Rookwen Graveyard | Dusk of 13 Achtus, 2719
Jon Serro was dead. It had been over a year since she had met him and last seen him, some blustery day between whipping aeroship rutters and caving prison walls. It had been some three months since he had been found face down in the river. She hadn’t completely agreed with him when she met him, but, he seemed passionate. She had been distant since then, what with Cecelia and her baby and trying to keep them safe and healthy to the best of her ability- but there was still some pain there, despite not really knowing the man.
Sednai had been waiting three months for the Resistance to stir again. She waited for a letter, waited to read a headline as Cecelia helped her learn to read, waited. And nothing came. She heard whispers of the Resistance being dead just after his death, and now she was scared they were true. Where was everyone? Who were they rallying behind? Had they given up hope?
She had not. At least, she didn’t think she had. She still wanted to fight, that was the promise she had made to herself. She wanted a family one day, but only if they could live better than she had. She still had to fight, but, she wasn’t sure where to start.
The Remembrance was a start. It was a fairly pleasant night for Achtus, a light breeze deepening the growing cold under a rising gibbous moon and stars unshamed by clouds. Sednai walked alone, a parcel clutched to her chest. The worn black coat and shrunken hem of her outgrown dress danced around her boots and stockings. She had never celebrated the Remembrance, nor had she been to the Rookwen Graveyard save for her personal scouting mission earlier that morning, but this year she needed to. Even if she was the only one, it felt necessary. She wasn’t entirely sure how to celebrate, so, she opted for the leftover sky lanterns she had bought for Galiya during St. Grumbles and a handful of mismatched candles, now clutched to her chest.
She crossed the streets in the same steps she had taken before, this time the people of Vienda turning in for the night instead of heading out for the day, and eventually she came back upon the Rookwen Graveyard, a much more menacing place in the waning daylight. She stepped through the gates of rusted iron and twisting ivy, and the ground crunched underneath her boots, all gravel and dirt and broken marble. An overgrown path of brick was still visible under patches of soft green moss and grass shivering in the cold. It circled in the center before breaking off into three other paths, each more covered. In the center, a naked tree was sleeping, the obvious source of the 14 years of leaves now piled at the interior of the fence. Below the tree, a somewhat still intact statue of pink marble stood, a hand outstretched both from her shoulder and from the shattered path. Sednai was sure that the statues were some gods and people and creatures other people knew, but, they were broken strangers to her. She shivered as she entered. She knew what happened here, but that didn’t make it any less eerie to walk through the graveyard and see blackened and broken headstones, small trenches in the dirt and path where bodies may’ve fallen, scorch marks on the tree, and other signs of a battle so untouched that it could’ve happened only a week before.
It was empty, as she had suspected, and, quietly, she hurried over the rubble to put the yew tree between her and the gate. She set down her parcel, untied it, and lit a solitary candle for her own comfort.
She felt strange in the graveyard, far from a spiritual woman. Yet, the candle held before her, she spun slowly, waiting for some presence to greet her.
“Hello, ghosties,” she whispered. “Not sure what I’m s’posed to do t’remember ya, but I brought ya some candles n’ lanterns, ‘kay? Promise I’m rememberin’. I’ll light suh’more up when- if someone else comes.”
Her breath frosted the air before her. “For now, it’s just you n’ me.”
Sednai had been waiting three months for the Resistance to stir again. She waited for a letter, waited to read a headline as Cecelia helped her learn to read, waited. And nothing came. She heard whispers of the Resistance being dead just after his death, and now she was scared they were true. Where was everyone? Who were they rallying behind? Had they given up hope?
She had not. At least, she didn’t think she had. She still wanted to fight, that was the promise she had made to herself. She wanted a family one day, but only if they could live better than she had. She still had to fight, but, she wasn’t sure where to start.
The Remembrance was a start. It was a fairly pleasant night for Achtus, a light breeze deepening the growing cold under a rising gibbous moon and stars unshamed by clouds. Sednai walked alone, a parcel clutched to her chest. The worn black coat and shrunken hem of her outgrown dress danced around her boots and stockings. She had never celebrated the Remembrance, nor had she been to the Rookwen Graveyard save for her personal scouting mission earlier that morning, but this year she needed to. Even if she was the only one, it felt necessary. She wasn’t entirely sure how to celebrate, so, she opted for the leftover sky lanterns she had bought for Galiya during St. Grumbles and a handful of mismatched candles, now clutched to her chest.
She crossed the streets in the same steps she had taken before, this time the people of Vienda turning in for the night instead of heading out for the day, and eventually she came back upon the Rookwen Graveyard, a much more menacing place in the waning daylight. She stepped through the gates of rusted iron and twisting ivy, and the ground crunched underneath her boots, all gravel and dirt and broken marble. An overgrown path of brick was still visible under patches of soft green moss and grass shivering in the cold. It circled in the center before breaking off into three other paths, each more covered. In the center, a naked tree was sleeping, the obvious source of the 14 years of leaves now piled at the interior of the fence. Below the tree, a somewhat still intact statue of pink marble stood, a hand outstretched both from her shoulder and from the shattered path. Sednai was sure that the statues were some gods and people and creatures other people knew, but, they were broken strangers to her. She shivered as she entered. She knew what happened here, but that didn’t make it any less eerie to walk through the graveyard and see blackened and broken headstones, small trenches in the dirt and path where bodies may’ve fallen, scorch marks on the tree, and other signs of a battle so untouched that it could’ve happened only a week before.
It was empty, as she had suspected, and, quietly, she hurried over the rubble to put the yew tree between her and the gate. She set down her parcel, untied it, and lit a solitary candle for her own comfort.
She felt strange in the graveyard, far from a spiritual woman. Yet, the candle held before her, she spun slowly, waiting for some presence to greet her.
“Hello, ghosties,” she whispered. “Not sure what I’m s’posed to do t’remember ya, but I brought ya some candles n’ lanterns, ‘kay? Promise I’m rememberin’. I’ll light suh’more up when- if someone else comes.”
Her breath frosted the air before her. “For now, it’s just you n’ me.”
