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Emmrich stood alone in a darkened chamber. The room was quiet in a peculiar way spaces which held the dead often were. Even though it lacked sound, it felt heavy all the same.
Esha laid at the very center of the room.
Her body had been prepared with care, draped in a modest burial dress that provided no warmth, not that she needed it. The wrinkles on her face told a story of a lifetime carved by years of laughter, worry and resolve, but her face was still. There was no pain there, no tension. She looked as though she had simply laid herself down for a long, untroubled sleep.
She was rested upon a bed of jasmine flowers, its pale petals cupped her form like a gentle hug. The scent, while sweet, was not cloying. Persistent but not pressing, much like her. Her favourite. She had always said jasmine smelled like warmth and home.
Emmrich stepped closer.
He reached out, hesitating before he wrapped his fingers around her hand. It was too stiff. Too cold. The chill of it traveled up his arm, settling somewhere deep within him. But still, he smiled.
"Hello, my love." He murmured.
The words echoed softly in the room, returning to him hollow and unchanged. Of course there is no answer. There could not be.
She was dead.
A movement at the edge of his vision drew his attention. One of the funeral attendants stood nearby, hands folded respectfully, gaze lowered. As Esha had requested, Emmrich did not prepare her body after she passed. She would have hated to see him distracted and devastated through his work, hated the idea of him hiding behind responsibility instead of standing by her to the very end.
The man cleared his throat gently. "Sir…it is time. The pyre is prepared."
Emmrich's jaw tightened. His fingers curled slightly around Esha's hand before he could stop himself.
"Is it time already?" he choked, though he knew the answer.
"Unfortunately so," the attendant replied with a solemn nod.
Emmrich held on for one final moment, memorizing the shape of her fingers beneath his own despite the unnatural cold, before he forced himself to let go. The attendants lifted the flower-filled bier with care, and as they carried her from the chamber, a deep gong sounded outside.
A sound meant to mark the crossing from one state of being into another.
Death had always been abstract. An unraveling, loosening of presence. But the dead in Nevarra were always tangible. Distant, but held together by memory and magic. Cremation on the other hand? It was something else entirely.
It was final in a way even death was not.
The fire erased what little remained.
All that would be left was memory.
And how—how? Could that possibly be enough?
His feet refused to move, locking in place like the ground itself was trying to swallow him whole. For a moment, he allowed it. Then he clenched his fists and forced himself forward.
Do it for Esha, he told himself. Be brave for her.
Each step felt like he was dragging sacks of stone. The open space of the funeral grounds stretched before him, and at its center rose the pyre; thin tree trunks stacked and arranged into a raised platform like a throne of wood. Her final resting place.
Emmrich stared at it as if it were diseased and cursed.
This was what remained of her sacrifice. She had given everything so the world might endure, had borne the weight of duty and consequence without complaint. Loved with reckless abandon. And in return, she was laid upon a lattice of sticks, meant to burn until nothing recognisable remained.
She deserved a sarcophagus wrought in gold. A resting place lined with silks and jewels, her name carved into stone so it could never be forgotten. She deserved to be celebrated, preserved, remembered not as a fleeting thought but as something eternal.
Not reduced to a memory.
Not reduced to a name.
Yet despite every instinct screaming otherwise, Emmrich knew this was what she had wanted.
And loving her meant honouring that choice.
Even if it tore him apart to do so.
It had been a quiet evening when she told him.
Esha reclined against a nest of cushions, her legs drawn up beneath her, a thin blanket folded across her lap as the light from the fireplace caught in her hair, where silver threaded gently through dark.
She had been watching the flames for a long time before she spoke.
"I wish to pass on in Ventus," she said, voice calm, almost casual. "Where my body will be cremated."
Emmrich turned to her at once, brows drawing together, his glamour flickering in response to his abrupt change in mood. The word struck him wrong as it was dropped into the conversation with no warning.
"Cremation?" he repeated, frowning. "My love, there is no need for that. I could prepare a mausoleum for you. A proper one in the Necropolis. A sarcophagus covered in gold, your many epithets woven into stone so you can be remembered—"
Her hands closed around his before he could continue.
The pressure was gentle but firm, grounding him, halting the well-worn path of his thoughts. He looked down at their joined hands, at the bandages that wrapped carefully around his fingers to hide his bones.
Esha smiled.
Not indulgent. Not patronising. Just warm, and achingly fond.
"I don't wish to be remembered as a hero," she said softly. "I wish to be remembered as…me"
She lifted his hand and pressed his bandaged fingers to her lips. The kiss was light, lingering just long enough to imprint itself into memory.
"Free," she said, kissing him again.
"Fulfilled," another kiss, slow and deliberate.
"And loved."
She lowered his hand only then, tilting her head to look up at him fully. Her eyes caught the fire, bright and alive despite everything, twinkling with emotion she did not bother to hide.
"Could you do that for me?" she asked.
Emmrich exhaled, the sound heavy than expected. He moved without thinking, drawing her into his arms, pressing his forehead to hers as though proximity alone might keep the moment from slipping away.
"Of course," he murmured, voice rough by emotion he refused to name.
She did not let it rest there.
"Do you promise?" She pressed, quietly but insistently.
Emmrich closed his eyes. He kissed the top of her head, taking in the familiar scent of jasmine in her hair, even as sorrow tightened behind his ribs.
"I promise, my love."
And she smiled, content, like his vow had settled something deep within her.
“Sir?”
The quiet voice cut gently through the fog of memory, and Emmrich flinched like he was struck. He turned to find one of the funeral attendants standing at his side. In his hands, the man held a torch, its flame was small but steady and waiting.
“It is time,” the attendant said softly, gesturing for Emmrich to take it.
The gathered friends and family stood in solemn silence, their presence a distant blur at the edges of Emmrich’s awareness. All eyes were on him. On what he was meant to do.
He took the torch.
The wood of the handle felt warm against his palm, almost uncomfortably so despite his dulled senses as an undead. All he had to do was step forward and light the pyre.
One final act. One final offering. A last kindness for the woman he loved.
That was all.
It should have been easy.
But his body refused him.
His feet rooted themselves to the ground, and when he tried to lift the torch, his hands betrayed him. They shook violently, his fingers trembled. The flame wavered, dancing dangerously close to his robes, and suddenly it felt as though the torch weighed as much as the world itself.
His breath hitched.
From his side, a pair of gloved hands reached out and closed gently over his own.
Steady. Solid.
Ren stood beside him, his expression neutral, jaw tight. But his eyes told a different story. They were red-rimmed, glassy with grief he had not allowed himself to show until now.
“Together?” Ren asked quietly.
The word shattered something inside Emmrich.
A sound tore free from his chest as his composure finally gave way, his breath coming uneven, his shoulders beginning to shake. He nodded, unable to trust his voice.
Ren adjusted his grip, anchoring Emmrich as though he were something fragile. Slowly, deliberately, he guided the torch forward. The flame kissed the dry wood at the base of the pyre, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Then the fire caught.
Flames crept upward, tentative at first, then eager, licking greedily through the stacked timber, feeding hungrily on the wood. Heat rolled outward in waves, pressing against Emmrich’s glamour, searing his senses.
The jasmine petals scattered by the rising air, pale and fleeting before darkening, curling, and collapsing into ash.
When the fire reached the coffin, Emmrich’s breath caught in his throat.
As the first edge of flame touched the hem of her burial dress, panic surged through him, sudden and overwhelming. He lurched forward instinctively, arm outstretched—
“No—”
Ren caught him immediately, wrapping both arms around his torso and pulling him back with surprising strength.
Emmrich’s mouth fell open in a soundless cry that tore into a sob as the flames climbed higher and brighter in a cruel, but beautiful dance. They consumed the white fabric, devoured the flowers, erased the shape of her body piece by piece until there was nothing left to reach for.
“No…” he whispered, the word breaking apart as it left him.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed backward into Ren’s arms. Ren held him without hesitation, bracing him fully, letting Emmrich bury his face against his shoulder as the sobs finally came. Raw, uncontrolled, devastating.
“I’ve got you,” Ren murmured, voice thick as he pressed his forehead briefly against Emmrich’s temple. “I’ve got you.”
Davrin stepped forward then, resting a hand between Emmrich’s shoulder blades, rubbing slow, steady circles meant to soothe. But the gesture felt distant, futile against the enormity of the loss tearing through him.
The fire roared.
The crackling of burning wood drowned out everything else, masking the occasional sharp pop and wet sizzle of flesh surrendering to flame. The scent of jasmine lingered stubbornly at first, sweet and familiar, but even that was eventually overwhelmed, thinned, and lost entirely to smoke and heat.
Until there was nothing left of it at all.
Only fire.
Only ash.
Only the promise he had made.
And the unbearable cost of keeping it.
It took hours.
The fire, once ravenous and bright, slowly consumed itself until there was nothing left to feed it. The flames dwindled from roaring tongues into sullen embers, then into a dull, wavering glow before finally surrendering altogether. What remained was a wide bed of ash, grey and fragile, disturbed only by the occasional whisper of night air.
The sun had long since slipped beneath the horizon.
One by one, friends and family departed in hushed clusters, offering murmured condolences, gentle touches to shoulders, eyes that lingered too long on Emmrich before turning away. Eventually, even those faded into the dark, leaving the funeral grounds empty and still.
Only Emmrich and Ren remained.
They stood side by side before the remains, neither quite ready to leave, neither willing to say so aloud. The night felt vast in the absence of ceremony, the world moving on without permission.
Emmrich watched Ren from the corner of his eye.
He had grown into a man Esha had spoken of with quiet pride over the years, strong in ways that had nothing to do with magic, steady in his convictions, stubborn to a fault. So much like her. Their relationship had never been simple. Ren’s discomfort with necromancy and magic had once been a wall between them, thick and unyielding. But time and Esha had worn it down. Not erased it, but softened it into something livable.
Cordial. Respectful.
Family, in its own uneven way.
“You look well, Ren,” Emmrich said at last.
Ren shifted, scuffing his boot against a loose stone. “You too,” he replied, then hesitated. “For an undead… I guess.”
Emmrich lifted a brow but let the comment pass with a quiet sigh. There were some battles not worth fighting, not tonight.
“Thank you,” Ren said after a moment, eyes fixed on the ash rather than on Emmrich. “For handling the funeral for Mum. I heard she spent her last days happy. And that she passed quickly.”
“Yes,” Emmrich answered, nodding. “She passed in her sleep. After overindulging in bowls of laksa the house chef prepared.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “Three large bowls before I finally stopped her. I suspect she would have gone for a fourth if I’d let her.”
Ren let out a quiet scoff. “Really? She could still eat all that?”
“Apparently,” Emmrich replied, shoulders lifting in a small shrug.
“What else did you two lovebirds do after?” Ren asked.
Emmrich’s gaze drifted upward, toward where the sky had once burned orange and gold. “I took her up to the top terrace. We watched the sun set together.”
He swallowed. “Though she refused to look at it. Spent the entire time staring at me instead.”
Ren huffed softly. “Sounds like her.” After a beat, he added, “Sounds like a good last day.”
“It was,” Emmrich said, though his shoulders slumped slightly, the admission costing him more than he cared to show.
Silence settled again, thick but not uncomfortable, as they stood before what remained of the woman who had bound them together.
After a moment, Ren reached into his pocket.
“Here,” he said, producing a small cloth sack. “Mum told me to give these to you.”
Emmrich accepted it, surprised by how light it felt in his hand. When he shook it gently, there was only a soft, hollow rustle.
“What is it?” he asked.
Ren nodded toward it. “Take a look.”
Emmrich loosened the tie and poured some of the contents into his palm.
Seeds.
Small, slightly oval, its texture and shape familiar.
“They’re jasmine seeds,” Ren explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “The specific kind Mum liked.”
“Jasminum officinale,” Emmrich murmured automatically.
Ren blinked. “Yeah. That one.” He fumbled in his pockets again, relief evident when he produced a folded stack of papers. “There were instructions too. I made sure the seller included everything, soil, sunlight, watering, all of it.”
Emmrich took the papers, flipping through them slowly, carefully.
“Thank you, my boy,” he said, smiling.
Ren scoffed, looking away. “No. Thank you. Truly.”
Emmrich glanced up. “For what?”
“For being there for Mum. For loving her.” Ren’s voice softened. “I might not be… comfortable around you. But she was. And that’s what matters.”
Emmrich inclined his head, accepting the words without embellishment.
“And besides,” Ren added, stretching his arms, “the kids have been whining nonstop about wanting to see Grandpa.”
Emmrich stilled.
Then, slowly, a smile, cheeky and entirely unguarded spread across his face. It was the first in days that felt real.
“You and your family know where to find me,” he said.
Ren nodded, turning toward the path back to the house. “Come on. Let’s go inside. The staff will handle the rest of Mum.”
Emmrich cast one last look at the ash before following.
For the first time since the fire had died, he felt the faintest sense that leaving did not mean abandoning her.
After all, both of them are carrying her forward in their own way.
Days later.
Back in Cumberland, Nevarra.
Emmrich sat at the desk in his study. Correspondence lay spread before him, petitions, reports, requests that would one day require his attention, but for now, they remained untouched. His gaze drifted over the words without truly seeing them, his thoughts elsewhere.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” he called, voice steady despite the quiet hollowness beneath it.
The door creaked open, and Sebastian stepped inside.
The wisp housed in a skeleton had dressed himself with care, tried to, at least: polished boots, a wool blazer buttoned just slightly crooked. Sebastian just recently learned about the concept of clothing.
Balanced carefully in his bony hands was a tray bearing two items, a cloth-wrapped object and a sealed letter.
“Ah, Sebastian,” Emmrich said, turning in his chair. “What do you have there?”
Sebastian rattled enthusiastically, producing a series of excited hisses as he crossed the room and set the tray down, just a touch too firmly.
The objects clinked.
Emmrich sighed. “Gentle hands, Sebastian. Slowly, all right?”
The skeleton froze. Then came a series of apologetic hisses and a subdued clatter as he straightened and stepped back, clasping his hands together like a chastened child.
Emmrich smiled despite himself and reached for the letter.
The handwriting was familiar.
He opened it carefully.
Hey Emmrich,
If you’re reading this, that means I got the right address. You and Mum moved around so much I had a hard time remembering which home you two were favouring.
A faint huff of amusement escaped Emmrich.
The family and I scattered most of her ashes at the beach. Figured she’d like that, so she can be as free as possible.
We kept a small portion for you, as a keepsake. Do as you wish with it.
I hope the jasmine seeds aren’t giving you too much trouble. I hear they’re hardy, but they do need time to settle.
Like we talked about, the kids are whining about seeing you soon. Let us know when it’ll be convenient.
Take care of yourself,
—Ren
Emmrich lowered the letter slowly, fingers lingering at the edge of the paper. He exhaled, a sound caught somewhere between gratitude and ache, and turned his attention to the wrapped item beside it.
With deliberate care, he loosened the cloth.
Nestled within was a small ornate jar, its surface etched with delicate geometric patterns worn smooth by age. It fit neatly in his hands, lighter than he expected, lighter than it had any right to be.
He opened it gingerly.
Ash.
Soft, pale, unassuming. There was nothing remarkable about it at first glance, no trace of the woman it had once been, no echo of warmth or voice or laughter. And yet his chest tightened all the same.
“Hello, my dear,” he breathed. “Welcome home. I hope the journey was not too arduous.”
He closed the jar and set it gently on the desk, regarding it with a sad, fond smile.
“Just so you know,” he added quietly, “the seeds Ren gave me have sprouted. Sebastian did a fine job getting them started.”
Sebastian straightened proudly, producing a pleased hiss that rattled faintly through his ribcage.
“Speaking of which,” Emmrich continued, rising from his chair, “could you bring me the tray by the window? Very gently this time.”
Sebastian nodded vigorously, then caught himself, and moved with exaggerated slowness across the room. He returned holding a shallow tray draped with a damp cloth.
Beneath it, the jasmine seedlings had begun to emerge.
Tiny green shoots pressed upward from the light layer of dark soil, fragile yet determined, their pale stems catching the light like something hopeful. Emmrich leaned closer, studying them quietly.
Sebastian tilted his skull, gaze flicking between the seedlings and the jar on the desk.
“Hiss?”
Emmrich paused. “What was that, Sebastian?”
“Hissss.”
He followed the skeleton’s line of sight, comprehension dawning slowly. He tilted his head to the side as he considered Sebastian's suggestion.
“Mixing some of Esha’s ashes with the soil we’ll use to plant the jasmine?” he murmured.
The idea settled into him, warm and steady.
“That…” His voice lifted. “That sounds like a very good idea.”
He gathered the tray in one hand and the jar in the other, feeling for the first time since Ventus that the weight he carried was not solely grief.
“Come on, Sebastian,” he said, heading out of his office and down towards the back door. “We have some gardening to do.”
Sebastian followed, hissing happily as the cottage door opened. Happy to be able to play with some dirt and grow things.
A few years later…
Cumberland, Nevarra.
Summerday
Sunlight spilled through the cottage windows in wide, honeyed bands, warming stone and wood alike. The air carried the soft promise of summer, open doors, slow afternoons, the distant hum of life continuing exactly as it always had.
Emmrich stood near the dining table, arms folded, watching as Sebastian fussed over the final details with intense concentration. Forks were nudged by fractions of an inch, plates adjusted and readjusted, a napkin smoothed flat and then smoothed again for good measure.
“That is quite enough, Sebastian,” Emmrich said fondly. “You did a fantastic job with the table setting.”
Sebastian froze.
Then he clapped his skeletal hands together and hissed gleefully, ribs rattling with pride.
Before Emmrich could say another word, a sharp knock sounded at the front door. Sebastian turned at once and hurried over, boots clomping unevenly across the floor as he pulled the door open.
The moment it swung wide, two mid-height elves burst inside like a storm.
“GRANDPA!”
They collided with Emmrich at full speed, nearly knocking him over as small arms wrapped around his waist. Emmrich laughed, startled and delighted, instinctively catching them both as they clung to him.
“Hello, you two!” he exclaimed, steadying himself as he gathered them close. “Oh, you’ve grown so much! When did that happen?”
Both children chattered at once, voices overlapping, laughter filling the cottage in a way it hadn’t for some time.
Ren stepped in behind them, shaking his head as he closed the door. “Careful,” he said dryly. “You’ll break Grandpa.”
Emmrich scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Do you know, I am sturdier than that.”
The children, apparently satisfied with their greeting, soon detached themselves and swarmed Sebastian instead, tugging at his sleeves and peppering him with questions. Sebastian welcomed the attention enthusiastically, bending down to their level and responding with a series of animated hisses that sent them into peals of laughter.
“How is the missus?” Emmrich asked as he drew Ren into a brief embrace.
Ren sighed, though there was a smile in it. “Busy with the third bun in the oven. She’s sorry she couldn’t make it this time. The travel would have made her too sick.”
“That’s quite all right,” Emmrich said at once. “Perhaps I can come to you next time.”
He didn’t wait for a reply before clapping his hands together lightly, eyes brightening. “Come, come. I have something to show you.”
Ren raised a brow but followed as Emmrich guided him through the back of the cottage and out into the garden.
The moment the door opened, the scent hit him.
Jasmine, fresh and heady, sweet without being overpowering, hung thick in the warm air. Ren stopped short, eyes widening as he took in the sight before him.
The jasmine vines had grown exuberant and wild, climbing the external wall of the cottage in dense, living waves. White blossoms clustered among glossy green leaves, spilling outward as though the garden itself could no longer contain them.
“It’s gotten so big,” Ren breathed.
Emmrich nodded, a soft, wistful smile touching his lips. “I know.”
He stepped closer, reaching out to brush his fingers against the blossoms. The petals were plush and cool beneath his touch, impossibly delicate.
“Every time I come out here,” he said quietly, “it feels like your mother is with me.”
Ren joined him, hesitating only a moment before reaching out as well. His fingers lingered among the leaves and flowers, careful, reverent.
“…Yes,” he said after a beat. “It does feel like she’s close by.”
The jasmine stirred gently in the breeze, releasing another wave of fragrance into the sunlit air.
And for a moment, just a moment, it felt as though she truly was.