The sun descends on a warmer day than we have seen in the past weeks, telling of a coming spring. The river to my left gushes with rapids as snow melts from further up the mountain range as the normally placid river swells against the bank. Tiny green sprigs poke from brown bark as the snow still clinging to branches drips in soft patters onto the muddy ground churned by feet and claws alike.

Far opposite the white and grey churning water is a large field of black and grey at the forest's edge. Jagged streaks of black reach out from a pure black center as if a star had exploded. The trees who withstood the force of Beast have jagged black streaks up their side, as if they were struck by black lightning from the ground up.

The mutilated bodies within the ring were burned yesterday. The Imperial saw to it they received an honorable remembrance as their ashes were returned to the ground to give life to the coming spring.

I was happy to hear they received dignity in death even if they didn't have it in life.

I turn my eyes from the black ash with effort.

Children play near the rushing river, Jed and Barry with them.

The Were introduce the newcomers to a game with a Berserk, something to do with how long one can swing from the trunk-like nose. The Berserk is much smaller than the full-grown Harry whom I rode on in what feels like another lifetime past.

I watch from the edge of the village, hiding in the shadows and ensuring their safety. Besides, it was becoming tiring laying in a bed all day with my side healed. It now feels merely like a deep bruise.

Morgana gave me a disapproving frown when I escaped, but didn't knock me out with her cane or her tea. I find that heartening.

Essie shoves Barry forward, and he sucks his head into his shoulders, trying to slink back into the crowd, but Essie keeps on him. When he turns to glance at his brother, I see a grin lighting his face at odds with his shy posture. Jed gestures for his brother to go on, to give it a try.

Barry wraps his arms around the trunk of a nose that is about half Barry's size. He binds his hands in the coarse hair, and the Berserk snorts out his nose, making half the gathered children jump and laugh. But Barry hangs on with grim determination, even as the Berserk swings him like a pendulum.

Jed whoops, cheering for his brother.

My muscles clench to see them so close to the water with Barry swinging so high in the air. They are about a Berserk length from the water's edge, but I can see how easy it would be should Barry lose his grip... he could easily be thrown into the river.

It would only take a slip of his hands and I would lose him.

A hand on my shoulder stills me before I even realize I started moving.

I have a knife at their throat before I look back.

I sheathe the knife with a grunt. "Imperial."

"Roland," he replies, coming to stand beside me.

I don't move forward. The urge to protect the kid dwindling when he releases a high-pitched squeal that ends in a laugh. He's plastered himself to the white fur, but there is a joy in his voice that has long been absent from his young life. A sound which makes my heart ache and soar all at once.

"Let them have their fun. Allfather only knows how much has been torn from them." I flinch at his words. He turns his head, eyes narrowing. "What happened was not your fault."

"You're right."

"Yet, it is not so easy to convince your mind."

"No."

He stands beside me with the wind tugging on his beard and grey tunic, his silver eyes trained on the boys.

The silence is one of companionship. Of support. He won't force me to speak, but invites conversation should I wish it.

"It was my fault," I whisper. He tilts his head so his ear is tuned to my voice. "If I had convinced him to come with me, he would be safe. If I would have went back for him, checked on him, if I had moved quicker—" I shake my head, unable to voice the emotions burning their way through my soul.

"The path of what if can be helpful. Honorable, even. It can show what one did wrong. But let not the what ifs prevent you from growing, son. They are a chain to the past to keep you from the life ahead."

"What is there ahead but Death?"

He raises a hand, hesitating before placing it on my shoulder. I hide the flinch, and he squeezes.

My rough breathing is the only sound in this little alley between earthen huts as I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"What would you like done for his Remembrance?" the Imperial asks softly when I gather myself.

I hiss out a breath, trying not to show the way his simple question socked me in the gut. I watch Barry, see him already on the ground, being patted on the back by Were and Shifter alike.

His brother picks him up and gives him a bear hug that pops his back. Their laughter rings in the air, a beautiful sound that calls my heart to join before what happened only yesterday sends it plummeting back to the ground.

Barry's eyes meet mine, and the happiness drains from his face. I don't know what he sees, but something makes his face crumple and lips tremble.

I try to smile, but the Imperial's cough makes me quickly abandon the attempt. It was more of a snarl, anyway.

I wish Pa were still here with his uninhibited laughter and the ease with which he navigated emotions and relationships. I'm not so good with either.

Barry turns away, Essie picking him up this time, and I can see he’s quite startled when the girl half his size lifts him from the ground as if he were a feather.

At least it gets him laughing again.

“Let the boys Remember him as he was, sir. The Sun."

Dan wished to be buried in the tradition of his ancestors. He came from a long line of nobles, but back before his great-great-someone was given a town to preside over, they were descendants of dwarves. The deep mountains were his ancestor's homes before the Fall of the King. When the Fall came, the mountains trembled, and the dwarves, those few who remained, were caught between loyalty for the High King and protecting their homeland.

They chose to protect their King. Their mountains fell in to the hands of the Betrayers. Many have speculated, but few know why.

Before their fall, the dwarves would burry their dead into caverns with a statue of the dead so the people who came after wouldn't forget their faces.

I stand just outside a mountain-side cave that is only about three horse lengths wide and two long. The walls are pure rock and gleam in the torchlight ringed around a box in the center.

The wooden box is not elaborate or expensive. It's simply wood proofed with a sap that the Imperial assured me would hold for generations. I saw Morgana sneaking in when it was being built, and it makes me curious what exactly she did to the casket.

Pa is laid to rest in a place far from his home in mountains he did not know.

The night is darker than most. Clouds churn above, hiding the moon and stars. Lightning brushes against trees and ground far into the distance, the echo of explosions and the sharp clap of thunder making me flinch with each snap of light. It takes me back, back to when I released such an explosion and leveled an entire field. Turned it to ash and killed hundreds... perhaps thousands.

But numbness coats me when I think of that time. It is almost as if the only emotion I can handle at this time is the grief.

I look out at the valleys and mountains far below us. But not much can be seen from the rocky crag on which we stand. The darkness is so deep even my sight has trouble penetrating the shadows. It almost seems a dark, turbulent sea out there instead of land, but then lightning strikes and I can see the sandy dunes and other mountains on the far side of the desert.

The dark night fits the solemn mood of the gathering behind me, who came to support me but know nothing of this man who made me.

I wish to shout who he was to all the worlds, but I find words lacking. So I stay silent.

By some unvoiced command, Were, Shifters, and Humans stride past me.

Many lay flowers on the casket, the aroma piercing the air and covering the faint scent of decay.

Others have knives, and they carve lines into the casket.

Flash, his lovely red-head, and Heather stride by me and the boys.

Heather gives me a watery smile that looks pained. Flash has his easy smile absent from his face, but comes up to clap me on the shoulder. He jostles each of the boy’s hair, and they give him tiny smiles. Flash’s red-headed Were bows and strikes her chest.

Heather places an object on the casket, and I feel a surge of rightness as the Ring lay where it belongs. With my father.

Should Whitecastle or Videlia still need it, I will take it to them and grant them water before returning it to my father's keeping.

Flash lays a carving on the casket.

My jaw clenches, and I fight back the urge... the urge to what? I genuinely don't know. Part of me wants to pick a fight with the Emperor. Another wants to return Yellow from the grave just to kill him once more. Another wishes to run until I hit the sea and then keep going until there is nothing left but wind and water.

And part of me wants to drop to my knees and weep.

I clench my fists and Barry winces, his wide eyes darting up to me. I consciously release my grip on his hand, and he relaxes. Jed stays stoic on my other side, even as Barry sniffles and wipes his nose with his sleeve.

The knee-high statue stares at me. The grin is all Pa, full of joy and happiness. It... almost looks exactly like what I saw when... when whatever I saw or didn't see happened, and he smiled at me.

I jerk my eyes from the pot-bellied statue that almost glows with an other-worldly light to Flash.

He watches me. His eyes convey sorrow, pain, and genuine understanding. In his blue eyes... I see.

He bows his head, a tiny smile pulling at his lips as something resembling bitter-sweet joy fills his gaze.

It leaves me reeling, but also grounds me to know. I wasn't alone in what I saw. My adopted brother was there. And he did what he could to ensure I didn't feel alone.

Many others come, but I take no note of their words nor their gifts. Everything seems as if in a haze, as if I am watching from outside my body and yet am trapped inside it.

When everyone from the village and all the Shifters have paid their respects, the Imperial brings me a paper sky lantern. He did as I requested and had a bright yellow sun painted onto the paper on all four sides. It's a simple yellow and gold starburst sun, but I think Pa would have loved it.

The lantern is bigger than my head, and the candle within wafts a lavender and chamomile scent that calms me.

But what shocks me is when others begin to pull smaller lanterns out, and wait on us to light ours so the many hundreds of hands may also send theirs into the sky.

I glance at the Imperial, who watches his people with pride. "They wanted to support their hero, Roland. They wanted to support their King."

I nod in grave acceptance of his words.

I strike flint until I have a burning strand of wood. I hear the strike and sizzle as many others do the same.

Jed looks at me in amazement when I pass him the burning wood. "You are his first son. You deserve the honor."

He shakes his head, a tear leaking from his eye.

"N-no. We d-do this t-t-t-together," he says, his voice trembling but without quarter.

He looks me dead in the eye, challenging me.

I shake my head, a tiny smile trying to pull my lips up. He knows what that means to my wolf. He knows, and decided to challenge me anyway, not for himself, but so that all three of us may light our father’s candle.

"Alright."

I take hold of the wood, even as I hold the lantern with my other hand. Barry grabs just below my hand, giving us both a watery smile.

We light the lantern, and together give it a gentle push to send it swirling into the sky.

Hundreds of others also light and are sent into the sky behind the first. Behind the sun.

They drift in the wind, dancing and swaying to a rhythm only they can hear.

I watch until they shine like stars in the blank abyss of the night sky. If we cannot see the stars, we will create our own.

"Pa would've loved this," Barry whispers.

I squeeze both their shoulders, a smile forming on my face. "Yes, kinko. He would've loved this."