Rows of orange-painted pews stretched from the golden gates the church called the front doors up into the main stage. Calace held Ranun’s hand as they stepped inside, taking the lead. Today, Ranun was weak. But Calace reassured him it was alright, for one day, not to be his best.

Blessed woman.

Though they were early, they were not the first inside the building. Standing in front of Gordon’s corpse in his coffin stood his son. Ranun’s nephew, Jaxton.

It wasn’t official. Any it might never be. Ranun was only certain of their relationship and bond.

Calace led Ranun down the orange carpet dividing the pews. She wore orange, the appropriate color for the occasion, a stunning dress with the fabric coming down in four curved flaps just under the knees. Her black heels walked down on an incline as naturally as squirrels climbed trees.

Ranun dragged behind Calace, clinging to her like a child holding their mother's hand when crossing the street. As a brother to the deceased and as king, he wore a refined orange military-grade coat, coming heavy over his shoulders going down halfway under his calves. He had black dress pants, which were by far the most comfortable article of clothing he wore, both flexible and conforming to his legs.

It’d been so long since he hadn’t had his sullied, wrecked jacket on that he started to admire the smell of his clean coat. For one day, he could forgive himself, for today wasn’t about Igor or Corolla. But Gordon alone.

Ranun carried with him a glorified shoebox, decorated in gold colors, painted to look supreme and in high quality. As they approached the coffin, Calace and Ranun gave Jaxton a respectful nod.

Faithful Jon had fought over Jaxton’s presence at the funeral. Only Gordon’s family and high-ranking officials were allowed—all of the Colorswords and the agencies. But Jon hesitated to permit Jaxton to enter since his papers weren’t yet official. But Ranun fought that bastard—with words—and got what was rightfully deserved.

Gordon’s body lay flat in a bed of foam; his skin waxed up, his burn marks camouflaged in makeup. There was something wrong, eerie about the fact Gordon didn’t have his armor on. He wore a uniform similar to Ranun’s own, the next best thing.

“How are you holding up,” Ranun cleared his throat. He held his box to his hip.

“I’m getting through,” Jaxton said. He was finely dressed, though in black for a traditional funeral. Agents weren’t supposed to wear the Colors to such events. They were in a weird gray area since the Colors weren’t technically forbidden to wear among the public; always considered taboo when in excess. But agents or any other public military personnel were prohibited from wearing them unless they underwent the official training.

“That’s good to hear,” Ranun said. He pulled his hand away from Calace’s grip and held the box with two hands. “Listen, I wanted to give you something.”

Jaxton lowered a brow. He accepted his present, looking curiously at it. He hugged the base then pulled the top off, revealing a purple-painted blunderbuss underneath. His eyes widened with what Ranun hoped to be excitement.

Ranun purchased the firearm in Steepcreek but commissioned its painting in Falcon Hill. It took a few days, but the painter finished just in time for Gordon’s funeral. He paid as much for the paint job as the gun itself. There was a lion’s head at the tip of the barrel, fine craftsmanship of the mane coiling down under the neck. The color scheme matched Gordon’s sword, primarily purple with the handle and trigger being silver.

“A blunderbuss?” Jaxton asked. “Did he tell you?”

Ranun tilted his head. “Who tell me what?”

“Well, I carry a gun, a standard pistol. But why did you get me a blunderbuss?”

Ranun shrugged. “I felt as if Gordon would have picked it out for you.”

Jaxton smiled. “You knew him well. He said to me a little while ago that I should use a blunderbuss instead and that these required less skill and were, therefore, more practical to use.”

Ranun smiled. Practicality and forwardness, “That is my brother, alright.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it,” Jaxton said, covering the box up. “It means a lot to me. It really does.”

“Honestly,” Ranun said. He hated starting sentences with that word, especially after leaving something off on a good note, something the other would be none the wiser. “I’m to be handed his sword near the end of the ceremony, which under normal circumstances would be handed down to his son. And—”

“This was quite the compromise,” Jaxton said, a gentle smile that eased Ranun’s worries. “But you didn’t need to do this for my sake. I had no use for a sword anyway. This is much better, however. And I’ll cherish this while it’s holstered around my waist.”

Ranun grabbed Jaxton on the shoulder, and with that, they paid their respects to Gordon together.

Three hours passed by, an hour in, and the ceremony was only halfway over with. Ranun sat in the front row, his gorgeous wife to his left, his handsome son to his right. While Ranun had fought for Jaxton’s attendance, nothing could budge Jon on where the young man sat, which was in the back with the other agents. The front pews closest to the front were a sea of orange while the rest behind were intermixed with half black and half white.

Jon spoke front and center at the podium, speaking and preaching about honor. And while honor was one thing, Ranun didn’t like how wrapped in religion it was coming from the Faithful.

“… and so we must cherish the man, for his vigor, his integrity, and all of which he stands for. His faith and his understanding of Valor. He fought in Soucrest’s most brutal battles of the past hundred years, and he fought for the winning side in all.”

Well, Ranun thought. That’s wrong, considering we didn’t win anything out of the war against Gleon. It was more of a brutal stalemate, one side playing only defense while the other side threw themselves at a wall of concrete.

Shut up, Ranun, bury your grudge with Jon for a little longer. It’s about Gordon, not him.

“Now,” Faithful Jon continued. “He serves the battlefield of Honoria, fighting enemies beyond evil, on plains only worthy of men as honorable as him. So I ask of you, the holy army of Soucrest, serve the Gem God well, honor your Colors, and strive to live a life as glorious, if not more, than Gordon Fall.”

Then, a pause, the silence deafening. For as much as Ranun didn’t like Jon, he knew how to lift a room through the inflection of his voice alone.

“And for why?” Jon asked.

The room rumbled in a thunderous chant. “FOR THE COLORS WE HAIL!”

Even Ranun joined, against his embarrassment in chanting, sitting beside his wife. But his son joined him, and that was a whole new kind of comforting.

“And now,” Jon said, reaching for a sheathed sword from one of his agents. They handled Gordon’s sword with extreme care and grace. “We present to the heir of Obsidian’s Strength, the sword in which a great man before him held for twenty years. He bequeaths his brother the Soulsmithed sword, Obsidian’s Strength, indestructible in nature, like the holder's will. Would Ranun Spring join us to accept his brother’s sword?”

Ranun stood up, nodding. He moved carefully up to Jon. With a gesture from the Faithful, Ranun knelt on his right leg and bowed his head. The ring at the top of his closed fist struck his heart, sticking like glue. It was a salute of subservience, one to the Gem God Ranun no longer believed in. But even so, this was a moment he wouldn’t ruin for the others.

He played along.

“Ranun Spring,” Jon said. Ranun lifted his head to see his white-bearded face. He pulled the sword halfway out of its sheath, and the purple skin of Obsidian’s Strength revealed itself to the light. “Do you, Ranun Spring, brother of Gordon Fall, humbly accept your brother’s sword. Will you wield it until either your retirement or your death and carry with it honor as great, if not, greater than the wielder before?”

“I swear,” Ranun said, “on the Colors I hail.”

Jon smiled, slamming the sword shut in its sheath. “Then you are blessed today. As Gordon Fall passes into Honoria, he leaves you his legacy to build upon.”

“Thank you, Faithful,” Ranun said, accepting the sword in his hands. He stood up, clipping Obsidian’s Strength to his waist, and returning to his seat at the pew. Calace grabbed his thigh, and Aeryn smiled proudly.

The service continued, and everyone paid their respects. But Ranun was the last to leave, sitting in his pew. The loneliness hit him hard, but he bathed in the reality of his brother’s absence.

Funerals were supposed to bring peace, but Ranun found only despair.

He was sure Calace was behind him somewhere, watching him from afar, keeping her distance but offering support whenever he needed it. Ranun sat in a bubble, and his depressing demeanor was toxic, sickening to be around.

His brother would be buried a day from now as they prepared his tombstone. Ranun would lower him down below the earth's crust, and the real goodbye would be then. Still, this was the only time he had with his brother alone.

***

Anemone followed Kinler through Central of Falcon Hill. The city had seemed oddly quiet as the Soucrest flags raised half as tall as they were normally.

“What’s going on?” Anemone asked.

Kinler sighed, a little sorrow in his voice. “Soucrest lost a great warrior recently. His Majesty’s brother died while we were on our trip.”

“Who’s Majesty?” Anemone asked.

“His Majesty is our king, Ranun Spring. When you address him personally, you call him ‘Your Majesty.’”

Ranun’s brother died? No…

“Where are we going?” Anemone asked. He hoped it would be to Ranun.

“To see if we aren’t too late to the funeral,” Kinler said. They had just entered Falcon Hill, but the sun was close to falling behind the mythstone walls, maybe less than an hour remaining before dusk.

This part of Central, the northernmost region, had two fields, one large to their left, with many of what Kinler called tombstones. Their conversation about them was brief, and the most Anemone remembered was not running on the fields or touching the stones in any way.

There was a smaller, more compact field on the right side of the alley, but their tombstones were gold, laced heavily in shiny metal decor. The area was about a fifth as large and was only at half capacity compared to the field opposite, which seemed filled to its brink.

Down the gravel path they walked on, a building stood elevated on top of a dozen steps. The sun was only inches away from the center of the large, stone square poking out at the top. Marble pillars and orange-tinted windows on the front didn’t show much inside. But the large, golden gates were propped open, and Anemone spotted a large Soucrest flag hung near the ceiling inside, followed by a square statue on the ground, but a hollow shell obscured its full image with the insides of what looked like clouds.

As Anemone reached the front with Kinler, she saw Ranun inside near the front, head looking down.

He was alone?

“I think it’s a bad time,” Kinler said, “to brief him about our mission. I’ll talk to him later.”

Anemone looked at him as he turned. “What do I do?”

“Whatever you want,” Kinler said. “Do you know your way back to your apartment?”

Anemone nodded, though her way back to her apartment involved Ranun leading her there.

“Good work on the mission. I’ll inform His Majesty just how well you did. I look forward to the agency and your training.”

Anemone smiled, and Kinler went on his way. She was alone again, though close to Ranun. She walked forward—

“Pst,” a voice said from her side. A familiar one.

She turned her head and saw Calace beam at her. Anemone cautioned over to her as if she wasn’t supposed to alert Ranun of her presence. Calace stood from her seat and embraced her as she came close.

“How have you been?” Calace said, her voice a whisper. Her arms snatched her tight, and her strength could haul Anemone up and over her shoulders to slam her if she so pleased. But she simply held the embrace, and what was usually a precursor to a crushing wrestling move actually felt relaxing and cozy. “I’ve missed you. We missed you!”

“I’m doing good, I think.”

Calace laughed gently. She pulled off her hug, holding Anemone by her shoulders. “Have you gotten stronger since you left?”

“Maybe,” Anemone said. She didn’t know. Her body felt sore, fatigued after training with Kinler. Did she gain strength during the exercises? She was not yet sure how everything worked. Anemone noticed a hint of sadness in Calace’s expression. “Have you grown sadder?”

“Yeah, I have,” Calace said. “An important part of our family has passed away.”

Anemone had heard it from Kinler, but coming from Calace, it suddenly felt drastic. Real. Deeper emotions were coming from her, and from the back of Ranun’s head alone, whoever it was who died, must have been important to them. And for no reason she could comprehend, it now hurt her as well.

“I’m sorry,” Anemone said.

Calace patted her on the shoulders in a way that reassured her it was alright. “Did you behave?”

“Yes, mam,”

“Cause any problems?”

“None that I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Good girl,” Calace said, rubbing her hand uncomfortably through her short hair like she had no respect for her work in cutting it. “Did you miss us?”

Anemone nodded, much to Calace’s pleasure.

“Good,” Calace grinned. She turned her by the shoulders, pointed her body in the direction of Ranun. “You made a mistake when you left, and you owe it to a certain somebody to make up for it.”

“Huh? What did I do? Did I do something wrong?” Anemone asked frantically, trying to remember.

“You didn’t hug Ranun goodbye,” Calace said.

Anemone blanched, snapping her head to Calace. I didn’t hug him? That was a mistake?

“He was mildly upset,” Calace said. Mildly, not furiously? She could live with that mistake. Calace led her to the orange carpet going down the middle, and with a gentle shove, she nudged Anemone forward. “But the only thing better than a hug goodbye is a hug hello.”

Calace left her alone with that.

Anemone walked forward, stepping carefully. However, she didn’t move around to his front. She crept to the bench behind him, looking at his back. She wrapped her arms around and startled the king. He grabbed one of her wrists and laughed softly. “You’re back?”

She nodded, digging her chin into his shoulder. She peered to his face, only seeing half, but saw his lips bend to a grin.

Ranun threw an arm backward, the palm of his hand grabbed the back of her head. He pulled her closer for a brief second, then let go. Anemone pulled off, and Ranun gestured for her to come around and sit to his side.

“Did you have fun?” Ranun asked.

“I did, but the best part was training with Kinler,” Anemone said. She sat down, noticing that there was somebody in the box in front of her. She almost called them a spy, but after a second of thinking, she figured whoever was inside was dead. Ranun’s brother?

“Oh yeah? How was that?” Ranun asked, regaining Anemone’s attention.

“I only passed one ‘pre-test’ or something, but I’m struggling to pass the second.”

Ranun laughed. “He’s giving you the test for Colors? And you passed a pre-test? That’s amazing!”

Anemone flushed, embarrassed.

Ranun brought a closed fist up like he was about to punch her. She didn’t blink, for she didn’t fear Ranun, doubting any violence from him. This was trust, wasn’t it? Her body, however, moved on its own, and she tapped Ranun’s fist with one of her own, much to Ranun’s delight. “Good job,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Anemone said. Encouragement was still new to her. “How are you, Your Majesty?”

Ranun frowned. “Your Majesty?”

“That’s what Kinler said I should address you as. Is that wrong?”

“For our circumstances, it is unnecessary.”

“Then what do I call you?”

Ranun looked up in thought. He had an answer when he looked back down. “You may call me by my name, Ranun, or, if you wish, ‘father’ or ‘dad.’ Whichever you’re most comfortable with.”

Anemone scratched her head. Was there a right choice? Or worse yet, was there a wrong one? Was it too soon to claim him her father? Or was it too late to call him by his first name? The choices in front of her pulled her in separate directions.

One part of her wanted to. But the other part knew that if she did, she would turn her back on her real parents.

But your real parents aren’t here, Anemone thought. Behind you is the woman who cut your hair, helped you read, and dressed you. To your side, the man who not only handed you your sword but offered you freedom, protection, and he even gifted you your name.

At this point, there are no truer parents you have.

Anemone mustered the courage to speak as Ranun waited anxiously for her to say something, anything.

“D-dad,” she muttered like they were her first words alive. “Can we train tonight?”

Ranun laughed, grabbing at his chest. When he settled down, it was like he heard her question at the end. “Wait, you still want to train with me? I’m not a very… active trainer.”

“But I want to!” Anemone said, insistent. She had spent most of the day on the road, and her legs itched to move. Even if Ranun’s training wasn’t very active, it was still fun. “Besides, I learned a lot, and I want to show you.”

“Oh, is that so? Alright then,” he raised his arms in a yawn. Then, he stood, Anemone lifted with him. “Let’s go home. Before we begin, we should eat something. You hungry?”

Anemone nodded. Always.

“You always are,” Ranun smiled. When they turned, Anemone noticed that Calace was gone. Ranun continued forward, Anemone walking along his right side. As they stepped out, the fields from before surrounded her again. The two graveyards. Ranun pointed to a square, brown hole in the ground on his left where the fancier graves were.

“That’s where my brother will be buried tomorrow,” Ranun said. “That side of this aisle is reserved for only the most renowned of warriors rest, the Valor Graves it’s respectfully called. My brother will be buried alongside our father and our father’s father. They say that anybody would be lucky to rest with such a select group of people.

“But by being buried there, I couldn’t be buried with Calace since it’s exclusive to the Colors. On the other side of the aisle, there are all the warriors and their families outside of the Colors. They are the men and women who had fought away from their families and the men and women who fought while their family members were away from them. We praise and praise the Colors, and we call them the heart of Soucrest as well as their honor. But, the warriors on the other side have fought hard for this country as well.”

“So,” Anemone said. Ranun stood tall; his height cast a large shadow in front of them. Anemone’s shadow looked only like an extension, like a small hill attached to a mountainside. “Where would you rather be buried?”

“You’re asking to choose between the two most important men in my life and the two most important women. But, death is a party. And I think I’ll go where the most people are.” Ranun turned, leaning over the fence to the larger graveyard. “I think I want to rest across from my brother, and I think Gordon wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Anemone joined him in looking over the field. The two most important women in his life… does that include me?

Ranun backed off the fence, and they walked toward the opposite direction of where the sun fell. Where there should have been coldness in the dark horizon, she found only warmth and belonging. The heat she could now proudly claim came from the fire of family. A night with her parents and her new brother, spent forging memories.

She laughed and felt a strange, intense feeling for this family. Joy and unconditional care that spread both ways like both sides of her sword. A feeling she wouldn’t trade for the world.