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That Stormy Day

Indeed, the sky was dark that day. Thunder boomed in the distance, growing closer. But there was still no sign of rain.

A young man walks through the city, heading from the Dwarven District to the Park. His clothes are rather dusty and torn, and he seems thin to an alarming point. But his face shows he is rather happy, maybe just to have a break from the sun. It's quiet too... perhaps a lot of people just don't want to come out when there might be a storm?

What few people he does see are silently whispering to themselves as they walk slowly past him. He crosses the bridge to the outer ring of the Cathedral District. There is a strange feeling about this place. He usually feels safe when he goes through here, but now...

He feels a chill in the air, like winter winds had just swept over him as he crosses. It's not quite a physical feeling, but something is wrong. He props his tools over his shoulder, and heads a different way that he usually does. He turns towards the inner parts of the area. He finds that many people are gathered here.

He walks to the crowd, and raises up to his toes trying to see over them. He can see the Cathedral doors opening slowly, and guards lined down the steps.

He nudges a man next to him. "Hey pal, what's going on? Someone dead or something?"

The man doesn't turn his head, and seems much like himself. Ragged clothing and very thin. He wears a hat and his head is bowed, as everyone elses is.

"One of the Harkovs lad, bow your head, show some respect."

He blinks and quickly lowers his head. He lean and whispers to him. "Which one was it good man?"

The man slowly turns his head to look him in the eye. "'Twas the lord lad, 'twas the lord."

His heart skips a beat.

How can this be? There is no way he could be dead. This man is the reason I and many others like me even have a home. The rare house that cares about our kind, the lesser people in social society.

What will happen to us now?

A few priests walk through the doors. Between them hovers a casket, floating from their holy magic. Within, clearly lays a man on a bed of white flowers. His blonde hair softly rustling in what wind there is.

The nods before bowing his head once more.

Yes, that is him. That is the Lord Harkov that saved my family.

Everyone remains silent, as the priests bring the casket down the steps, and follow a cleared out path through the crowd. The boy barely notices this path leads directly past him.

Those that are close enough, toss out flowers that slowly drift onto him. He notes that most that do this, are commoners such as himself. He can feel it, the feeling in the air. As if all of these people around him are screaming at once.

What will happen to us now?

The casket floats past the boy. For what feels like a lifetime, he stares at the man inside. This man who saved his family, he finally got a chance to be so close to him. He wanted this, to thank him.

The elder man next to him holds up a flower, and tosses it out like so many others, and strangely holds one up to him. "Here lad, I can see you didn't bring your own, must not have known about this."

He just nods, taking it and tossing it into the casket. As soon as the flower touches the Lord's chest, it's like something pulses in his mind. Like someone whispers into his ear.

I now know, what it is like to die.

They leave, in a line of people dressed in red and gold, and Knights dressed in silver. They are headed by a small woman, with long blonde hair.

As soon as they are out of sight, he shakes himself out of the trance he had been put into from his own thinking. He looks around as everyone starts to scatter. Moving into their own groups, or leaving to go home. Some are crying, while others just stare at the ground shaking their heads. He turns and runs. Back the way he had came, and he doesn't stop running until he gets home. The thought keeps echoing in his head, like a ghost is stalking him and screaming at him.

What will happen to us now?

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