Chronicles of Legends

Volume 6 Chapter 11 - Mourning

[NA/N: I got the og author to help me write this chapter since this is technically the 100th chapter of this ff, including the auxiliary chapters but it nonetheless counts.]

|Gary|

The world around me crumbled, mirroring the desolation that consumed my very being. Another empty bottle clinked against the ground as I drowned my sorrows in yet another swig of subpar alcohol, its taste a bitter reminder of the technological backwardness of this forsaken realm.

What was the purpose of my role as Commander? A hollow title, devoid of meaning or accomplishment. Self-doubt and self-loathing gnawed at my soul, intertwining with the tendrils of despair that wrapped around my heart.

Lancelot, my trusted comrade, lay lifeless. Lance Aya extinguished. Telmore Forest, once vibrant and teeming with life, now stood in ruins. Elshire Forest had fallen prey to the invading forces, breaching its defenses with ruthless precision. Even the Wall, our last line of defense, bore the scars of losses inflicted by the relentless horde of beasts.

Every step I took, every decision I made, led to nothing but utter failure. Dicathen, my cherished homeland, lay shattered and defeated. The weight of my inadequacy pressed upon me, a suffocating burden that I could no longer bear.

Despair enveloped me, its grip tightening with each passing moment, as I questioned my purpose, my worth, and the futility of my efforts.

The door swung open, and Kathyln entered, her tear-filled eyes mirroring the anguish etched upon my own face. But her words, once poised to unleash a torrent of reproach, faltered as she beheld the shattered state in which she found me.

"Gary," she whispered softly, her voice infused with both concern and determination, "This isn't the end. We can't give up now."

I knew that.

Deep down, I knew it too well.

But the death of Lancelot had inflicted a wound upon my heart that seemed irreparable. It dredged up emotions I thought only you, Kathyln, could awaken within me.

Lancelot, my unwavering companion, the Kevin of this life, had stood by my side through thick and thin. His absence now left an indelible void, a void that seared my soul.

"I saw Rachel today," Kathyln continued, her voice gentle yet resolute, as she took a seat beside me on the worn-out couch, her touch a balm for my wounded spirit. "I expected to find her in mourning, consumed by grief over the loss of the one closest to her heart. But instead, she was in the training hall, drenched in sweat, her mana core teetering on the brink of depletion. She's not even seventeen yet, Gary, and yet she possesses a strength that surpasses your own."

Her words struck a chord within me, awakening a glimmer of hope in the darkness that engulfed my being.

"So, rise, Gary," Kathyln urged, her voice firm, "Remember the promise you made to me? The promise that in this life, we would find happiness. It may seem distant now, but we can't let despair consume us. We must stand tall, together, and fight for the future we envisioned."

|Alistair|

Draped in black, the somber hue that mirrored the depths of grief, we gathered on this day of solemn remembrance. It was a clandestine affair, shrouded in secrecy, for the world must not learn of the devastating loss that had befallen us. To reveal the deaths of Lancelot and Aya would be to extinguish the fragile flickers of hope that had been painstakingly nurtured within the hearts of the Dicathenians.

This was a funeral meant only for those who held an unbreakable bond with the fallen Lance and Paladin. The chosen few who shared in their victories, their struggles, and their dreams. We formed a tight-knit circle, standing shoulder to shoulder, united by our sorrow and our unwavering loyalty.