Four pillars of black smoke loomed ahead, arcing into Mirrevar. The smoke reached for the heavens as though the souls of the dead were striving to enter Paradise, only to be dragged down into Zamael's Hells.

Outside the remnants of the palisade walls of the Ruby encampment, work crews stripped and burnt the Sapphire dead. Zander sat atop Paladin, his silvery-white warhorse, absorbing the nightmare scenery. Each pillar was fueled by hundreds of corpses. The quantity of dead, many of them felled by his own blade, froze him in place. None of the people he killed would see their loved ones again for there were none here to speak for the dead Sapphires and few who likely even cared that their souls were damned to Zamael's Hells.

This is not justice. This is not peace. This is not love. How many were good people? How many had an impact on others or a bright future like River? How many had children or lovers waiting for them to return home? How many had parents or grandparents awaiting their arrival in Paradise? How many were just in the wrong place at the wrong time fighting a meaningless war against their will?

It was easier to blame than to sit with sorrow. Zander glared beyond the smoke to the west, to Rubinia. Adameon. Then eastward toward Sapphirica. Gideon.

"I will make them pay for this," he promised the dead.

A tall, gangly man rushed toward him, wielding a shovel. He opened his mouth, but only exhaled. Theo led Zander to a hole in the ground under a lone sequoia beyond the camp's palisade walls. The tree was in an open field surrounded by flowers. A beautiful place for a beautiful person. Alas, River shouldn't be in a hole in the ground. Zander swore silent vengeance upon Sir Aldius of Lelac, the man who struck River down.

The setting sun cast a waning, golden-orange light on the Hometown Heroes as they mourned and guided their beloved leader. Slender Gordan nodded at Zander. His eyes were rimmed red, and his arms were covered in dirt. Zander nodded back even though very little was right in this divinedamned world.

"Here lies River of Mirrevar. He…" Gordan's voice broke. Tears burst from his eyes. Zander put his hand on Gordan's shoulder and shed a tear for the young man bereaved of his best friend.

"River was alive for nineteen years," Vernon said. "Yet, he lived those nineteen years like they were a hundred." Vernon stopped as tears welled in his eyes. "He was always ready," Vernon choked, "to help someone in need, even if they didn't ask for it."

"Yeah," Theo muttered, his voice uncharacteristically solemn.

"He would help anyone," Gordan said with a smile behind the tears. He stood tall and Zander let his hand drop from his shoulder. "Do you guys remember when he saved old man Warren from Keefe?" Both Vernon and Theo nodded, smiles now contrasting their sorrow.

Vernon looked at Zander and explained, "Old man Warren was a heartless codpiece. He used to set his mutts on anyone who wandered near his shack." Vernon grimaced.

Theo released a pained snort that came out like a pig's oink. "They chomped a piece out of Vernon's arse once."

Vernon moved the story along, eager to shift the topic away from recollections of arsechomping. "Keefe was the son of a titled knight. We worked on his father's land. He was too high to associate with us, but he too suffered at the mouth of Warren's mutts."

Gordan picked up the tale. "Keefe made plans to seek revenge against old man Warren. River overheard Keefe tell one of his lackeys that he was going to burn down old man Warren's shack. When River told us that he wanted to stop Keefe, we all told him to ignore it. Old man Warren was a nasty codger. It seemed Meladon's justice would be delivered at last. River refused to listen to us. He stood vigil alone outside of old man Warren's shack and caught Keefe and his minions in the act. They held River back and beat him as he tried to stop them. Still, River ran into the burning shack. He was bit by the dogs several times, but he carried old man Warren to safety. Warren never gave River a word of gratitude for it."

"I couldn't understand why he did it," Vernon added. "Getting his arse beaten and risking his life for that old piece of shite."

"None of us could at first. I will never forget what River told us when I asked him why," Gordan continued. A sad smile graced his lips and the words that left them wobbled. "He told us that everyone has good in them. He told us that even a mean old man like Warren must have done some good in his life or that he could still do something worthwhile later. He was bit and beaten all over, but he told us that he had no regrets." Gordan choked but pushed through his sadness. "He would do it again, every time, because it was the right thing to do."

Zander wiped at his teary eyes. This story reinforced his conviction that River had been a great man. While the others took solace in this memory, it struck Zander hard that he had only spent one day with River. He felt like he had been robbed of one of the greatest gifts he had ever received. This aching pulled on all the other gifts that were taken too soon, tearing at the scars of Alexia's and his own mother's departures. Thus, Zander of Mirrevar wept for himself, longing to have more time with these people that inspired him to be better, and thus he resolved to cling tighter to those he still had. He gazed at the three men who survived River and thought of his own best friend awaiting him in the encampment. He would take none of them for granted, expecting that it wouldn't be long before they too were torn from his life.

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"That is how River thought about everyone. He saw the best in us," Vernon began to breathe heavily as he fought sobs, "even when we couldn't see it."

"He accepted me," Theo somberly added. "He invited me to become one of you when my own family had disowned me. I was an outcast. Everyone thought I was raving mad. And I was," Theo's voice cracked. "Until he put me together for the first time in my life." Theo paused, working to stifle his tears. "I remember how hesitant you two were about letting me in the group. Not River. River welcomed me with open arms. I was wild, violent, and would erupt at the slightest hint of provocation. Unlike my own ma, River didn't give up on me when I screwed up and made life harder for him." Theo grimaced. "If I never met him, I would've died years ago. Crazed and alone." Theo stopped, seemingly holding his breath to keep from moaning out his grief.

"I am sorry, Theo," Vernon offered. The stocky man set his hand on the lanky man's shoulder. The consoling touch seemed to set Theo free as the welled-up tears slid down his cheeks and his moaning, adenoidal cry escaped his restraints.

"He did the same for me," Vernon said. "I had nowhere to go when my dad died in the war and my mother lost her will to live. I was weak and scared. I still am. But River told me that I had the soul of a hero. He said that I would one day become strong and brave." Vernon paused, looking at River. "He smiled at me when he said it. I was broken. I was down. River lifted me back up when no one else cared two shites about me. He made me believe when all I had was doubt."

"He gave us all strength," Gordan said quietly. "He was my best friend for as long as I could remember. My … father hated me. My mom and brother died in the sacking of Mirrevar. Father said that it was my fault. I slowed him down. Again, and again, he said that it should've been me that died. My brother was strong, not me. My brother was good, not me." Gordan shook and kept his eyes fixed on River. "And I believed him."

Gordan paused to weep, but everyone could tell that he wasn't finished. "When I was thirteen… I… I… tried to kill myself. My father had a particularly strong fit of rage. He beat me and told me that I would be more useful dead."

"Gordan," Zander muttered softly. He knew those feelings all too freshly.

"I walked to the top of Nash Cliff," Gordan said. "I planned on jumping onto the rocks below. River pulled me away from the edge before I could do it. I begged him to let me go. I was worthless and deserved to die. He told me I wasn't worthless to him, that I had a purpose because I was his," Gordan swallowed, before finishing in a whisper, "best friend."

It was several turns before Gordan spoke again. "He looked forward and told me that I would be better than my father. I would grow old and wise, spread love and kindness through the world. He told me all these things…things he can never do..."

There were a few moments of silence before Zander spoke, keeping his eyes on River. "I didn't know him as well as you, Gordan. Yet, listening to your stories, I know that River did use his life to spread love and kindness through the world. The gifts he gave you will lead to a more loving and kinder world."

Sobbing, Gordan nodded, grasping for a purpose behind his pain, yearning for something to look forward to in a world without his brightest source of light.

Zander continued, "I felt inspired to be the best I could be when I was near him. The world is a drearier place without his soul to brighten it. It is up to us to keep his light shining, and to give his gift to others. Spreading his light to others who will pass the light onward and onward, now and forever. That is how his influence will live on, enduring and immortal, long after all of us are gone. He will continue to be a beacon of goodness in a world dimmed by evil." Zander stared long into the grave, tears brimming in his eyes. "River of Mirrevar, a true Leverian hero."

"A true Leverian hero," Gordan repeated with a smile on his quivering lips. Vernon and Theo echoed them.

"Shall we say the words?" Vernon asked anxiously.

Zander, Gordan, and Theo nodded.

All four men locked their hands together, raising them in front of their downcast faces. They spoke with solemn voices in unison. "Father Meladon, guide his soul to your Paradise. Mighty Gidi, grant his body rest for his fights are past him. Arcane Yadeen, grant him peace of mind and wisdom in the next life. Mercantile Ovidon, allow him respite from his labors. Luminous Norali, shine your light so that he may always see. Bountiful Celegana, create soil for him so that he may always have firm footing. Tranquil Dalis, shower him with water so that he may be pure and never thirst. Brilliant Seraxa, ignite a fire so that he may always be warm. Cool Qoryxa, soothe him with your icy touch when he is hot. Changing Zafrir, send him a gentle breeze so that he may be comfortable. Mischievous Balbaraq, show him the clear sky of eternity. Dreaming Leverith, reunite him with all those he loved and lost. Dark Zamael, stay your wickedness, for you shall never touch him! Go with Peace, River!"

They let a few moments pass in silence, hands held, as River's soul was guided to Meladon's Paradise. Then, taking turns, they filled the hole. They marked the grave with River's bastard sword, a fine double-edged iron blade with a flat crossguard. The sword might be looted or lost to time, but Zander would never forget River. He would remember the position of that sequoia until the end of his days. He vowed to bring his children there someday and show them the grave of a true Leverian hero. He would see Mirrevar at peace and help create the world River dreamed of. Most of all, he vowed to do his best to see the best in others and carry River's light forward.

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