As HE looked around…
He saw his family.
He saw his friends.
He saw everyone.
A lump caught in his throat. He felt as if he would burst into tears. It had been a long seven years since he had seen them. The overwhelming joy at finally seeing their faces again temporarily made him forget the dreadful reality—this was his funeral.
He watched them walk, talk, interact. It almost made him question whether this was a dream. But not completely. People could move and talk in dreams too. Still, this felt different.
In his dreams, things were blurry, inconsistent—but here? He could see every detail with painful clarity.
One of his friends patted Darren on the back as Darren took off his glasses, wiping his tears while he sobbed. He saw his father—his old, formally cold features—seem to soften. No, he didn't cry openly. That wouldn't fit the man he was. Showing emotions like that?
No.
But he was crying internally.
Then he saw his wife run up—not to him, but to the coffin that held his lifeless body. She collapsed onto the cold box, sobbing uncontrollably.
And finally… he saw his daughter. She cried while holding on to her brother like he was a lifeline. His son, unfortunately, was acting like his grandfather—he didn't cry, even though tears welled up in his eyes. But they didn't fall.
Such a strong kid. Too bad he never got the chance to tell him:
"Warriors can cry too."
He watched the sight for a while. Eventually, everyone seemed to get in order. The air shifted. It was time for the memorial speeches.
His father was the first to step up. He spoke in a surprisingly soft voice:
"Hello everyone. My name is Victor Gūchén. Many of you may not know me, and that's fair—I never really got acquainted with any of you. But the one thing you need to know about me… is that I am the father of the man who lays here today.
For his heroic—and, if I'm honest, very stupid—act, we are gathered here. To be honest, I wasn't a good parent. I wasn't there when he needed me most. In fact, I only came into his life when he turned fourteen. I wasn't there for his childhood. I didn't teach him the small things, only the serious, meaningful lessons that came too late.
I've never understood how he managed to look up to me. Me? A role model? He should've despised me more than anyone for being absent for so long. And yet… somehow, he still saw me as someone to admire.
I didn't deserve that title, but I somehow earned it. And it made me the happiest man in the world. I didn't deserve my son's love and praise, but I got it anyway. That boy was always so loving, so caring… even when he struggled to show it. A trait he sadly inherited from me.
He carried so much."
Next came Darren. He stood beside the coffin and spoke:
"Elijah was always like a brother to me—no, actually, he was more like an uncle. He taught me things I never knew. He treated me like his own son, his own flesh and blood—without ever making me feel like I was below him. He took care of me like a father… but treated me like a brother.
Always too caring. Always too loving.
He took all the insults with a smile on his face. He never complained—not even behind anyone's back."
One by one, all his co-workers came up and shared the same message:
He was their ship.
He was their captain when they were too scared to ask for one.
He was their father when they were too scared to learn alone.
Then came his wife.
Tears streamed down her face as she said:
"He was the best husband in the world. I was a complete mess before I met him—jumping from one partner to the next. But when I found him… he told me I could have hope again. That I could have faith in him. That he would take care of everything.
And I believed him.
He took care of me for my entire life. Even when I was needy. Even when I knew I was asking too much.
He delivered. Every single time.
And he never complained.
When I asked him one day why—why he kept doing it—he just looked at me and said:
Because I promised.
And he never broke his promises."
That was when he cried again. He had already cried before… but it wasn't enough.
Now, hearing the impact he had left behind, he cried even harder.
He was proud of these people. Proud of how they lived. Proud of how they loved. He couldn't have lived without them.
Then, from the corner of his eye… he saw her.
The girl he had saved.
The one he sacrificed his life for.
She slowly walked up to his daughter and, with a trembling voice, asked:
"Are you… Emily?"
Emily nodded, tears in her eyes.
The girl took a deep breath. Her voice shook as she said:
"Your father saved my life. Before he died, he said something to me. I don't think it was meant for me… my mom says it must've been for you. So I wanted to tell you."
She gathered all her courage.
"He said, 'Stay safe, Emily.'"
Emily's eyes widened. She cried even more. But now there was warmth in her sorrow.
When she finally calmed herself enough to speak, she whispered, "Thank you."
Then she let go of her brother's arm and hugged the girl.
That made him smile through his tears.
His final words… they had reached his daughter.
And then—
The door opened.
And he saw her.
Clearly. For a single second.
But just as quickly as he saw her… the image vanished from his memory.
In its place was a woman made of light.
Too bright. Too pure.
Who… was she?
Everything began to crack.
"No! Who is she?!" he shouted.
He felt an indescribable attraction to her. He didn't know why… but he needed to know. He had to know.
But it wasn't meant to be.
The cracks deepened, tearing through the entire realm.
Just before everything shattered—
He saw someone else, behind the woman of light.
Sitting against a wall, hugging her legs…
It was his mother.
Then everything shattered.
And {Elijah} fell back into his consciousness.
Ray ran out of the main castle in a panic.
(I'm such a bad mother. I forgot the whole reason I came to my son's castle… it was to check on him. How could I forget?)
She rushed through the palace, through its winding halls, straight toward Maxi's private castle.
She burst into the lounge room—the place the girls had exited earlier.
She opened the door.
And there he was.
Maxi, sitting on the couch.
A soft smile on his face.
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Ray raised her hand to her mouth, eyes wide.
"Oh… my sweet angel," she whispered.
Slowly, gently, she walked to him and scooped him up into her arms, careful not to wake him.
She carried him to his bedroom, pushed open the door, and laid him down softly on the bed. She removed his round glasses and set them gently on the nightstand.
Then, with a mother's warmth, she kissed his forehead.
And left the room in silence.