538- The Pyre's Embrace and the Legacy of Ashes
POV Thalyndra Moonclaw:
The pyre of noble wood rose before me, imposing and marked by the Eldoria symbols carved with perfection. The details, the curves of the ancestral marks, told stories that my father had taught me since I was little, stories that at the moment seemed distant, almost unreal. The flames rose, slowly consuming everything, and the smell of burning wood mixed with the light aroma of the herbs that had been thrown over the fire. The smoke danced in the air, blending with the wind that blew from the mountains, carrying with it the last vestige of my father.
I saw his notebook being swallowed by the flames, the pages shrinking, turning to ash. That notebook, which had so often been in his hands, which held his secrets, his notes on the history of wolves, now disappeared before my eyes. It seemed wrong to see something so full of meaning reduced to dust, and at the same time, it was liberating.
It was the end of everything. The end of him.
I felt my chest tighten. An immense emptiness took over me. The words he left me, his legacy, were already with me, engraved in my mind and in my heart. But it still hurt. Burning that notebook was accepting that he was gone for good, that nothing more remained to be said, no advice, no story. Everything he was, what he meant to me, was being carried away by the smoke, floating toward the sky.
I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. Only the pain remained. As I watched the last pages disintegrate, a part of me said goodbye to him in a way I never thought possible. The final farewell. Not just to him, but to everything he represented.
I was dressed in white, just like all the Eldoria.
They wore white at their funerals, not as a symbol of mourning, but of renewal. For them, death was not an end, but a transition, a rebirth. White represented the purity of that passage, a liberation of the body toward something greater. It was the color that marked the acceptance of life's cycle, the reminder that every soul, upon departing, finds its place among the ancients. Seeing everyone in white around me, I couldn't help but feel the strength of that tradition.
I blinked, my eyes burning from the smoke, but unable to look away.
My father would be so proud, even in ecstasy, to have the opportunity to participate in something so symbolic.
That was just one more of Anton's many acts for which I would be eternally grateful. He thought of everything, from the beginning, when we were nothing more than strangers.
As if sensing the direction my thoughts were taking, I felt his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. He moved closer, his arm brushing against mine.
Everyone in silence, contemplating the tribute to my father, their eyes fixed on the flames. The crackling of the fire was the only sound filling the air as the smoke rose slowly. There were no words that could express what each one felt. Silence was the only possible tribute, a reverence to the man he had been and to the legacy he left behind.
I knew he would be remembered. Great William Moonclaw, one of the greatest historians of our people, great defender of what we were and of our past.
Finally I felt a tear roll down, my body releasing what I felt inside, exposing my pain, my longing, all the love I nurtured and that would never be forgotten or erased.
I raised my face, observing the clouds in the late afternoon. They moved slowly, tinged by the last rays of the sun, as if the sky too was saying goodbye. The wind blew against my skin and, for a brief moment, I felt as if he were there, beside me, an invisible but undeniable presence. It was a moment of farewell, but also of connection. He would always be with me, in memories, in teachings, and in that sky, which now seemed so distant and, at the same time, so close.
I let out a heavy sigh. Anton's hand pressed mine, a silent support.
I stood there until the pyre turned to dust. The flames died slowly, consuming what remained until everything was nothing but ashes. I couldn't move. It was as if, by walking away, I would leave a piece of him behind, a piece of myself. But I remained, watching every particle of wood disintegrate, until the wind began to carry the ashes away, just as he had been taken.
The Eldoria moved away toward the center of the village, where a festivity would be held to celebrate who my father had been in life. It was their tradition — to celebrate the memory of those who departed with joy, as a way to honor the legacy left behind. Drinks and food would be served, and around the tables, conversations about him would spread. Every story, every shared memory, would be a toast to the man he was, keeping his essence alive, even after his departure. But I wasn't ready to join them yet. My farewell needed one more moment of silence.
Lunara approached and gave me a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry, dear." She kissed my temple, pulling away.
Next, Lyris, Celindra, and Nicoleta did the same. I reacted mechanically, accepting their condolences. Vladren came right after, and then Edric. The alpha placed his hand on my shoulder and looked at me.
"William was one of the best males I ever knew. He was intelligent, honorable, and shrewd. I am grateful to have had the honor of knowing him and even more grateful that he sent us you, my son's predestined companion. It is an honor to share blood with William Moonclaw, to know that our legacies will be passed on together," he said, before stepping away as well.
Only Anton, Myrion, Aurelka, Lana, and I remained.
"We have something to show you," said the youngest Eldoria, seeming anxious.
With a nod, I cast one last look at the pyre that had turned to ashes, scattered across the sky. She walked ahead, heading to the opposite side from where the party was taking place. Hand in hand with Anton, we followed in the same direction as her, as did Myrion and Lana.