SERAPH'S TORMENT: Shadow of Light

The wake was held in the cramped community hall, the air thick with the smell of cheap coffee, burnt toast, and the cloying sweetness of funeral home lilies, a suffocating mix that clung to the back of Kai's throat. The hushed whispers of mourners, a low, constant hum, seemed to mock the silence that had fallen over his own heart. He moved through the crowd like a ghost, his eyes hollow, his face a mask of pain, a haunted look that mirrored the faces around him, yet felt utterly detached. He felt as if he were watching a play unfold, a tragedy In which he was both spectator and unwilling participant, a puppet on strings he couldn't control.

He saw Ethan's family, or what was left of it. His mother, slumped in a chair, mechanically slapping down cards on a makeshift table, her eyes glazed over, seemingly oblivious to the somber occasion, lost in her own private hell. His father, reeking of cheap whiskey, sat nearby, not weeping, not mourning, but simply… drinking, a vacant stare fixed on some unseen horror. Kai's own father hovered nearby, offering platitudes that felt hollow even to his own ears, his gaze sliding away from Kai's, unable to meet his son's eyes. Kai avoided his gaze, the unspoken question – Why didn't you protect him? – hanging heavy in the air, a silent accusation that echoed the turmoil within him. The guilt was a physical weight on his shoulders, crushing him, a suffocating burden.

Sarah stood apart from the others, her posture rigid, her face set in a grim mask. She spoke to people briefly, her responses clipped and polite, but her eyes held a distant, haunted look. She wouldn't let the grief consume her, not publicly, but Kai could see the raw pain simmering beneath the surface, a fragile strength barely contained. The hall itself felt oppressive, the air thick with unspoken grief and a chilling undercurrent of something else… fear? Suspicion? Kai couldn't quite place it, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He felt the weight of their gazes, the judgment in their eyes. They knew he had been there, that he had seen it happen. He was the one who had failed to protect Ethan.

As Kai stood there, adrift in the sea of mourners, his gaze fell upon Ethan's small, battered smartphone, now encased in a clear plastic bag and placed beside the makeshift altar. The cracked screen, a testament to the final act of cruelty, seemed to mock him, a silent accusation. Every time he looked at it, the image of Ethan falling, landing twisted and broken amongst the auditorium seats, the sickening crunch of bone, the dark stain spreading on the plush fabric, flashed before his eyes, a series of gruesome snapshots playing on repeat in his mind. He could almost feel the phantom weight of the phone in his own hands, the temptation to smash it, to erase the memory of that moment, to silence the screams echoing in his head. The phone, a seemingly insignificant object, had become a symbol of his failure, a tangible representation of his guilt.

Sarah approached him, her eyes red and swollen, but her expression surprisingly composed, eerily calm. "Kai," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of weariness. "There's someone I'd like you to meet." She gestured to the man standing beside her, dressed in the simple black robes of a priest. "This is Father Elias, from the National Shrine of St. Michael. Father, this is Kai, Ethan's… friend."

Father Elias offered Kai a gentle nod and a warm, though somber, smile. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Kai," he said, his voice filled with genuine sympathy. "Sarah told me you were close to Ethan."

Sarah turned her attention back to Kai. "He needs this," she thought, "he needs something to focus on, something to pull him out of this." She held out the plastic bag, her hand steady despite the slight tremor in her lower lip. "He wanted you to have this," she said, her voice barely a whisper. She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at Kai, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "He… he talked about you all the time, you know? About how you were always there for him, how you understood him in ways no one else did." She gave a small, almost sad smile. "he trusted you, Kai. More than anyone." She gestured to the phone. "He said… he said it was important. He was working on something, something together. He was excited about it." Sarah's gaze shifted to the phone, a hint of steel entering her voice. "Don't just… hold onto the pain, Kai. Use it. Use it to finish what he started. That's what he would have wanted." Her tone was flat, almost detached, but Kai could see the flicker of pain in her eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the raw grief she was holding back. She wasn't just delivering a message; she was entrusting Kai with a legacy, a piece of Ethan's heart.

Kai took the phone, his fingers brushing against hers. He felt a jolt, a sudden wave of grief so intense it took his breath away, a wave of icy terror that gripped his heart. It wasn't just grief; it was a profound sense of loss, a chilling realization that Ethan was truly gone, that he would never see him again, never share another laugh, never have another conversation. The phone, warm from Sarah's hand, felt like a physical connection to Ethan, a last tangible link to his friend, a relic of a life now lost. He looked at Sarah, searching for answers, for comfort, for some sign that this was all a terrible dream, but her eyes were filled with the same emptiness he felt inside, a vacant stare that mirrored his own. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of their shared loss, and then turned away, her shoulders slightly slumped, retreating back into the crowd of mourners. The weight of the phone in his hand felt like a physical burden, a constant reminder of his failure.