The air in Hage was thick with sorrow, clinging to everyone like a heavy blanket. Even the wind seemed to sigh through the trees, unable to rustle the leaves with its usual cheerful sound. The once vibrant place, where Asta's loud laughter and Yuno's quiet confidence had filled the air, now felt hushed and empty. The villagers walked as if their feet were made of lead, their gazes fixed on the ground, unable to meet each other's eyes for too long.
It was ironic. How so many paid their respects to a magicless boy in a world where magic was everything. But this truth had meaning behind it but it sure as hell didn't start that way. The villagers hadn't taken kindly to Asta's stay in Hage. His existence was at first considered a bad omen. Whoever heard of a human without magic? It was as unthinkable as having a relationship with a noble. Parents barred their kids from meeting. It was a rough childhood for Asta but at least had Yuno and everybody at the church, so it wasn't that bad. However, it didn't take long for everything to change.
Three months after the Grimoire Ceremony, The village was attacked by mana beasts. A lot of them. Most attacks were practically useless. The only thing that seemed to have an effect was Asta's Anti-magic and Yuno was the only one who had enough reserves to take them head on. Together, Yuno and Asta drove them off. They even managed to hunt them down. It was the first time the village had meat for over thirty years.
Ever since then, Asta had always been their spark—the boy who, despite being born without magic, had promised with such fierce conviction to make something of himself. Many remembered the terror of the mana beast attack, how small Asta had looked against the monstrous creatures, yet how bravely he and Yuno had fought side-by-side. The taste of the meat they brought back, a rare treat after so many years, still lingered in their memories but now it tinged with a bitter sadness. Some parents, who had once whispered worries about the magicless boy, now dabbed at their eyes with rough spun handkerchiefs, the image of Asta shielding their children flashing in their minds. Others gently nudged their shaking children forward, silently urging them to lay a flower on the freshly turned soil.
At the village's edge, beneath the old oak tree that had witnessed generations of Hage's joys and sorrows, Asta's final resting place had been prepared. The oak's branches, usually swaying with a gentle rhythm, now hung still, as if bowing in respect. The stories of Asta's boundless energy and impossible dreams felt like precious, fragile memories, already starting to fade at the edges.
Yuno stood at the front, his shoulders squared, trying to project an image of strength. But his knuckles were white where his hands were clenched, and his jaw was tight, a muscle twitching slightly in his cheek. He stared at the freshly turned earth, as if willing Asta to suddenly pop up with his usual grin and shout his usual, " Not Yet! " at the top of his lungs.
"Asta..." he whispered, his voice rough, like sandpaper. "I'll make sure your dream lives on. I'll make it come true. I swear it." But do I deserve to? a cold voice echoed in his thoughts. He was always the one with the fire, the one who never gave up. Now it's just... cold.
Mimosa, her lower lip trembling slightly, stepped closer to her squadmate, her gaze soft with a sympathy that ached in her chest. She was one of the four other magic knights besides Yuno and the Black Bulls who had attended the funeral ceremony. "Yuno," she said, her voice a gentle balm against the raw grief. "Asta believed in you, with all his heart. And... so do I. We all do." She reached out a hand, hesitating for a moment before lightly touching his arm, a silent offer of comfort. A fragile, budding hope flickered in her emerald eyes.
Leopold, Mimosa's cousin, his usual boisterous energy completely gone, placed a heavy hand on Yuno's other shoulder. His own eyes were still wet, and he swallowed hard before speaking. "He believed in all of us, Yuno. You were his rival, his brother in spirit. You have to make his dream a reality. We all have to be stronger now... for him." He squeezed Yuno's shoulder, a silent promise.
The village elder, his face a roadmap of wrinkles etched deeper with sorrow, leaned heavily on his gnarled staff. His breath hitched as he spoke, his voice raspy. "That boy... Asta... I will always be grateful to him. He saved my wife and my little Hana, my only grandchild, from those terrible beasts. We hadn't tasted meat like that in decades. His kindness... his bravery..." He trailed off, shaking his head, unable to find the words to express the depth of his gratitude and loss.
Klaus, standing a bit straighter than before, adjusted his glasses, a subtle movement that couldn't quite hide the tremor in his fingers. "Indeed, Yuno," he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "While Asta's methods were... unorthodox," a ghost of a smile touched his lips, "his determination was undeniable. We will all carry his will forward in our ways." He clenched his fists inside his gloves, a rare display of unchecked emotion.
Behind them, the Black Bulls stood as a silent testament to their fallen comrade. Noelle's shoulders shook with silent sobs, her tears leaving tracks on her dusty cheeks. She kept instinctively glancing towards where Asta usually stood, a phantom image in her mind. Yami stood with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but the usual playful glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by a dull ache. Rill stared at the grave, his colourful imagination strangely blank, unable to find an image that could capture this profound loss.
Marx read Julius's letter, his voice thick with emotion, each word a heavyweight in the quiet air. Sister Lily clutched Asta's worn robe to her chest, the familiar scent of sweat and something uniquely Asta bringing fresh tears to her eyes. The children from the church huddled together, their small hands clutching each other, their innocent grief a sharp pang in everyone's heart. Even the stoic faces of the Nean villagers, etched with gratitude as they remembered the magicless boy who saved their children, showed the depth of their sorrow in their quiet stillness.
That night, Noelle couldn't escape the suffocating silence of her room. The memory of Asta's sacrifice replayed in her mind, each moment a fresh stab of pain. He was dead because she was weak. How many times had Asta stood tall? The most she ever did when faced with a problem was throw around her status. She had always been insecure about how everybody looked at her. She was the failure of the Silva Royal Family, wasn't she? Nothing good would ever through her and all her life she believed that. But everything changed when she joined the Black Bulls. Everyone accepted her. Not because she was a royal, but because she was a pathetic useless failure, just like every single one of them. Nobody expected anything from her, just like every single one of them. The events of the Underwater Temple replayed in her mind again. It was something that had happened almost every night after Asta died. At first, she thought that maybe leaving the temple would lessen the pain but it only made it worse.
She wasn't alone though. Asta's death had shaken the surviving Bulls to the core. His absence had plunged the base into silence. A silence that constantly reminded them of their failure to save one of their own. It was painful. She got up and went outside the base for some fresh air. It had been a habit of hers since childhood. When she had nowhere to go to escape the torment her elder siblings put her through, she just stayed outside for hours. If she was lucky, it would start raining. The rain, be it gentle or heavy had somehow brought her solace and a pleasant feeling of calm and ease.
She found Yami outside, the cherry tip of his cigarette a lonely spark in the darkness. "Captain Yami?" she began, her voice raw with unshed tears and a newfound steel. Now was her chance. She was taking it. "During the fight... I froze. I was useless. I couldn't protect him." Her breath hitched. "That won't happen again. Please... will you train me? Teach me to be strong enough... so no one else has to die because I'm weak."
Yami took a long drag, the ember illuminating the grim set of his jaw. He looked at Noelle, really looked at her, and saw not the insecure noble, but a fierce determination hardening her gaze. A flicker of understanding, of shared loss, crossed his usually impassive face. "Hmph," he grunted, a hint of something akin to respect lacing his voice. "So the crybaby finally found her roar. Alright, brat. You want to learn? You'll learn my way. It'll be hell. You sure you're ready for that kind of despair?"
The next morning, Mimosa and Leopold stood before Mereoleona in her new office, the heat radiating off her like a tangible force. Mimosa's hands were clasped tightly, her knuckles white, but her voice was steady. "Captain Mereoleona," she said, her gaze unwavering. "We... we need to become stronger. Asta... he always fought with such courage, for everyone. We won't let his sacrifice be in vain."
Leopold stood tall, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "He never backed down, no matter the odds. We need to honour that spirit. Please, Captain, train us. Push us until we break, and then push us further."
Mereoleona's crimson eyes, usually blazing with battle lust, held a flicker of something else – a recognition of their pain, a spark of approval for their resolve. A fierce grin stretched across her face, a predator sensing worthy prey. "Hmph. So the little runt finally managed to light a fire under your asses. Good. Grief is a beast. Now you're going to learn how to tame it. You want to train with the Crimson Lions? You'll learn to fight until you can't stand, and then you'll fight some more. Don't expect any tears to move me."
Though Asta's vibrant light had been extinguished, its warmth had seeped into the hearts of his friends, igniting a fierce determination. They would carry his spirit forward, not just in memory, but in their actions, becoming the unwavering strength he had always seen in them. His sacrifice would not be in vain.