Chapter Text
"For a true hero isn't measured by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart," Disney's Hercules (1997 film)
Yuu was still struggling to piece himself back together, his thoughts tangled, slipping like sand through trembling fingers. The music echoed dully at the edges of his hearing, but all he could really register was the frantic pressure of Grim pressed against him and Ortho’s steady blue glow at his side.
“Yuu—are you okay?!” Grim’s voice came again and again, small paws clutching at his uniform as if sheer force could anchor him. His wide, tear-swollen eyes searched Yuu’s face desperately, each second stretching too long.
Ortho leaned in, his scanners humming faintly as pale light swept across Yuu’s chest and face. “Your pulse is irregular. You hyperventilated, and then you collapsed. I’m monitoring for any lingering strain.” His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it—concern disguised in analysis.
Cater crouched nearby, his usual brightness dimmed into something quiet, steady. “You went down the second the casket passed by, Yuu,” he explained gently, his hand hovering like he wanted to touch Yuu’s shoulder but not crowd him. “Started hyperventilating badly. Pretty much everyone noticed because Grim panicked and started yelling. That’s what stopped the whole procession.”
The words made Yuu’s stomach twist. Shame burned up his throat, bitter and raw. He had caused the disruption.
Him.
The one person who had no right to draw eyes away from Silver.
Ortho nodded, adding in his quiet, mechanical hum: “If Grim hadn’t shouted, no one would have seen it immediately. But he did—and that’s why Ruggie ordered the first-years to keep moving while I carried you here.”
Yuu’s eyes flicked toward Grim.
The little monster’s ears drooped flat, his body trembling as he pressed closer, muffling his sniffling into Yuu’s chest.
“I… I thought you were dying too!” Grim blurted suddenly, his voice breaking. “I didn’t care if I caused a scene—I panicked! You collapsed out of nowhere, and you weren’t breathing right, and I… I thought I was gonna lose you, nya!”
His claws dug lightly into Yuu’s uniform as his sobs shook his small frame. “Don’t you ever do that again! You can’t just—you can’t leave me too! I can’t—Yuu, I can’t…”
Yuu’s chest tightened painfully at the words.
For a moment, instinct told him to scold—tell Grim he shouldn’t have shouted, shouldn’t have disrupted Silver’s funeral. But as he looked down at his partner’s terrified face, his panicked little body clinging as though Yuu might vanish at any second, that anger dissolved into ash.
Without thinking, Yuu wrapped both arms around Grim, hugging him close. Grim’s muffled apologies spilled against his chest in between sobs.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just… I thought you were—”
“Shh,” Yuu whispered, his throat thick, voice breaking with guilt and tenderness alike. “It’s okay, Grim. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Grim’s trembling didn’t stop, but slowly, his sobs quieted into hiccups, the weight of his small body warm and grounding in Yuu’s arms.
And Yuu, even as shame gnawed at him for causing the scene, held him tighter still.
Because he knew the truth.
He wasn’t angry.
He couldn’t be.
Not when Grim’s fear mirrored his own so perfectly.
As Yuu consoled Grim, his gaze drifted toward the front.
He blinked, realizing he wasn’t where he’d been before. He was tucked against one of the pillars, hidden from most of the hall. Enough to cover them—enough to keep eyes from lingering.
Ortho noticed his searching look and spoke before he could ask.
“Like I said earlier, I moved you as soon as I could to a more private area. I debated taking you near the pipe organ where my niisan is stationed, but I calculated this location was safer and would cause the least disruption.” His mechanical hum softened slightly, his yellow eyes narrowing with something like concern.
“Besides, Ruggie-Buchi was following me, and moving you up the main steps wasn’t an option if we wanted to avoid drawing attention.”
Yuu’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
He nodded—accepting the explanation even if shame gnawed at his chest. He hadn’t just collapsed; he’d forced people to react, to move, to adapt around him.
At Silver’s funeral, of all places.
He turned his eyes to Cater, wordlessly questioning his presence.
The older boy chuckled softly, though it was a laugh without any shine.
“Well, Yuu-chan, the reason I’m here is that you gave my juniors a huge scare back there. I needed to check you out myself before I tell them you’re fine.” His smile wavered, lips tightening faintly.
“Riddle was worried. Trey too. We just managed to calm him down, and that was after his own breakdown earlier when he saw Silver’s memorial. Poor guy’s been hanging on by a thread. Seeing you collapse right after that… let’s just say, it’s not been easy on him.”
Cater’s voice dropped, almost whispering. “He’s still fragile, Yuu-chan. If he sees you panic again, I don’t know if he can handle it.
Guilt sank sharper claws into Yuu’s chest.
He’d worried them too. Riddle—already crushed under the weight of his own sorrow—Trey, who had to hold their dorm together, and the rest of the Heartslabyul students, all shaken to the core. All because he couldn’t hold it together.
His fists clenched around Grim’s fur, and he wanted to apologize, to beg them not to waste their energy on him, not today.
Today was about Silver.
Only Silver.
He looked forward again, trying to focus on the memorial, on the casket, on anything that wasn’t the shame pounding in his head.
To distract himself, to anchor his spiraling thoughts, he asked quietly, almost like a child asking for reassurance:
“Cater… why are Ace and Deuce helping with…?”
“The casket?” Cater finished for him.
His smile softened, bittersweet. “Not surprised you didn’t know. No offense, Yuu-chan, but you’ve been kinda… offline these past few days.”
Before Yuu could respond, Ortho’s blunt voice cut in:
“Correction: you’ve been absent from nearly ninety percent of school interactions since the incident. The only exceptions were the mandatory revision given by Styx, a single obligatory call from my niisan, and occasional attempts by first-years—specifically Ace—to reach out to you. Apart from that, your presence has been… null.”
The words hit Yuu like stones, heavy and undeniable.
Yuu knew Ortho wasn’t wrong.
He had been absent. Withdrawn.
Since Silver…
Since Silver died, he hadn’t been able to face anyone.
The thought of seeing everyone continue—studying, walking the halls, laughing in moments where laughter still dared to exist—it had been unbearable. He knew, rationally, that people mourned in their own ways.
That sadness didn’t always look like his. But the bitterness, the gnawing guilt, the desperate wish to wake from this nightmare and just… go home—it had driven him into isolation.
Even Ace and Deuce, who had been with him from the very beginning, felt impossible to face. Their presence reminded him too much of what they had all lost, what he had lost. So, yes. He could understand why he didn’t know about the planning.
Why he’d been left in the dark.
His throat felt dry, but he forced the words out anyway.
“…How did it come to be?”
Cater followed his gaze toward the front.
The memorial was advancing now—animals settling in their places, gifts being laid with reverence, the first-years adjusting the casket and materials so the ceremony could proceed.
For a moment, the redhead simply sighed, his lips thinning.
“Well… after everything, it’s been a mess,” Cater admitted, voice quieter, heavier than Yuu was used to hearing from him. “The details slipped through the cracks at first. Riddle and the other housewardens, with the professors, took the lead in organizing most of it. And as you can see—” his eyes flicked toward the front, where Leona still stood rooted beside the casket—“Savanaclaw’s been the main muscle. Hard to believe, I know.”
Before Yuu could respond, Ortho cut in, his tone clipped with irritation:
“My niisan and I, along with Styx, have been primary contributors as well, Diamond. Please do not erase that.”
Cater lifted his hands in a small, conciliatory shrug, though his smile was thin, strained.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, Ortho-chan. You and Ida-kun have been a huge help. After all…” His gaze softened, bittersweet. “Silver deserved this. And more.”
He hesitated, then looked back at Yuu.
“The truth is, at first, there wasn’t a beginning,” Cater continued, his voice sinking lower. “Nobody knew where to start. Too much was broken. Too much… left unsaid. And—” His jaw tightened, bitterness flashing across his features, startling in its venom.
“Malleus and Lilia had basically disappeared after the fiasco. So we had to gather ourselves, figure out what to do… with Silver.”
The words landed heavy, sinking into Yuu’s chest like stones.
Cater’s words faltered.
He bit his lip, as though something heavy sat on his tongue, choking him.
“Well… technically… Silver had—” He stopped. His gaze darted down, then away, the cheer he usually wore nowhere in sight.
The pause stretched, and Ortho stepped in, his voice cool and exact.
“Because Silver was not yet of age, a legal adult would have been the appropriate party to make decisions regarding his memorial arrangements.” His tone, though mechanical, carried an edge—one Yuu recognized as deliberate, almost disdainful.
“Ordinarily, his guardian, Lilia Vanrouge, would have served as that representative. However, Lilia is… absent.” The word was spat, clipped, and his yellow eyes glinted with something almost like disgust.
Ortho’s tone darkened further. “In such cases, responsibility would normally fall to another adult relative, which is why the Zigvolt family was contacted. In another circumstance, it could have defaulted to his liege, Malleus Draconia.”
At that, Cater broke in sharply, his voice cracking with venom that bled past the remnants of his friendly mask.
“Yeah. Draconia. Legal whatever, Yuu. But—fuck no.” His lips curled, his usual light grin gone, replaced by something hard, bitter. “No one—no one—was going to let him anywhere near Silver again. Not after what he did. Not ever.”
Yuu’s chest squeezed tight. He’d never seen Cater like this—mask stripped, words biting. It made the air around them feel heavier, sharper.
Cater’s jaw flexed, then he exhaled through his nose, lowering his voice. “So… we asked Sebek to contact his family instead.”
That startled Yuu. “Sebek…?”
“At first,” Cater admitted, “we thought he was going to—well, you know how he is. Loud. Obsessive. Especially when it comes to… him.”
His lip curled faintly at the word. “But… he’s changed. Believe it or not, Yuu-chan, he hasn’t mentioned Malleus. Or Lilia. Not once. Not since the incident. He just… accepted. Quiet. Focused. He made the call to his parents, and they helped with the paperwork.”
Yuu blinked, trembling faintly, struggling to reconcile the picture in his mind. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the front.
There Sebek stood. His back straight, his uniform immaculate, his face locked toward the casket like a sentinel carved from stone. His usual bombast, his shouting, his endless proclamations—all gone.
He hadn’t moved an inch since the moment Silver had been laid down.
And in his hand… something glinted. Yuu couldn’t make out what it was from this distance, but the way Sebek’s fingers curled around it, the way his knuckles whitened—it was something precious. Something important. Something of Silver’s, without a doubt.
Yuu’s thoughts reeled, circling back, trying to anchor themselves. So Sebek contacted his family, and then…
Ortho’s voice picked up seamlessly, calm but cold.
“After the Zigvolt family was contacted, they assumed responsibility. They are here, at this very moment. Once the ceremony concludes, they will take the casket to the burial grounds they designated. My family and Styx will assist with transportation.”
Yuu blinked, stunned. The Zigvolts… here? His chest tightened further.
He hadn’t even known.
Cater leaned in, his tone lower, sharper. “Yeah. Basically, after the whole… dreams fiasco—” he waved vaguely, his smile brittle, “—you know, all of Sage Island got thrown into apocalyptic alert mode thanks to you-know-who. So in reality, Briar Valley was supposed to handle all the legalities. Damage control. Cover Draconia’s ass, smooth out whatever political crap they needed to bury the mess.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. The mask cracked further. “But Silver… Silver they didn’t want to touch. Not even close.”
Yuu’s head snapped up. “What? Why? What happened—?”
Ortho’s voice cut him off, sharper than before, his tone mechanical but laced with something dangerous.
“You don’t want to know, Yuu.”
Yuu froze. Even Grim, tucked into his arms, flinched at the flat finality in Ortho’s words.
But Grim wasn’t quiet for long. His little claws dug into Yuu’s jacket, trembling. His voice shook, but there was fury in it, rising from grief.
“Why?! Why not, nya?! What did they say about Silver? About him being dead?!”
Cater and Ortho exchanged a glance. Their silence was heavier than any answer.
Grim’s ears flattened, his teeth bared. “This—this was Ts— no, no, not that name—Malleus’s fault! All of it! Why didn’t they blame him? Why?!”
His voice cracked, breaking between sobs and growls. “Why does Silver have to pay for his mistakes?!”
Yuu’s chest heaved. He felt it too—the grief twisting into anger, sharp and suffocating. His throat ached with words he wanted to shout, to scream. It wasn’t fair. It was never fair.
But before he could speak, Ortho answered. And his words landed like a hammer.
“The Senate of Briar Valley called it retribution,” he said, flat and merciless. His golden eyes flickered with disgust, his tone low, final. “That’s all you need to know.”
Yuu froze. His mind hadn’t even begun to process Ortho’s words when another voice—flat, emotionless, but cutting with a bite of mockery—slipped in from just above them.
“Yeeeah, those pricks were the real deal, alright. I’ll tell you, Yuu—straight out of the final boss handbook. Villain monologues, creepy voices, the whole ‘evil empire’ schtick.”
The trio—and Grim—snapped their heads up. Hovering just above them was a tablet, its screen glowing cold in the dim light.
“Niisan!” Ortho’s voice rose, sharper than usual. “Why are you—?”
The tablet drifted lower until it leveled with their faces. Idia’s image flickered into view, hunched as ever in his command chair, hair casting ghostly flames in the reflection of countless monitors. His tone was dry, detached, and uncomfortably casual.
“Welp. I’m all alone up here at the top—playing conductor, running the recordings, coordinating like some kinda maestro of misery.”
His glowing eyes flicked across the screen, unblinking. “And since you haven’t returned to your post, Ortho, I figured I’d check where you wandered off to. Aaand look at that—I find you giving our little hermit a crash course in ‘What You Missed While You Rage-quit Reality.’”
Yuu’s face burned hot. His chest tightened with guilt, shame coiling in his stomach like a vice. His eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet the screen. Hermit. Rage-quit. He knew Idia wasn’t wrong.
Cater stepped in quickly, his tone unusually firm. “Okay, Idia-chan—don’t be so brutal. He’s trying to open up now.”
Idia’s laugh was a low, humorless sound. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But let’s not sugarcoat, Cater Diamond. He wouldn’t be hearing this info now if he hadn’t decided to ghost the entire school.” He leaned closer into the camera, the glow of his hair intensifying.
“Confidence check—I wouldn’t be this blunt if I was there in person, but hey, digital courage, right?”
Ortho frowned, but Idia didn’t stop.
“So, cliff notes: after that delightful little comment from the Briar Valley senate—‘retribution,’ pfft, seriously—it was game over. Safe to say Crowley and the rest of the school wanted nothing to do with them. Nothing. Hard cut. Chaotic sayonara. Bye-bye.”
He waved lazily toward the camera, the gesture almost grotesque in its carelessness.
“So we took matters into our own hands. With help from Styx, the housewardens, and a couple of families willing to lift a finger, we organized…”
The tablet spun once in the air, its camera tilting to catch a glimpse of the hall, the casket, the flowers, the bowed heads.
“…this memorial. The one you’re sitting in right now.”
Yuu lifted his gaze to the screen, his voice low, hesitant.
“…So Sebek’s family…?”
Idia’s image blinked, hair-flames dimming as he exhaled a long, ragged sigh. “Yeah. My family offered at first—a place on the Isle of Woe. But, like… seriously? That’s no place for him. Technically, yeah, it’s big as a mausoleum. We’ve got all the bells and whistles, rows of cold stone, yadda yadda. But…”
He trailed off. For once, the sarcasm slipped. His golden eyes softened, the glow around them flickering faintly. Reflected in his screen was the front of the memorial, Silver’s portrait shining faintly with candlelight.
“…that’s not where a hero should rest.” His voice lowered, quiet in a way that felt like prayer. “Not someone like Silver.”
The silence stretched, heavy, reverent.
Finally, Idia cleared his throat, his gaze flicking away as if embarrassed to have said it aloud. “So we suggested alternatives. Briar Valley was, of course, out of the question.” His lip curled, venom creeping back into his tone. “Not after that senate circus.”
He leaned back, hair smoldering higher for a moment. “After a lot of back and forth, Sebek’s grandpa—the ultra-old, super-scary, military general type—stepped in. Said Silver deserved better. Suggested his own hometown, near the savanna. Real nature-heavy place. Lots of open sky. Peaceful.”
The faintest twitch of a smile tugged at Idia’s lips, though it never reached his misty eyes. “And with the royal family of Sunset Savanna’s permission—Leona’s clan, yeah—the deal was sealed. Silver will rest in a place filled with everything he loved. Beautiful scenery. Animals. Flowers. Peace.”
His voice broke for just a second before he caught himself. “…The whole package. The best we could do.”
Cater picked up softly after Idia’s words, his tone gentler than usual, almost protective.
“After that, Ace, Deuce, and all the first-years threw themselves into helping however they could. Same with the housewardens and vices. Piece by piece, things started falling into place. Even debating where the ceremony should be held was a whole mess, but…”
At that moment, Ortho’s voice cut in—steady, matter-of-fact, but carrying something almost human in its gentleness.
“For the location, you actually helped us decide, Yuu.”
Yuu blinked, confused. “Me? How? I didn’t—”
“Remember my last call?” Idia’s voice dropped in from the tablet above, flat but sharp enough to slice through Yuu’s protest. “I asked you for your camera. Said I needed it. Ring a bell?”
Yuu froze, the memory creeping back—blurred, hazy, like everything after that day.
He remembered answering Idia’s call with barely a word, his head too heavy, his chest too tight. He’d shoved the device into the hands of a Styx soldier without thinking, without asking, just wanting the whole interaction to end.
Now he nodded slowly, voice faint. “…I remember.”
“Yeah, well.” Idia leaned back, his hair-flames curling faintly in his feed. “When the camera arrived, I started going through the photos. Thought maybe some shots could help with the presentation or whatever. You know, aesthetic stuff for Pomefiore to use for the decorations.”
He paused. A silence stretched, brittle.
“And then…”
For once, Idia didn’t rush. He sighed, his shoulders slumping, as if the weight of what he was about to show pressed down even through the screen. “…You know what? Forget explaining. Just see for yourself.”
Before Yuu, Grim, Ortho, or Cater could question him, the tablet in Idia’s hands spun upward. The faint blue glow of his holographic interface pulsed, and then—
The entire hall dimmed.
Gasps rippled through the gathered students as the overhead lights softened, shadows stretching long across the stone.
Slowly, one by one, tiny motes of light flickered to life around the walls and ceiling.
Cameras hidden throughout the academy, some Yuu had forgotten even existed, powered on at Idia’s command.
And then—
The first image bloomed.
Projected high above, spilling across the vaulted ceiling, Silver’s face appeared.
Not the portrait at the altar, not the stillness of the memorial frame—
But alive.
Caught in motion, in fragments of memory, from Yuu’s camera.
The hall went silent as stone.
The projections shifted, light bending into shape after shape—image after image—until the walls and ceiling became a living tapestry.
Silver.
At first, single frames. Small, simple moments. Him dozing off at his desk, hair falling softly over his face.
Sitting beneath a tree in the courtyard, a squirrel nestled in his lap.
Feeding crumbs to birds by the window.
Alone, but peaceful.
Then more came.
Silver with his animal companions, the softest smile reserved for their trust.
Silver in the classroom—sparring with Kalim and Ruggie, his wooden blade steady, his expression calm.
Silver in the equestrian club, guiding a horse alongside Riddle and Sebek, posture elegant and composed.
Silver seated across from Azul and Jamil, their faces sharper, calculating, while his remained open and steady, grounding the exchange.
Laughter bloomed across the ceiling—so rare, so precious—as the projection shifted again.
Silver’s head thrown back, caught mid-laugh beside Ace and Floyd, who seemed just as surprised at the sound as the camera had been.
Another frame: Silver napping against Jack’s shoulder under a tree, Leona stretched out beside them, the quiet peace of the savanna-born dorm leader reflected faintly in his eyes.
Silver bent in concentration at a makeup table, Rook leaning close with a brush in hand, Vil behind them—perfect posture, perfect lines—watching with a rare, indulgent smile.
Silver among mushrooms in the forest with Jade and Ortho, the android’s glow faint against the greenery.
Silver dusted in flour, holding a tray of uneven cookies with Trey and Cater, their grins crooked but real.
And then—
Silver in flight.
On a broom, wind tousling his silver hair, Grim clinging to the handle and Yuu holding tight from behind. All three smiling, eyes bright, free.
The images kept gathering, one after another, until they moved—flowing like water into short vignettes.
Silent videos, recreated perfectly, until the hall itself seemed to breathe with Silver’s presence.
Yuu’s throat closed.
He remembered every photo, every moment, like a knife twisting in his chest. His vision blurred with tears, his cheeks already wet, but he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t.
Around him, the students watched too, their own faces reflected in the glow of memories.
In the front, Trey’s hand tightened over Riddle’s shoulder. Riddle’s lips trembled, tears slipping quietly down his cheeks as he whispered something only Trey could hear. His small, broken smile came when he saw himself with Silver in the club, the memory cutting yet comforting.
The Octavinelle trio murmured low, their sharp tones softened into something wistful as they recalled each encounter—the deals struck, the strange conversations, the moments they hadn’t realized they’d treasured until now.
On the opposite side, Kalim leaned forward, tears streaking his cheeks but his eyes alight, pointing excitedly at each flicker of Silver. “Look, Jamil—there! Remember? That was the day—”
“I know,” Jamil murmured, his usual bitterness muted into something quiet, aching.
Vil dabbed delicately at his tears with a handkerchief, Rook steady beside him. The hunter’s voice was soft as he leaned close. “Ah… how radiant he looks, mon roi.” Vil only pressed the cloth harder against his eyes, unable to answer.
Ace and Deuce laughed through their tears, nudging each other when their younger selves flashed onto the ceiling. “That was when we—remember? He said—” Their words dissolved into sobs, their arms coming up to shield their faces.
Epel sat silently, tears sliding freely as he leaned into Jack’s solid frame. Jack’s ears were lowered, his gaze fixed on the images. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing. Both of them remembering. Both of them hurting.
And Leona—Leona didn’t move. His face was unreadable, jaw set, eyes narrowed. But his gaze stayed fixed on the boy in the images. Respectful. Heavy. Ruggie at his side lowered his head, shoulders shaking faintly, his voice caught somewhere between a sigh and a sob.
On Yuu’s side of the hall, the smaller circle of his companions carried their own quiet echoes of the past.
Cater’s smile was soft—fragile, but real—as he tilted his head toward the shifting images. His voice was almost a whisper, but warm.
“Man… those cookies went viral on my feed, Yuu-chan. Everyone wanted to try them. They weren’t just tasty—they were pretty. Just like him, huh? Sweet and beautiful.”
Beside him, Ortho hummed along faintly with the melody that drifted through the hall, his face softened into something achingly human despite the metallic gleam of his frame. “I remember,” he said, wistful. “Not just that day at Forest But so many others. The gardens we visited, the valleys we walked. There were always animals and flowers drawn to him. Like the world itself wanted to be near him.” His expression dimmed, touched with melancholy. “I think they knew… he carried something special.”
And then—Grim. His little claws clenched tight in Yuu’s clothes, tugging insistently until Yuu’s gaze fell to him. His big eyes brimmed with tears, his voice breaking into a small, desperate plea.
“Yuu… remember that day? The broom practice? You were scared, nya—so scared—but he helped us. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t get mad. He just… helped. Brave, kind, heroic—Silver was all of that. And more.” His small body shook. “Don’t forget, Yuu. Don’t ever forget.”
The entire hall seemed to exhale, to hold its breath and ache together, as Silver’s life played out in fragments—his days at NRC stitched together by memory, by love, by the camera that had captured him as he truly was.
Alive.
Present.
Beloved.
For a heartbeat, it felt as though he was still here.
The images kept flowing, one after another, until something shifted.
A sound.
At first it was faint—just a thread of hum in the air, barely there. Yuu thought he’d imagined it, a ghost carried by memory. But as the projections continued, the hum grew clearer, stronger, weaving itself into the very marrow of the room. The melody rose like mist, curling around the images, a song pulled from the past itself.
And then—
An image sharpened in the center of the ceiling. Unlike the others, this one seemed to glow, clearer than crystal, as though demanding to be seen. Yuu’s breath caught.
It was a dance.
Silver and Sebek stood in the middle, hands clasped, moving with small but steady steps.
Sebek led with rigid precision, his jaw set, his movements sharp, while Silver followed with his calm grace, his every gesture smoothing Sebek’s edges, making the dance whole.
Beside them, of all people—Idia. His long fingers drew the bow across violin strings, coaxing out the melody. The sound was haunting and sweet, guiding the steps with quiet devotion.
And from Silver—
A voice.
Gentle.
Unmistakable.
He sang as they moved, his tone soft but clear, the kind of voice that carried warmth into bones.
Yuu’s chest tightened painfully. He hadn’t even remembered capturing this moment. How could he have? And yet, there it was—alive before his eyes.
Idia’s voice came low through the tablet, just by his ear, quiet enough not to break the spell of the hall:
“Do you remember this, Yuu? When we had to go to Noble Bell Academy… I had to learn how to dance. Pathetic, right? This shut-in, no-good loser trying to master waltz steps. And for some reason—Sebek and Silver… they were so damn invested in me. Like it actually mattered. Like I mattered.”
His voice cracked, then steadied.
“You snapped this picture. Betrayal, I called it back then. Thought it was cringe, humiliating. But now… this one’s my favorite.”
Yuu swallowed hard, his eyes refusing to leave the scene. Silver’s humming rose again, filling the space, and for one heartbeat it felt like he was really there—singing, smiling, alive.
But Yuu’s gaze drifted downward, instinctively searching for the other half of the knightly duo.
And he wished he hadn’t.
Because there, in the present—not in the projection—stood Sebek.
His posture was stiff as ever, his uniform immaculate, his hands curled into trembling fists at his sides.
His eyes, though—his eyes betrayed him. Wide, red, shimmering with tears that clung stubbornly, threatening to fall.
His lips pressed tight, but his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, each one betraying the sobs he was trying so desperately to contain.
Sebek stared up at the image of that dance—at Silver, his master, his friend, his other half—and the grief in his face was unbearable.
Yuu’s stomach twisted.
His throat burned.
His hand curled tighter into Grim’s fur, anchoring himself, but his heart reached helplessly toward Sebek.
Oh, Sebek… I’m sorry…
Sorry that this memory had been thrown back at him in front of everyone.
The humming of Silver’s voice swelled, filling every corner of the hall. And Yuu’s tears finally fell—not only for himself, but for Sebek too.
Idia’s voice lingered through the tablet, softer now, almost reverent.
“…This. This was why I pushed for the ceremony to be here—at Night Raven. Not in some cold hall, not buried under political crap, but here. Where he actually lived. Where every step he took left a memory behind. Where he smiled, where he laughed, where people actually cherished him.”
There was a pause. The projection shifted slightly, the violin bow stilling in his hologrammed hands. His golden eyes, faintly misty, glimmered with the reflection of Silver’s image.
“I knew… he had so many good memories here. And… I guess I wanted to make sure they wouldn’t just fade away. That everyone could see them. Remember them. Not just the soldier. Not just Lilia’s kid. But Silver—the boy who cared. The boy who sang.”
The words hit heavier than anything else he’d said. His voice lowered further, as if confessing something he’d never meant to share aloud.
“…You know, he was always… kind to me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I pushed him off, when I was a total coward. He didn’t let me vanish. He always made me feel like he… saw me. Heard me. Like maybe I wasn’t just background noise after all.”
A shaky exhale slipped from him, the sound almost static through the tablet’s speakers. His reflection looked down at his own hands—the same hands in the projection still clutching the violin bow awkwardly.
“Watching this… I remember how ridiculous I felt holding that violin, fumbling the notes, my hair a mess, my nerves shot. But he—Silver—he never laughed at me. He just… smiled. And sang. Like I was worth keeping in rhythm with.”
The humming grew louder, Silver’s voice swelling as if in agreement, filling the entire memorial hall with that same steady calm he’d carried in life.
Down below, Sebek’s shoulders finally shook. One hand lifted, half-covering his face, but it did nothing to hide the sob that broke free.
And above him, Idia’s voice whispered through the silence:
“…That’s what I’ll always remember. That’s what I’ll always appreciate. Silver didn’t just… exist here. He made all of us feel like we belonged.”