Chapter 63 The Funerals
CAIN
Silas's funeral is the first.
It has to be. He was Silvercrest's founder. Four hundred years of fighting for coexistence, ending in a collapsing ritual chamber while protecting two kids who represented everything he believed in.
The ceremony is at dawn in Moonstone Forest, the clearing where Silas used to meditate. Vampires from across North America have come to pay respects. Some I know. Most I don't. But they all knew him. All respected what he built.
Rafael stands beside me, holding the urn containing Silas's ashes. We burned his body according to his wishes, written decades ago in documents none of us thought we'd need so soon.
"You're giving the eulogy," Rafael says quietly. "You ready?"
"No. How do I summarize four hundred years in a speech? How do I explain what he meant?"
"You tell the truth. That's what he'd want."
The gathering settles. Approximately two hundred people, supernatural and human, all here to honor Silvercrest's founder.
I step forward with the urn. Try to find words.
"Silas Thorne spent four hundred years proving vampires could be more than monsters. He could have lived in isolation, hoarding power and immortality. Instead, he built Silvercrest. Created a place where supernatural and human students could learn together. Where coexistence wasn't just theory but practice."
My voice cracks. I force it steady.
"Three days ago, he died protecting two students from a hunter who wanted to weaponize one and murder the other. He took a silver blade through the heart. Held Victoria Ashford back long enough for them to escape. And he died smiling, having seen the impossible accomplished. Having seen his dream survive."
I open the urn.
"He asked that his ashes be scattered here, in the forest he loved. So he could remain part of Silvercrest even after death." I pour the ashes slowly, watching them drift on the morning breeze. "We're alive because of him. Silvercrest exists because of him. Coexistence is possible because he spent four hundred years proving it could be."
The last of the ashes scatter into the forest.
"We'll miss him. We'll grieve him. But we'll honor him by continuing what he started. By building the world he died protecting."
Silence. Then Marcus steps forward.
"Silas saved me. Turned me when I was dying, then spent decades teaching me to be more than just a predator. Everything I am, everything I've built, I owe to him."
Others speak. Stories of Silas teaching them, saving them, believing in them when no one else did. Four hundred years of accumulated impact, demonstrated through the people he touched.
When the ceremony ends, we leave the clearing in silence. The ashes remain, becoming part of the forest Silas loved.
MIRA
Lyra's funeral is smaller. More intimate.
She has no family except Cain and the coven. No vampire community mourning her loss because she spent two hundred years hating what she was.
But she's being buried human, exactly as she chose.
The gravestone is simple granite, already placed. I read the inscription:
Lyra Devereaux 1804 - 2026 Found peace in choice
"She chose this," Cain says beside me. He's been quiet all morning, grief written across his face. "Chose to die human instead of living forever as something she hated."
"She also chose to stop Damien. To give us time to escape."
"Both things are true." He places flowers on the fresh grave. "She spent two hundred years being defined by Thomas's choice to turn her. In the end, she defined herself by choosing her own death."
The ceremony is brief. Just the coven and a few students who knew her. No priest, no religious elements. Just people who cared about her saying goodbye.
Rafael speaks about watching her struggle with vampire nature for decades. Sophie talks about Lyra mentoring young vampires, teaching them it was okay to hate what they'd become. Dominique shares stories that make people laugh and cry simultaneously.
When it's my turn, I don't know what to say.
"I barely knew her. But she died so Damien couldn't capture me. Died holding him off long enough for Cain and me to escape." My voice is steady. Clinical. Disconnected. "Her last words were about choosing love over fear. About not wasting this. About being happy."
I should feel more. Should be crying. Should be something other than this hollow emptiness.
But thirty-three people died because of Victoria's crusade against me. Thirty-three funerals to attend in three days.
I'm running out of grief. Running out of feeling.
Cain takes my hand as we leave the cemetery. "You okay?"
"No. But I'm functional. That's enough for now."
JAX
Tyler's funeral follows werewolf traditions.
We're in Moonstone Forest again, different clearing. Pack only. Ashley, Marcus, Jordan, Sam, and me. What's left after Finn died and Tyler died and everything went to hell.
Tyler's body is on the pyre. We spent yesterday preparing him according to ritual. Washing. Anointing. Wrapping in white cloth that represents the moon.
"Pack gathers," I say formally, beginning the ceremony. Still strange being alpha. Still feels like Tyler should be here leading this. "We honor our fallen. We remember pack."
Ashley lights the pyre. Flames catch immediately, rising high.
"Tyler challenged me. Left the pack. Called me compromised." My voice is steady despite the grief. "But he came back. Fought beside me. Died protecting students from Damien's attack. Died defending pack even though he'd left it."
"Pack," Marcus echoes. "Always pack."
"He was right to challenge me. Right to question my choices. Right to demand better from his alpha." I watch the flames consume Tyler's body. "I never got to tell him that. Never got to say he was pack regardless of disagreement."
"He knew," Ashley says quietly. "The fact he came back proves he knew."
The ceremony continues. Each pack member speaks. Shares memories. Talks about Tyler's loyalty, his strength, his determination to protect even when it meant fighting someone stronger.
When the pyre burns down to ash, we howl. Pack mourning. Grief made sound echoing through the forest.
Finn's ashes were scattered weeks ago. Now Tyler's join them, becoming part of the territory we protect.
Seven wolves at the winter formal. Five remaining. Two dead protecting pack from ancient vampires who treated young werewolves like obstacles to be removed.
"We remember," I say as the ceremony ends. "We honor. We continue."
"Pack," the others respond.
Pack. Despite loss. Despite grief. Despite everything.
Always pack.