A/N: Two chapters today-- I won't be home until late, so I will not be posting tomorrow.
On the day of his funeral, I could hardly tell that it was Reks lying in the coffin. I'd only seen him in his armor twice-- the first time when he was leaving, alive, supple, ready to fight for Rabanastre; the second, when he returned, dying, slow breaths punctuated by almost-silent moans of pain.
Penelo's family paid for the burial. They said he was like a son to them, and it was the least they could do, and they were so sorry I was going through this; first you parents, now your brother, whatever are we going to do with you, you poor boy.
I thought it was bad when Reks left for the war. At least I knew he would come home from that.
There's something so permanent about seeing him burning away, about seeing his ashes scattered into the desert to join with the ashes of thousands before him.
I woke with the taste of ash in my mouth and the feeling that I'd never really been alive.