His former lord lies to his left, clothes still bloodstained from the battle before. He had taken great care to wash the blood from his fair skin and hair, but to remove the clothes of his former lord would be sacrilege. Though it would be unbecoming for a lord to be buried in the bloodied clothes of a servant, he knows that his lord would prefer it. He was a warrior after all.

Gailardia died with sword in hand.

Van will bury him that way.

His sister lies to his right, dressed in white silk. He had taken great care to protect his sister, to keep her unmarred from battle. Though he had failed, he still removed the blood, the traces of the battle that tarnished her, to make her pure again. She was innocent after all.

Mysterica died still a child.

Van will bury her that way.

He kneels between them, shirt removed and blade laid before him. He had taken great care to perform this ritual properly; had cleansed himself, dressed in white and wrote. Though he was no poet, he was still able to find to write the words, to write of how the sun shall set on the old, shackled world and how the sun shall rise again over a new, free world, how this glorious world shall not be tainted, even by him. He was an original after all.

He faces toward the east, where he can see the final sunset of the old world as he picks up the blade. Then, while the sun is still there, he plunges the blade into his stomach, gritting his teeth as he makes the cut.

Van lived with honor and pride.

Van will die that way.