A heavy silence hung over the village.
Ash still darkened the morning sky, and the ground was scattered with marks of struggle, blood, and dead flames. The night beasts had been driven back. But at what cost?
The cursed king… was no more.
And those who had burned him, those who had shouted, raised their pitchforks… now lowered their eyes.
They had seen. Understood. Too late.
Wilfred was not their executioner. He was their shield.
---
Three days later, under a light rain, a silent procession left the village.
Aria walked at the front, her hands stained with ash and earth. Roy, by her side, supported her, saying nothing.
On a stone bier rested Wilfred's body, covered with a white sheet. His face was peaceful, almost human, almost beautiful.
They climbed the hills, passed through the rusty gates of the old castle.
Everything was abandoned, overrun with ivy and shadow. But in its center, a small garden remained intact.
White roses grew there, miraculously spared.
— He had told me… that this was where he wanted to sleep, Aria whispered, placing a hand on the mossy stone.
They dug in silence. No prayers, no songs. Only the sound of the wind and the beating of Aria's heart.
When they laid down the body, Aria made a gesture: she took out a small rolled parchment. It was the Symphony of the Void, which she had transcribed from memory.
She wrapped it around Wilfred's frozen fingers.
Then she sang.
Her voice trembled, but she sang the chorus, tears running down her cheeks.
The last verse floated away into the gray air, and the earth slowly covered the tomb.
---
The village was never the same again.
Those who had raised their hands against Wilfred could not sleep for weeks. Some left offerings at the castle; others prayed silently in the fields.
The most superstitious said the sky had grown clearer over the valley. Others said that on certain nights, they had seen a winged figure watching from afar, in the mist.
---
Aria changed.
She no longer laughed as before. She was gentle, but marked. Yet something shone in her eyes: the strength of one who has seen truth through pain.
She resumed her apothecary's care, but often she sat near the rose garden with a notebook. Sometimes she wrote, sometimes she sang. Sometimes she wept silently.
Roy kept his distance.
He watched her from afar, eaten by silent guilt. He had loved Aria, but now… he no longer knew where he stood.
One evening, as he waited for her at the doorstep, he gathered his courage.
— Aria… I'm sorry. I failed to protect you. I misjudged. I…
She looked up at him, without anger.
— You did what you thought was right. And so did he. You fought by his side, Roy. He saved you… as he saved me. Maybe… that's enough to ease his soul.
They stayed like that, silently, for a long time.
Then Aria resumed:
— I want to keep his memory alive. So people remember what he did… not what he was supposed to be.
---
A few months later, a small shrine was built near the castle.
A simple altar, a white rose engraved in stone.
And on a wooden plaque, a phrase:
"Here sleeps the king of shadow, silent guardian, victim of our fears, hero of our salvation."
Every year, on the first day of autumn, Aria sings there. She closes her eyes… and still hears the last note of the Symphony of the Void floating on the wind.
---
Would you like the next chapter to jump forward in time with an unexpected return? A reborn legend? Or explore another path?