The Destructive Adventures of the Lovers-Chapter 78: Memories of the Past

The air hung heavy with the scent of freshly turned earth, damp and cold beneath the gray, weeping sky. The cemetery stretched before them, a field of whispering stones and twisted, leafless trees. The mourners gathered in silence, their breaths misting in the frigid air, their cloaks drawn tight against the chill.

A solemn line of knights, their armor still battered and bloodstained, carried the bodies through the iron gates. Xyrille, Raven, and Ella lay upon heavy wooden platforms, their faces pale and still, their wounds carefully wrapped, though the stains of battle still clung to their skin.

King Jacob stood at the forefront, his head bowed, his eyes shadowed by the weight of a shattered kingdom. The wind caught his cloak, sending it billowing like the wings of a fallen angel. He took a step forward, his hand trembling as he placed it on Xyrille's still, cold forehead.

"You were brave," he whispered, his voice a fragile thread in the icy air. "You fought for this world, for our people. You deserved better." ƒгeewebnovёl.com

A soft, heartbroken sob cut through the silence. It was Ella's mother, her knees sinking into the frozen dirt as she clutched her daughter's lifeless hand. "My little girl," she choked, her voice breaking with each word. "My light... my joy..."

A young knight stepped forward, his face streaked with tears, his hands trembling as he held Raven's broken helm against his chest. "He saved my life," the knight said, his voice thick with grief. "He pushed me out of the way when the blade came down... He... he didn't hesitate."

The crowd murmured, their tears freezing against their cheeks as the memories of the fallen washed over them. Every face, every whisper, a reflection of the void left behind.

The high priest stepped forward, his white robes stained with the mud of the battlefield, his hands raised to the bleak, uncaring sky. "May their souls find peace," he intoned, his voice echoing off the cold stone markers. "May their sacrifice never be forgotten."

King Jacob closed his eyes, his throat tightening, his heart a shattered, bleeding thing in his chest. He clenched his fists, his breath a harsh, ragged thing in the biting air. "We will not forget them," he said, his voice sharp, desperate, cutting through the winter gloom. "We will carry their memory with every step, every breath, until this world is free again."

With a final, aching glance at his fallen comrades, he turned away, his cloak trailing through the snow, the echoes of grief and loss following him like a specter.

The cold lingered, even as the last shovelful of earth fell over the fresh graves. The crowd had thinned, the distant clang of armor and muffled sobs fading into the gray horizon. Only a small group remained, their shadows long and weary against the snow-covered ground.

Margo knelt beside Xyrille's grave, her breath coming in sharp, icy gasps. She traced the edge of the freshly carved stone, her fingers numb, her heart a hollow, aching thing. "She always had this laugh," Margo whispered, her voice breaking, "like a wind chime in a storm... even when things got rough, she never lost it."

Gabriel leaned against the twisted trunk of a nearby tree, his face shadowed, his eyes distant. "Xyrille saved my life once," he murmured, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "I was pinned down, my back against the wall... and she came out of nowhere, her blade a flash of light in the dark. I never got to thank her."

Matt sat on the edge of Ella's grave, his head bowed, his hands clenching and unclenching as if trying to hold onto something already slipping through his fingers. "Ella was always the first to charge in, the first to take the hit if it meant saving the rest of us. She had this... fire in her eyes, like she couldn't stand the thought of anyone else getting hurt."

Owen's voice cut through the silence, sharp and trembling. "She once told me she'd dance on my grave if I ever fell in battle before her." He let out a bitter, hollow laugh, his head tilting back to the gray sky. "Guess I'll have to keep my word now."

Zeze crossed her arms, her jaw tight, her eyes hard as flint. "Xyrille used to train with me," she said, her voice low, edged with a pain she rarely let show. "She was always the one pushing me, calling me out when I got lazy. She had this... fire. She made me stronger."

The wind whispered through the twisted branches above, a cold, mournful sound that carried their words into the empty sky. The snow around them seemed to absorb their grief, pulling it into the frozen ground, burying it beneath the weight of a thousand forgotten memories.

For a long time, they said nothing, their breaths misting in the cold air, their hearts heavy with the echoes of lost laughter and forgotten promises.

Finally, Margo rose to her feet, her fingers brushing the icy stone one last time. "We'll remember them," she whispered, her eyes glassy, her voice a fragile, shivering thing. "Every battle, every breath... we'll carry them with us."

The others nodded, their faces etched with grief, their eyes shadowed by the weight of the past. Slowly, they turned away from the graves, their footsteps heavy, their breaths harsh and ragged as they left the dead behind, the snow whispering their names as the storm gathered on the distant horizon.

The others had left, their shadows swallowed by the frostbitten fog that clung to the cemetery. Only Matt remained, his boots rooted in the snow, his breath coming in harsh, ragged puffs as he knelt before Ella's freshly covered grave.

He reached out, his fingers trembling as they traced the rough, icy stone that marked her final resting place. His eyes burned, the cold seeping into his bones, but he didn't move. He couldn't.

"Ella," he whispered, his voice cracking, the sound swallowed by the freezing air. "You remember that night... the one by the river? We stole those stupid wooden swords and played knights until the sun came up."

A bitter, hollow laugh escaped his lips, his hand curling into a fist against the frozen ground. "You kept calling yourself the 'Queen of the Hill' and refused to let me win... even once."

He closed his eyes, memories flooding his mind, sharp and clear as shards of glass. Her laughter, bright and fierce, echoing through the trees. The way her eyes sparkled when she drew first blood in their sparring matches, the wild grin she always wore when she got the upper hand.

"I still remember that look you gave me when I fell into the river," he choked, tears freezing on his cheeks, his breath coming in shaky gasps. "You laughed so hard, you fell in after me. You said you'd always be by my side... even if it meant sinking together."

He leaned forward, his forehead touching the cold, unyielding stone. His shoulders shook, his breaths coming in harsh, broken sobs that echoed through the empty cemetery. "I wasn't there," he whispered, his voice a shattered, desperate thing. "I wasn't there when you needed me... I should have... I should have..."

The stars above blinked down, cold and distant, their light splintering through the frozen branches overhead. He tilted his head back, his eyes glazed with tears, his breath a thin, misty thread in the air.

"Do you see them, Ella?" he murmured, his voice raw and aching. "The stars... just like that night. You said they looked like a thousand tiny fires, each one a promise, a memory."

He stretched out on the cold, unforgiving earth, his head resting beside the gravestone, his fingers digging into the frost-covered dirt. The world felt vast and empty around him, the stars spinning above, indifferent to his grief.

"I miss you," he whispered, his breath misting into the frigid air. "I miss you so much."

He lay there, his eyes fixed on the glittering sky, his heart a broken, bleeding thing in his chest, as the night closed in around him.