Chapter 36: FarewellThe
hallways were shrouded in darkness. Richard didn't know how much capacity the backup generator of the facilities had, but according to the average duration, it wasn't something that should shut down in less than twenty-four hours.
Even so, that grim atmosphere could almost be considered comforting. At least he wouldn't have to answer John and Damián's questions. Both were just as lost as he was. No one knew what had happened and, in any case, it wasn't as if Richard were some kind of genius capable of having all the answers.
He shook his head, enjoying the momentary silence, as if that stretch of gloom gave him a brief respite.
"Where are we going?"
The feminine voice materialized with Isolda's awakening. The girl observed him with fixed eyes while sweeping the entire perimeter with her spiritual perception, as if searching for threats in every corner.
Not that she could do much. She was confined to the weapons as her main body; she could only manifest within a radius of about ten meters around Richard. Now that he looked at her closely, her projection didn't differ much from reality, although there was one detail that gave her away: a pair of dark horns that stood out on her head.
It was possibly the trace of corruption she had suffered after the transformation that turned her into a pseudo-immortal creature. That change had left marks on her soul.
"We'll go for Elías… at least I planned to give him a proper burial, now that it seems we have more time… after Noah abandoned us."
Richard's voice was firm, though burdened with fatigue. After hearing his plans, Isolda's face showed neither sadness nor discomfort. The only visible thing in her expression was confusion, especially upon hearing that name.
"Who is Elías?" she asked, tilting her head slightly."For some reason, hearing that name makes me feel a certain sadness."
It was difficult to describe what she felt. It was as if her memories had been cut into pieces, ripped away by force, leaving her with gaps in her mind. Her thoughts seemed to search for something that wasn't there.
Richard limited himself to watching her in silence. There was no point in interfering with what she had repressed herself. The fusion of soul and weapon to turn her into an ego shouldn't have had side effects, but it was obvious that, due to the pain of having ended her brother's life, Isolda had unconsciously buried those memories in the final step of the transformation. Now Richard understood why she had fallen asleep right after.
"Don't worry about who Elías was… just remember that, when you see him, you must show him all possible respect and bid him farewell with a smile."
Isolda looked at him in confusion after that comment. For a moment, she wanted to refute the idea of showing respect to someone she didn't remember, but the words got stuck in her throat, like a knot impossible to untie.
"All right…" she murmured at last, barely audible, with a slight nod.
* * * *
Dark mist began to spontaneously seep from the daggers when Richard and Isolda arrived at the basement. Unlike the previous wooden setting, this place was steeped in dampness and silence. In the center, as if it had been placed there on purpose, lay the body of Elías.
The girl didn't seem to remember him. However, upon seeing the lifeless body of her brother, her abilities began to spiral out of control instinctively, as if something inside her reacted without her permission.
"Why do I feel like this?"
The hilts of the daggers began to tremble within their sheaths. Isolda's spiritual manifestation could not shed tears or show emotions beyond that porcelain mask, neutral and cold. Even so, the trembling of her weapons betrayed what she could not express.
"Don't look… don't look… don't look…" she whispered, trying to block out the fervent feeling growing inside her. But it was useless. Everything turned white and, without resistance, Isolda fell into a deep sleep once more.
The daggers glowed with a pair of runic symbols that caused Isolda's soul to be sealed for a long time.
"I think it's best for you to rest for a while…" murmured Richard, softly caressing the sheaths of the weapons. He had thought she would be present for her brother's last farewell, but in the end, he understood it was better to avoid it. He feared her contact with that memory would drag her back into corruption, trapping her in a vicious cycle they could not escape.
Richard still did not fully understand the conditions that triggered those phenomena, but he knew they were linked to deep, intense emotions… to the last heartbeat of a person before death.
His steps stopped in front of Elías' lifeless body. The skin, stiff with rigor mortis, gave him the appearance of a broken doll. Pale, without a single trace of blood, he looked more like a forgotten object than the body of a man who had once risen as a warlord.
How fragile humans were, no matter what stage of evolution they had reached. Even someone like Elías, who had secured a place in history, now lay forgotten, condemned to eternal silence.
"How many more will die the same way before all this ends?" Richard thought, clenching his teeth.
Carefully, he lifted the body of his comrade. The dead weight was cold, heavy, and strange. Richard held him in his arms as if he feared he might fall apart into pieces.
"It's time for you to say goodbye to your comrades."
Richard pressed the body against his chest and began to climb the stairs leading to the surface. Each step felt heavier than the last; the silence was broken only by the crunch of his boots and the distant whisper of wind slipping through broken cracks.
Upon reaching the outside, a blast of cold air struck his face. Richard carefully placed Elías on a mound of rubble that wouldn't be an obstacle for an improvised funeral. He looked at his companions; they needed to decide quickly. After all, they couldn't carry the body all the way back to the base.
"We bury him here," he finally said. "Quick, without long ceremonies. Afterwards, we'll look for Noah and find out why this…" commented Richard.
Damián grunted but nodded. John cursed under his breath, and with his body screaming for rest, he went rummaging through the rubble until he found some loose slabs and an old shovel half-buried.
"Damn idiot… how could you be the first to leave?" Tears ran down John's face, staining with dust and ash. His ragged breathing echoed in the silence as he gripped the shovel tightly, driving it again and again into the hard ground.
Each strike echoed across the desolate surface. The soil was dry, mixed with fragments of cement and dead roots that barely yielded. John cursed under his breath each time the shovel got stuck, but he kept digging as if it were the only thing stopping him from collapsing.
After a while, the hole was ready. It wasn't deep, just enough to cover the body, but they couldn't afford more time. Richard crouched, lifted Elías once more in his arms, and carefully laid him into the improvised grave.
"I don't have pretty words," he murmured, almost to himself. "Only that you deserved more than this."
John clenched his fists and, with a broken voice, replied:"He deserved much more…"
The first shovel of dirt fell onto Elías' body. The dull thud of impact struck all three in the chest. One after another, they threw more until the body was completely covered. On top of the earth, Damián placed a large stone as a marker, and Richard carved a rough symbol onto it with the tip of his dagger.
The wind blew, carrying ash and dust as if the earth itself wanted to close that chapter alongside them.
Richard was the first to step away."It's over. Let's go."
His boots dragged across the disturbed soil, leaving deep footprints that mingled with the dust. Behind him, the two shadows of his companions remained still, their gazes fixed on Elías' grave. Noticing neither of them responded, Richard didn't insist. He decided to leave them in peace, at least for a few moments.
Looking at their expressions heavy with pain, he could imagine what they were feeling. After all, they had spent more time with Elías, fighting shoulder to shoulder in battles he himself had not witnessed. In silence, Richard simply lowered his head.
"Goodbye, brother…" he whispered, barely audible. "I hope at least you left without regrets."
The second to move was Damián. His calloused hands slid across the improvised stone marking the grave, brushing the words Richard had carved minutes before. He remained there for a few seconds, as if trying to cling to more than just the memory. Then, with a low grunt and a broken voice, he murmured:"I think we should go now…" he whispered before stepping away toward John.
Without adding more, he turned on his heels and walked toward John, dragging his boots over the excess dirt as if they weighed tons.