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Dawn. The sky lingered dim, the air biting. No wind stirred, a stillness like the calm before a storm enveloping the pre-dawn town.
If it could be called a town.
Ruins suited it better. Buildings teetered, scorched to collapse, or lay in heaps, their former shapes erased. Nothing was merely singed everything was consumed.
All by one man's madness.
Setsuna stood alone on Karan's main street, speechless. In the windless twilight, he could only face the reality before him.
Days had passed since Setsuna regained consciousness, since Faria's interrogation and his reunion with Elina. The crippling muscle soreness had eased slightly; walking no longer sparked agony. A cause for quiet joy, though he didn't weep with relief.
Thanks to Faria's summoned weapon, which boosted his natural healing, the burns that should've scarred his body were gone. Yet the muscle pain lingered things didn't resolve so neatly.
Faria had said more, but her torrent of questions scrambled his mind, leaving little memory of her words. He dismissed their importance, spending these days in quiet acceptance.
Confined to the tent serving as his sickroom, the monotony was stifling. Yet it cemented the reality of this world. Sleeping or waking, the unchanging scene declared: This is real.
Not some "other world." Azmaria's summoning, the fight with the Imperial Beasts, the armed summoning, Karan's blaze, that man all were Setsuna's reality.
Brace yourself.
(Resolve, huh?)
He walked the empty, desolate main street. His tent, in Karan's south, sat among makeshift tents housing those displaced by the fire. His "sickroom" was a pretext, a kindness from Faria and the guards to let him rest after defeating Lance Villain.
Indeed, with his aching body, visitors would've been a nuisance. As a stranger to Karan with no acquaintances, no one would visit anyway. Faria had said it was "just in case." He had no retort.
He didn't mind the quiet. He was grateful for their consideration.
He'd slipped out of the tent to test his mobility and shake off days of inactivity. Staying still too long would dull him.
From the tent city in the scorched district, he headed north. How many times did he pause? In a world blackened by fire, no vibrant color remained. Forgetting to breathe, he traced the scars of that madman's destruction.
Days after the blaze, Karan's recovery had no clear path.
He walked the main street, which Elina said ran north to south through Karan. At its center stood a memorial. She prayed there daily before visiting his tent.
The memorial.
Setsuna realized he was heading there. Leaving the tent, he'd only meant to move his body, lift his spirits. Staying cooped up was depressing.
Karan was once encircled by a sturdy wall, its four grand gates east, west, south, north symbols of the kingdom's glory, far grander than the town's size suggested.
The roads from these gates met at the center, forming a cross. Karan's Cross Road was renowned across Gandia, Faria had said. She and Elina often visited, keeping him from brooding alone.
At the Cross Road's heart stood the memorial or something like it. The survivors' grief and prayers for the dead were palpable.
"…."
Setsuna couldn't speak. No words felt right before it. He sensed nothing should be uttered here.
It was just stone. Fist-sized pebbles, countless, stacked at the intersection. In the ashen town, this pile was bizarre, otherworldly.
Yet each stone carried the weight of human grief, lending the mound a sacred air.
His heart trembled, guilt smoldering within. The fire of self-blame could consume him.
"It began with a girl who placed a stone engraved with her father's name," a young man's voice said.
Setsuna glanced over, subdued. No mood for theatrics.
"Just a named stone nobody would care. You wouldn't, right? A pebble in the street, who notices?"
The voice, cool yet captivating, stirred a strange pleasure, even in Setsuna. Not just its tone, but the speaker's charisma.
Perplexed by his reaction, Setsuna noted the man beside him, unnoticed until now, drawn by the memorial. He seemed to speak idly, not seeking engagement.
But Setsuna's eyes widened at his appearance.
"Then it spread across Karan. Why? Some say survivors needed a way to mourn. I think differently, though I can't explain."
A stunning youth, his flawless features a divine gift, outshining any gem. Golden hair gleamed, pale skin translucent, sharp eyes framed by long lashes, their jade-like irises striking.
Beauty incarnate. No other word fit, unless beauty's standards were alien.
Setsuna looked away, focusing on the memorial. Overwhelmed by defeat, he consoled himself it was familiar.
He knew such beauty. Repeated losses taught him worth wasn't in appearance. He didn't belittle his own looks above average, he thought but meeting such a man reminded him: There's always someone greater.
They belonged to different worlds.
Not despair, nor hope just truth.
"Anyway, it started with one girl and spread beyond Karan to Creboul, Merel, Mardal, even Gandion," the youth said.
Setsuna noticed a pebble in his hand. Likely from the capital, a curious journey. Setsuna didn't mock him admired him, even. Coming from Gandion to place a stone wasn't trivial.
His fine clothes were travel-worn.
The youth approached the mound, placing his stone midway, his voice soft yet resolute, reaching Setsuna.
"King Leongand Rei-Gandia prays for your peace and vows Karan's restoration and Gandia's revival."
Bathed in dawn's light, the scene was mystical, solemn, like a religious painting.
Setsuna, forgetting shock, burned the ethereal moment into his memory.
This was his meeting with Leongand a new beginning.