The news shocked the entire nation. Some felt bad hearing how he died, while most were happy.
Reports claimed that he died while trying to flee from his party members after stealing all the loot during a boss fight in an S-Class dungeon. Two out of the five members were S-Class rankers, including Ezekiel. The other members were all above A-Class, and one of them was Clyde.
They said Ezekiel chickened out and abandoned his teammates to die while facing the dungeon boss. But the monster chased him instead, and that was how he died. The rest survived by pulling together after Ezekiel's betrayal. They fought bravely while he died in disgrace. The media praised them for their "resilience", heroes rising above the ashes of treachery.
And people believed it.
Just like that, everything collapsed again.
The old rumors came crawling back like maggots on a corpse. Headlines revived every accusation ever hurled at him. New "witnesses" appeared. "Proof" resurfaced. It didn't matter that he was gone. They were louder now than they had ever been.
They held a trial.
Without a voice for the defense.
Without a chance for the dead to speak.
The jury declared him guilty.
Guilty of everything.
Is this what they mean when they say, "Dead men tell no tales"?
But apparently, they can still be condemned.
Even in death, they didn't leave him alone.
They branded him a criminal until the end.
But I knew those things were lies. Ezekiel would never do that. He was the kind of person who would do anything to protect others, even if it meant sacrificing himself.
Yes, he desperately needed money. But he earned it by putting himself in danger. He walked into death over and over again just to survive. To keep his mother alive.
To live, even when the world didn't want him to.
I may have only met him once, but that one encounter was enough to tell me what kind of person he truly was.
I continued to follow his story in silence for years. I learned more about him. And the more I did, the more I believed that he wasn't the villain everyone made him out to be.
But now, none of it mattered anymore.
Because he was dead.
--
I stood inside the funeral hall.
It was quiet.
Not the kind of peace that comforts—but the kind that screams abandonment.
His casket lay at the front of the room. I looked around at the empty seats. No one had come. No one, except me and a homeless man dozing off in the back, likely there only for the free snacks.
That was it.
That was the sum total of the people who came to mourn Ezekiel Solace.
The space was quiet, cold, and neglected. Even the flowers arranged around his casket looked like they had been carelessly thrown together. I could tell no one had taken the time to prepare anything properly.
He had no family left. I found out that Rebecca passed away six months ago in a foreign hospital bed where she was alone and only her ashes was delivered to Ezekiel. So this funeral had been arranged by his guild, probably just to meet protocol.
It showed. Everything about it screamed formality and nothing more.
After the announcement of his death, I couldn't sleep. Grief and guilt haunted me, towards him, and towards his mother.
How ungrateful I had been, doing nothing to help. I let everything unfold without lifting a hand, even though he was the person who had once saved my life.
I was like someone who forgot she owed her entire existence and current happiness to another human being—and just let that person die.
A person ungrateful to the bone...
And now… I stood here in a room that stank of negligence and forgotten souls, trying to say goodbye to a man I never truly got to know.
Regrets drowned me, like a shackle I could never break free from, forever now.
I had failed. I failed Rebecca. Even though I promised to take care of him. It was her one plea before she went away and passed.
And now she was gone, and I had broken my promise.
"I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry."
I approached the casket to see him again after all these years, since that day—the day he appeared, saw me, helped me, and gave me another chance to live.
And the pain I felt tripled. No, it was worse than that. It couldn't be compared or described. My chest ached so deeply I could barely breathe. I clenched my hands around the corners of his casket when I saw his corpse.
His body...
It was destroyed.
He was missing an arm and a leg. His face was so bruised and cut that I barely recognized him.
He was dressed in a formal suit, but the damage was clear.
He didn't die painlessly.
He didn't die peacefully.
He was torn apart.
It was obvious he had suffered terribly before he breathed his last breath.
I couldn't take it anymore and collapsed in front of him.
I cried endlessly, my tears falling without pause. The pain was unbearable, and my heart felt so heavy I thought it might stop beating altogether.
Why did he have to go through this?
What did he ever do wrong?
Was it because he killed someone awful when he was a child?
Was it because he grew up poor?
I had never felt such overwhelming grief for someone who wasn't even my family.
But he became my deepest regret.
I should have fought harder to clear his name, even when they tried to stop me.
I should have stood taller to prove his innocence, even if it meant sacrificing my own reputation.
I should have risked everything to protect him, no matter the cost.
Maybe none of it would have been enough to save him.
No, if only I had been stronger or awakened, maybe I could have been there by his side, perhaps his death wouldn't have been so lonely, nor mine.
But now, it's too late to even dream about that.
And all I'm left with is this crushing self-hatred. There was nothing left I could do but blame myself.