"To have loved ones as an immortal… is both a blessing and a curse. They brought great joy for you while they lived, and were part of what made a too long life tolerable, yet on the other hand, the knowledge that one day you would be separated forever would always haunt you, for unless your loved ones had achieved immortality themselves, death would come to claim them one day…" - Nec Aarin, the Bone Lord.

Four days after they returned to La Fiachna - a somber, grieving return, for of the thousands of men and women who went out to defend their people from predation, nearly half did not make it back home - the family held a funeral for Faerghus.

The procession was a more private one, with some younger templars who were close to him volunteering to bear the casket and fill the grave. Unlike Theodin's funeral, the function was attended only by the Fiachnas, as well as friends of Faerghus from amongst the templars, as they had not wished for a public grand funeral, when so many of the dead were interned simply on the hill they laid down their lives.

Both Maebh and Éirynn, almost five years old now, also attended the funeral holding their mother's hands. Akeshia had been holding a strong front, and not cried in front of her daughter so far, though she wept when given some privacy. The usually boisterous and naughty Maebh looked at the casket that held her father's body as the young templars carefully lowered it into the open gravesite, with a serious demeanor for once.

"Mommy," she asked when the casket had been fully lowered and the templars climbed out, preparing to fill in the grave with soil. "Is daddy… really gone?"

"Yes, child," replied Akeshia as she knelt by her daughter and hugged her. Her voice barely held on from breaking into sobs and weeping, but she persevered. "He has went to the god's embrace now, with your great grandfather."

"But then daddy can't give me hugs anymore…" grumbled the little girl to her mother with a sad, yet annoyed tone. "I want my daddy back…"

Those few innocent words broke the dam Akeshia had been holding on to, and she broke down, hugged her little daughter tightly, and wept freely, pouring out her grief visibly and audibly. Probably infected by her mother's grief and sorrow, little Maebh cried as well, and her weeping was very noticeable in the relative silence of the funeral.

Aideen couldn't help it, and covered her face as she shed her tears as well when she heard her little niece cry for her father. When she looked around with reddened, wet eyes, she noticed her brother and parents, all crying as well, and rubbing their eyes to clear it of their tears.

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As if the heavens joined in on their sorrow, it rained, first a trickle, then shortly after they finished burying the casket and gave their last farewells, heavily in droves, as all the funeral goers were drenched by the heavy rain. Aideen just looked up at the rainclouds, and shed her tears for her lost brother, hoping he could see them, from wherever he is now.

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Fiachna Mansion, La Fiachna, Theocracy of Vitalica, third day of the fourth week of the tenth month, year 47 VA.

Diarmuid woke up blearily on the bed he shared with his wife Kestera, their daughter little Éirynn fast asleep between them. He carefully extracted himself from the bed, silently so as not to wake his wife and child, and went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face to drive away the last bits of sleep.

He heard what sounded like some activity from the backyard, a faint sound like metal striking wood repeatedly, not so loud that one would have heard it elsewhere in the house, but audible from the bathroom which was right next to the backyard, so he went out to check.

There he found Aideen, practicing with her repaired staff - it was of worse quality than it used to be, as Vitalica had lacked blacksmiths as good as the one in Ptolodecca that made it - as she whirled it against a log erected on the backyard for training. She was practicing her control, and instead of hard strikes, she gave only the lightest taps to the log with her weapon, which was quite a feat considering she did it with the three-sectioned form whirled at full speed.

From the way the light snowfall had dyed her flame-red hair with flecks of white all over despite her constant movement, and how devoid of snow the area beneath her feet was, Diarmuid knew she likely had practiced all night long again.

The way she punched the log in frustration as she looked down and wept confirmed to Diarmuid what was going on. Aideen had still felt guilty, seeing herself as inadequate, haunted by the thought that if she had been better, maybe just a little bit faster, she might have made it in time to save Faerghus back then.

Without a word he went in, took a spare blanket, and quietly walked behind his grieving sister, where he gently draped the blanket over her shoulders. He knew she likely no longer needed it, but it reminded him of when he did the same when she was much younger.

"You should rest, sister," said Diarmuid gently as he patted her shoulder. Aideen had turned to face him with tears still streaking down her face, and looked surprised that he was there. "I know you probably don't need to rest anymore, but some will do you good nonetheless. You haven't slept for what? Two weeks now?"

Aideen just mutely nodded at her brother's query. Ever since the funeral she had thrown herself hard into her training, often forgoing sleep to the point that she rested barely twice a month. Everytime she looked at her parents - they looked as if they had aged a decade in the short time after Faerghus died - her heart felt pangs of pain, and all she could do, was channel her own grief into working on her training instead, to ensure that there would be no next time.

Aideen never wanted to be left in a position to watch her loved ones die ever again, just because she was too far away, too late to render aid. She loathed the helplessness and powerlessness she felt, when Faerghus was killed before her eyes.