The Rememberal

The sweet smelling breeze was a slow caress, touching the hardened faces of all it encountered. The air was tense, some seemed composed enough, but others shaking with barely contained anger. They starred at the body before them, or at least, what was revealed. It was customary for close friends and family to see the fallen from head to toe, but this wasn't under ordinary circumstances.

It was once said that in peace sons bury their fathers, but in war fathers bury their sons. This was said by a human, naturally, as Elidyans hated war. Where humans strive to be the best, to conquer their foes, Elidyans seek to combine, reconcile and be stronger for it. It's just the way they're wired, just as much as war is in the way humans are wired. However, even Elidyans have their limits.

The saying rang painfully true on this day. Authion Rixen stood in attendance in the front row, his son lain before him on the ground, a ceremonial green cover hiding everything below his chin. It made the anger boil within him, sending renewed flares of livid rage coursing through his veins.

Elidyans dealt with death in a different way from humans. Where sadness and depression are expected at a human funeral, at an Elidyan rememberal the predominant emotion is rage. Endless, blood boiling rage that takes hold of their senses and won't let go. Usually Elidyans die of disease or natural causes, even with their long life spans, and the rage has nowhere to be vented. But in the rare murder case, the rage is so strong that the Elidyan lawmakers, as peaceful as they are, made retribution legal.

A tangle of his silver hair fell obscuring his vision, and that's when he turned away. Away from his son, and away from his peaceful stance. His son had thought that the Elidyans should fight against the unjust treatment they received from the humans, but Rixen waved it away. There seemed to be a trend of the two-hundred and younger to try and separate themselves from tradition, and he thought that this was simply his sons way of rebelling against what he thought were the core fundamentals of the Elidyan lifestyle.

Now he saw all too easily how blind he had become. He left the rememberal, even before the fire was lit and the terrible green cloth consumed. He left before he could focus on the pained look of all the individuals around him. Most importantly, he left before he said a word about his son. Words wouldn't do either of us any good now, he thought. With each new second, the boiling rage became unwavering determination, giving his limbs the ability to move when they still felt like led. But vengeance just might help me.

He himself had been tested by the military in his youth. His test results came back with marksmanship and technology as his two highest scoring areas, meaning he'd be a perfect candidate to join a drallion force. Of course there had been no war at the time, and when they trained him, they probably thought there never would be. He'd probably have to relearn a thing or two, and the technology had probably advanced, but he really didn't care.

One way or another, he was going to avenge his son. Even if he had to kill every single one of those traitorous vermin.

The End

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