~50 years after the events at Mullonde
It was raining. Not one of those good, soft, drizzle rains that seemed as if the world was beginning anew. It was a hard, mournful rain that stirred chills deep in the bones of those standing outside.
One of those outside, Mirhalim, rivulets of water running down his rain-darkened hair, stood unmoving, barely listening to the chaplain as he took a quick glance at the sky. He shuddered, drawing his cloak closer to himself, and almost wondered what he was doing out here, as he stared at the grey sky. A sword was belted at his waist, this one purely ceremonial, unlike his functional one that had remained at home. It had a hilt overlaid with gold leaf and a pommel with a dragon's head with a ruby in its mouth. His gaze wandered to the monuments surrounding them on this plain, depictions of great heroes who had championed their house into greatness.
He brought his gaze back down to the black coffin, brilliantly embossed with gold in the crest of the occupant's house. His childhood friend's father had passed on, old age instead of wounds in battle as would have happened fifty years ago when the entire continent was embroiled in war. He sighed, almost longing for the days when his military training would have actually served some purpose. Nowadays minor conflicts still did occur but nobles were loathe to send their sons to such small skirmishes, so he had not applied his training. The best he could hope for in this day and age was bandit skirmishes.
The scene he was witnessing brought him back to his senses though. There was no glory in death, only an end that he had no idea where it would take him. He tried to believe the chaplain's sermon on his "uncle", as he called him despite the lack of blood relation, tried to believe he was in a place of perfection, but it was hard.
He shook some rain off himself and caught his friend, Rior, glancing at what he was doing. Rior had quickly turned his head back to the chaplain and stood beside his brothers, who towered over him by almost a head despite Rior being full-grown. He was average height but his brothers and father had all been tall men. He was five years the youngest son of his brothers but had two younger sisters who stood with his mother. His eldest brother, Seshuan, was approaching his thirtieth year and was preparing himself to lead the household. He was highly respected and expected to lead his house into great prosperity and Rior respected and idolized his eldest brother greatly. Mirhalim admired the man as well, his skills unparalleled amongst any he had seen. His father's death weighed heavily on Seshuan, however, as he was visibly distressed. So much was being put on his shoulders and he had not formally accepted the head of the house yet.
Mirhalim turned his gaze back to the aged priest standing at the casket and realized as he listened that the sermon was being concluded and the chaplain bowed his head and all others did so as well as he closed in a prayer to St. Ajora.
"... may you guide and keep the Illu household as a bastion against those who would seek to destroy, may the house continue now and forever in service to the nation, people, and church as it always has, may ..."
Mirhalim stopped listening again and looked over to Rior, Mirhalim's eyes being the only ones opened. He imagined his friend in reverent prayer as he always was when prayers were said and almost smiled to himself thinking about the concentration that always seemed to work its way into his face when he prayed as if he were trying to force something to happen. More drops than what was rained on him fell off his face, and Mirhalim suddenly felt guilty about not listening and re-bowed his head.
The chaplain concluded his prayers and Rior, Seshuan and their other brothers stepped forward and slowly lowered the coffin into the ground beneath an enormous monumental headstone. A marble statue of his uncle was above the deep hole in the ground, holding his knight sword aloft. How many battles had he wielded it in? How many times had he defended the church and country, not only with steel, but words as well. He had been the greatest of knights, even being appointed to fill the decimated ranks of Knight Templar after the war had left so few it almost ceased to exist for twenty-five long years. By then his uncle was already a great man, having helped King Delita re-weld the nations back together and was then appointed by the king to become a Knight Templar. He had become a great swordsman and in life had even been compared to Cidolfas Orlandeau in his prime.
There were many gathered at the funeral, coming from all across Ivalice. A complement of knights were bordering the whole funeral, and amongst the front row the shining armour of the Knight-Templars were plainly visible.
The coffin had been lowered into the ground and Seshuan stepped forth raising his father's sword and called for witnesses to the oath he would swear as his father had sworn. All of the people who had brought a sword, bearing one meant they were knights or at least training to be one, grounded their points and fell to one knee, staring at Seshuan, waiting for the words that went back into history.
Seshaun's voice boomed across the plain, easily heard by all "By St. Ajora, the mighty King, and before all these here assembled I swear this oath. I will be steadfast against the dark tide. I will guard Ivalice and its people. I will guard the king and all he stands for, in times of unification or times of divison. My house will guard against these things with me and I will guard my house. I will give honour to all and honour my house. My house shall serve Ajora's will and the churches. Those who challenge even the lowest of my house challenge me. May you all be witnesses as my words seal this oath."