I should be relieved to be included. Honored, even. I mean, I had only known Shea for two days, and now I was attending the man’s royal, military funeral. One where all the army’s elites would be, where Neptune would be… and where Shea’s body would be one last time. However, I couldn’t help but feel a wash of disappointment. I had really, really wanted this to be a letter of reconsideration, asking me to rejoin. My life was currently at an awkward standstill, one I wasn’t sure I’d ever come back from. My parents surely wouldn’t let me stay home much longer, and I didn’t have many skills outside of playing card games, which meant finding a job was going to be rather difficult.

How in the world would I support myself? Would I just… become homeless? Was that where my life was headed? A beggar on the streets, shaking a wooden mug and hoping someone tosses me a pearl? Or a sand dollar?

Gosh, I really hope not.

I stared straight ahead, looking out of the carriage window, wondering about my future, then feeling guilty about even thinking of the things to come when Shea, my dear, deceased platoon leader, was dead, and then circling back to the possible homelessness in my near future. Sigh. It was an endless, vicious cycle. One that went on for far too long. One that mixed with my grief and guilt.

Once we finally arrived at the ceremonial grounds, I stepped out of the carriage and into the gathering, my eyes tracking the guests and the decor. It was surprisingly bright and spirited, with frolicing, bioluminescent jellyfish lighting the paths, gentle currents swirling around them as they drifted lazily between groups of onlookers. The people in attendance were mingling, chatting, catching up. Some were sad, some were teary-eyed, but most seemed at peace. It was different from what I was accustomed to. Instead of somber mourning, it was connective. All guests were brought together by stories of Shea and the ancient, powerful tradition they were about to take part in—one that reached back through the centuries, to when the first kings ruled over the Abyssal Kingdom.

And I was privy to it. I was chosen to witness Shea’s send-off, witness the true end of his life.

I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider among all of these soldiers, nobles and Casters. Everyone seemed so close, so accustomed to each other. The only person in attendance that I knew was Shea and, unfortunately, it did not seem like he’d be coming over to say hello any time soon.

After a few more moments of conversational waiting, the crowd was beckoned to gather together at the center of the grounds. Tara Sonas’ presence immediately caught my attention, my guilt turning to nausea as my gaze flitted over to her red, puffy eyes and black, mourning drapery. Beside her stood the Seaspell Casters, their ceremonial armor bright and heroic in the soft light, their faces staunchly protective of their fallen comrade’s wife. Ariel was there, too, but he was not as close, not as familiar. And he didn’t spare me a glance, either, despite my incessant staring.

Selfishly, I felt the urge to approach him, to ask for another chance right then and there. But the sight of Shea’s body being carried forward by the pallbearers on a stone slab snapped me back to an appropriate reality. 

What is wrong with me? One day, I’m unable to function due to this man’s death. And the next, I’m standing near his corpse, wondering about my future profession.

The ritual then began, slowly at first, with Shea's father stepping out to speak, followed by the oldest members of the court. Each shared stories of Shea’s intelligence, his loyalty to his platoon, and his dedication to the system. How he was always offering a helping hand—a true golden boy. A treat for meek soldiers, a gentle soul to take care of the lackadaisical that made it through the initial selection. Tara went next, her voice trembling as she spoke of her former husband, the way he changed her life for the better, and all the ways he’ll be missed. Now, she had to make her own coffee in the morning. Now, she had to finish all the scrolls he left unread, just to make sure that if, somehow, someday, he came back, she could fill him in on the information he had missed.

I swallowed hard as I listened intently, my head turning to stare at Shea’s body. I could see him, see his armor, the gleaming scales polished and pristine, though they did little to hide the cracks and damage he had endured during the battle.

His body was then gingerly lowered from the stone pedestal into a small, ornately carved wooden boat. It was full of small trinkets, some I recognized from the library; potions, codexes, tools for his magic. Tara and the Seaspell Casters organized the items around him, placing them with care in easy to reach places, as if he might still need them for whatever came after this life. I noticed the boat had rocks wrapped to the bottom of it, saw the smooth wood, etched with magical symbols of protection and love, a design I had seen once before, long ago… when I had attended my grandfather’s funeral, I believe. The first Knight Ridire.

The Seaspell Casters stepped back, but Tara remained by the boat, her head hanging, her heart heavy. I could see she was dreading what came next, could see her hesitance, her reluctance to say goodbye. She placed a gentle kiss on Shea's forehead, and then, with shaky hands, she gave the wooden boat a small push, the water responding eagerly. It drifted toward the edge of the volcanic trench, the lava below flickering and embering, casting an orange glow on the bottom of it. The volcano was active, and a hungry one, connecting our ocean’s depth with the fire of the world beneath.

That’s right… the funerals of Spellcasters are much more than just a day to mourn their death. It was a day of sacrifice. Shea was going to be burnt to a crisp, destroyed for… dying? For serving his country?

Whatever the reason, I felt it was a bit unfair. Why couldn’t he be buried? Preserved? Left to rest intact with his trinkets, instead of burning his body and all his possessions?

Tch.

All this ritual is good for is erasing the existence of someone.

Neptune’s voice suddenly resonated through the water, tickling my ears. “Today, we return one of our own to the sea, to the source of life, to the mana that flows through every wave, every current. His life was graciously brought to us by the Immortal Tentacle God, and to say thank you, we shall give him back to the world.”

The boat continued its sway, tides pulling it closer and closer to the edge with each passing second. It felt… wrong to watch this. So, so wrong. I knew Shea was dead, I knew this was not a life being snuffed out, but it still felt that way. There was a long pause—a heartbeat of silence—and then, Neptune thrust his trident into the ground, the tremors from connection tipping the boat over the edge, plummeting it into the molten fire below.

Oh.

My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes instinctively widened, averting.

Heat pooled around us, rising  in waves, distorting the water. Each breath began to taste strange, my gills sucking in what I assumed to be the ashes of Shea’s innards. I covered my neck, my eyes flicking to the scene once more, only to catch the sight of wood, armor, and trinkets being consumed by the fire. It was relentless. Roaring. Unstoppable.

Please. Please be over soon. I’m definitely going to retch.

Molten bubbles began to float up, popping each time they breached a few feet into the surface, getting larger and larger with each lap of Shea’s remains until, with a sudden surge, the fire shot upward in a column of brilliant, blinding light. Fire swirled and twirled around the burst of energy, flecks of colorful embers flicking out at me, at the crowd. The mana spread across the tip of the water, coating the sky in a golden mist, illuminating everything with yellow.

I knew what it was. Lifeforce. All the mana Shea had used, would’ve used, and created, returning to the ocean.

It touched my skin, tingling with warmth, and I scrunched my eyes shut, trying my best to feel Shea’s presence within it, in the water, in the magic that pulsed around the sea. I wanted to apologize. To say sorry for my failed mission. To say sorry for noticing the spear a moment too late.

I’m sorry.

And I have to move on. Shea was home, now. A home he may not have known he had, but was waiting for him regardless. A home among his ancestors, his fallen comrades, and all the ancient Seaspell Casters whose souls fueled our world, regenerated our mana, our crystals…

By the time I opened my eyes again, the crowd had dispersed, content with the lieutenant's send-off, the last tendrils of mana fading into the ocean.

It was over.

But not for me. Not yet.

I needed to get back into Neptune’s military. I needed to make it right, needed to become the magician Shea thought I’d be. His lifeforce was here, feeding our reserves. If I could just wield it, I’d wield him. We can become Level 10,000 together, just like he wanted. And I’d give him a second shot at everything.

My eyes flicked over to the left of me, the last remaining guest, aside from myself, meeting my gaze.

Ariel.

He looked particularly worse for wear, in a way I hadn’t thought possible. I swam over to him, noticing the wetness of his eyes, a wetness that wasn’t caused by a current.

Oh. Was he… crying?

“Lieutenant MacNamara?”

“Firth.” Ariel replied to my greeting, void of formalities. I suppose I wasn’t a foot soldier anymore. I didn’t deserve the respect. “What do you want?”

“I…” My eyes swept over his disheveled appearance once more, my lips pursing into a thin line. He was upset, that much was clear. And I wasn’t sure if I should ask—beg—for a spot back into the military. But this was my one chance. My one time to weasel my way back into the ranks. “I just wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I’m alright.” Ariel replied coolly, turning away to leave.

“Give me another chance.” I spoke softly, pleading.

“Another chance?”

“I want to serve under you. Be a legionary in your platoon. I promise I’ll improve, I promise I’ll do right by you."

Ariel heard me, but did not answer. I was about to sigh, about to assume my cries fell on deaf ears, but, to my surprise, the merman turned his head to face me, regarding my figure with disdain once more. “Tomorrow, come to where my platoon is stationed. I’ll give you a Quest. If you can complete it, I will give you the pleasure of standing amongst my men. Fail, and you will be forbidden from approaching me again.”