Prologue
JDickensIV

The wind that whipped through the graveyard was crisp and light. It was devoid of the power and cold one finds in true winter. The late Autumn breeze darted between the markers, provoking flowers to dance in their freshly appointed vases.

Zalbag looked down a row of graves, marveling in this choreographed recital. To him it looked as if the occupants were waving goodbye as he passed: or perhaps beckoning him closer. He shook off this feeling, and continued on.

Along the trail and up to the top of a hill, he made his way to the center of the cemetery. Only a few people were gathered there. The priest, at the headstone, with robes of white, red, and shimmering gold- a stark contrast to the haze and gloom of the Autumn morning. A few elder statesmen were there… those too old to take much part in ongoing war efforts. At length, Zalbag spotted his father, and he moved to join him.

Balbanes Beoulve was standing there; grim as Zalbag had ever seen him. To his left was Alma Beoulve: a young girl aged eleven years. Balbanes' left hand rest on her shoulder as she buried her face in his side. His right hand rest on his son, Ramza's right shoulder. Ramza, twelve years of age, stood in front of his father; motionless, staring blankly at the coffin before him.

The priest had the services already underway, so Zalbag stepped lightly and swiftly to his father's side. Upon arriving, he lightly touched Balbanes' shoulder. Balbanes turned to him, smiled weakly and nodded. They both then turned to the priest's sermon.

The priest continued on for some time, until at length he proclaimed, 'St. Ajora, guide your faithful servant into your Holy Light. Farlem.' All those present replied, 'Farlem' in unison.

With the services now concluded, Balbanes, his two sons, and his daughter stayed put as the statesmen and mourners passed by, exchanging commiseration for gratitude.

Once the last of these had passed and were on their way back down the hill, Balbanes turned to Zalbag. 'Glad to see you make it, my son.'

Zalbag nodded solemnly as he replied, 'She was my mother for thirteen years, after all.'

Balbanes sighed, '…Yes.' At length he continued, 'Would you mind watching these two? I've some business with the priest. If you take them to the estate, I'll be along shortly.'

Zalbag nodded. 'Simon, my good priest. Walk with me awhile. I wanted to…' Their voices trailed off as they moved along the western trail, which headed towards the ocean.

Zalbag looked to his siblings. Alma was distraught- liable to breakdown at any moment. Ramza was still, motionless: lips drawn tight and eyes focused far off, on something not altogether there.

Zalbag kneeled down to them, and wrapped his arms around them both: giving them a mighty hug.