

Someone took her hand.

Tristan continued. "Theai protected this village for decades. She guided us. Fed us. Saved us. When everyone else forgot Wrenhollow existed... she didn’t."

Tears rolled down several faces.

Even Celestia felt her eyes sting.

Tristan raised his head. His voice was stronger now. "We remember her."

The villagers echoed together. "We remember her."

The words spread across the square. Soft. Powerful. A promise.

"We remember her."

The candles flickered. Wind swept gently through the village, rustling the flowers.

And something changed.

At first Celestia thought she imagined it. A faint glow appeared within the center circle. Small. Almost invisible.

Then it brightened.

The villagers fell silent.

The runes began shining. One after another. White light flowed through ancient markings like water finding forgotten paths.

Drazeil straightened immediately. His hand moved instinctively toward Soul Drinker.

"Wait," Celestia whispered.

The light intensified. The glowing symbols spread across the entire circle. Flowers rustled. Lanterns swayed.

The air itself seemed to hum, vibrating with a frequency that made Celestia’s teeth ache.

Then—

A sphere emerged from the center.

Everyone froze.

The orb rose slowly from the runic circle. Silver. Translucent. Beautiful.

It looked almost like liquid moonlight trapped inside glass, swirling with a light that had no source.

The villagers gasped. Several dropped to their knees. One woman whispered a prayer, her voice trembling.

The orb floated higher. Higher. Then stopped. Hovering above the square. Its light pulsed gently. Like a heartbeat.

Celestia stared. Her breath caught.

"What is that?"

Nobody answered. Because nobody knew.

The orb remained motionless for several seconds.

Then suddenly it moved. Straight toward Celestia.

The villagers cried out. Several stepped backward. Even Tristan looked startled.

The orb ignored everyone else completely.

It drifted through the crowd. Past Drazeil. Past the villagers. Straight toward Celestia.

Then stopped.

Hovering inches from her face. Its silver light reflected in her ruby eyes, turning them into pools of starlight.

For a moment they simply stared at each other.

Then the orb nudged gently against her hand. Almost like recognition.

Almost like it had been waiting for her.

Celestia blinked. "...hello?"

Nothing happened. The orb pulsed once. Warm. Inviting.

Without thinking, she reached out.

Drazeil moved instantly. His hand gripped her shoulder. "Celestia."

She paused.

His expression was serious. "Be careful."

Fair. Reasonable. Completely ignored.

Celestia touched the orb.

The moment her fingers connected—

Silver light exploded across the square.

Gasps erupted from every direction.

The orb brightened, its surface rippling like disturbed water.

Celestia stumbled backward. A flood of unfamiliar energy rushed through her. Not painful. Just overwhelming. Too much. Too fast.

Images flashed briefly behind her eyes. Too fast to understand. Too fragmented to follow. A room. Stone walls. Flickering candles. A figure. A voice. A word she couldn’t catch.

Then everything stopped.

The light settled. The orb remained floating above her palm. Quiet. Still. Waiting.

Celestia looked toward Drazeil. Her voice was shaky. "What did I just touch?"

For the first time since meeting him, Drazeil looked genuinely surprised.

His gaze remained fixed on the orb.

His jaw was tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.

"That’s impossible."

"Drazeil."

His eyes slowly shifted toward her. "That is a Memory Orb."

The villagers immediately began whispering. Confused. Shocked.

Some afraid.

Celestia frowned. "A what?"

"A memory left behind by the dead."

Silence followed.

Then Celestia’s eyes widened. "Theai?"

Drazeil nodded. "Most likely."

Her heartbeat quickened. A smile appeared despite everything. Small. Fragile. Hopeful. "So she didn’t leave us with nothing."

The words barely escaped before the orb reacted.

The silver sphere suddenly brightened. Runes appeared across its surface. Ancient symbols. Unknown language. Power flooded the air, making everyone’s skin prickle. Everyone stepped back.

Even Drazeil.

The orb floated upward. Its light expanded. A projection appeared above it. A memory.

The villagers gasped. Shapes formed within the silver glow. A room. Stone walls. Flickering candles. A figure standing in darkness. Theai.

Celestia’s heart jumped. "It’s working."

The image sharpened. Theai appeared younger. Healthier. Standing before something hidden from view. The memory continued forming. Everyone watched. Nobody breathed.

Finally, Answers.

Finally, The truth.

Theai opened her mouth. The memory trembled.

A distorted sound filled the square. Static.

The image flickered.

Then—

A voice spoke. Cold. Mechanical.

Ancient.

"Authorization denied."

The entire memory froze.

Celestia blinked. "...what?"

The orb pulsed once. The voice repeated.

"Authorization denied."

The image shattered instantly. Silver fragments dissolved into nothing.

The memory disappeared.

The orb dimmed, hovering motionlessly once more.

Then, without warning, it drifted downward and settled gently into Celestia’s outstretched hand.

"Authorization denied." It said again, for the third time before the light in it, dimmed completely.