Tutorial Rewrite Epilogue

Just like last time, just like before, just like in his memories and just like in his nightmares, the creature disappeared, leaving only a pair of bloody footprints in its wake.

And still, although he knew that the creature was gone, that it had been taken back however briefly to the hell it called a lobby, Simel did not move. He continued holding Trygg, fourth son of the Emperor, as tightly as though he might at any time be swept away by a dragon, pointing a sword at the empty air.

“D—dad!”

Only when Trygg gave such an exclamation did Simel finally allow the boy—only eight this summer—to cast himself from the older man’s arms, running across the drenched execution platform to fall at the side of his father, where he lay tossed to the side. “Please, dad, no…!”

Only now did the world begin to turn again, as the other princes, six in total, ran to the emperor’s side as well. The oldest, Hark, simply knelt at his side, holding the others back by unsaid authority. He rolled him over. A deep, purplish bruise in the shape of the creature’s hand stained the emperor’s neck like a patch of mould. Hark looked over his shoulder, towards Simel.

“Your grace,” he said, voice heavy yet clearly present, “could you do his last rites?”

For the first time in several minutes, Simel felt himself breathe again, and he stood up, righting himself. He staggered across the platform, kneeling beside the prince to put one hand to the emperor’s heart and one to his own. “Oh Gods of one hundred beginnings, blessed be your multitude, take into your arms this mighty soul…”

He spoke, and the world held its breath, and for a few minutes, the blood on the platform and the bodies that littered it weren’t there anymore.

“...By the grace of the God of Endings, and the Goddess of Tomorrows, veri—vera—varum.”

The first prince held his eyes closed for a moment, and then opened them again, shining with a determination beyond his years. “If it isn’t against your beliefs, would you please do the same for the rest that have fallen?”

Simel gave a simple nod. For the past months, he had done nothing but last rites, blessing each soul taken by the monster he foolishly brought here.

As Simel moved towards the nearest guard, the Prince turned to him fully. “Thank you,” he said. Simel froze mid-step. “Thank you, your grace.”

Pressing down the bitter bile in his throat and the burning in his eyes, Simel nodded, and moved for the closest body.

Simel hoped, in his heart, that there would come a day when he would no longer have to do the last rites of those his foolish mercy rendered dead. And yet, somehow, he knew that he would never repent. The penance of death and the forgiveness it granted was not his to receive.

And he would not rest until that justice had been done.