The plains before Milagre were calm and peaceful. It was an exceptionally beautiful day, as beautiful as one could ask for at a funeral. The sun shone down through a clear blue sky, warming those in attendance, but not overbearing with its heat. To improve the weather, the slightest of breezes, warm on the faces, blew lazily across the grassy slopes from the northern coast.

And there was no doubt that this was a funeral. There were hundreds of guests, with dress ranging widely from elegant finery to tattered tunics, just as the attendees ranged from rich nobles to poor farmers. The Captain of Issho-Ni had fought for all people when he raised his blade, and his kindness and strength of spirit was honored now, by the vast crowd that had gathered.

The tomb was simple but all the more beautiful for it. The warrior was to be buried where he had fallen, surrounded still by the weapons that had been laid to rest alongside him. Prominent among them was the long spear that had once belonged to his son. The weapon was simple, like the tomb, but it was clear to all that it was a craft worthy of a master. It remained where it had been thrust, to remain forevermore at the warrior’s feet.

The old man approached the crowd, drawn in by the emotions bared. The sorrow, grief, and pride were tangible in the air as the crowd stood silently, waiting, and the old man moved closer. He pushed back the hood of his traveling cloak and closed his eyes, feeling the potency of the moment. He had come to this city at the right time. He joined the crowd just as another figure, a tall young man in Issho-Ni robes, appeared, and the crowd murmured quietly to itself.

“It would please him that you are here,” A quiet, gravelly voice said. “You were his greatest teacher.”

The old man looked sideways to see a young boy standing beside him, his eyes also fixed upon the young man who was approaching. Except that this was not a young boy. Even after a hundred years apart, he had no difficulty in recognizing the proud frame, shaggy black hair, and piercing violet eyes.

“Much of his teachings were from himself,” The old man said. “I merely showed him the way, and he flew on his own.”

Grimr gave a wry smirk. “You’re too modest, Raveonic. No mortal close to the Mother’s heart should be.”

“His son is managing the burden well, I see,” Raveonic said, after a moment. “There is much of his father in him.”

Grimr nodded, his face impassive. “He has learned much from Shigeru, just as Shigeru did from you. I have high hopes for him.”

“It is a shame that his teachings cannot continue,” Raveonic said quietly. “A great soul has passed, one we can all learn from.”

The young man in the gray Issho-Ni robes raised one hand for silence, which fell at once. Every attendant turned to face him, their expressions appropriately dour. The young man had faced the knowledge of his father’s death with stoic calm in the last few days, taking an active part in the recovery and repair of Milagre, rather than allowing himself to wallow in grief and self-pity. Young as he was, he was already well expected. Most knew of his appointment to the empty position of Captain of Issho-Ni, and the nobility that had been bestowed upon him by the Royal Family.

Tobito Tokugawa did not care for the accolades and honors that had been granted to him after his father’s death. They were honors granted to him out of pity and concern and were not his to claim. They belonged to his father, the strong and wise man who had taken him in and raised him with love and guidance. His father had been the hand that shaped who he was, and he would not change that merely because of other’s recognition.

Given his way, Tobi would not be here at all. He’d attended only because of his closest friend, who wanted to pay his respects. Looking sideways to Samuel, he received a silent nod of encouragement from the Archmage and heaved a deep sigh.

“Thank you to all of you who have come to pay respects to my father,” he said slowly. “I know that in his time within this city, his work was respected and appreciated by many.”

Another soft murmur, the sound of sad sighs, swept through the crowd. Tobi allowed the moment to stretch a little further, letting the silence weigh on them all. Then, with another sidelong glance at his friend, he took a few steps forward until he was at the foot of his father’s tomb. It was made of white marble, perfectly shaped and bearing the wolf’s head crest of his family. He knelt before the tomb, and, as one, the crowd kneeled as well.

“Father, I thank you for your life of knowledge and wisdom. I thank you for your tireless efforts to protect the innocent of the world. I thank you for your lessons and guidance, which have allowed me to begin this long path. I pray that your spirit walks with me and that you may never be forgotten.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about his passing,” Grimr muttered, his voice barely audible. “You may just be surprised.”

Raveonic, kneeling with the others, glanced sideways at Grimr again. The God of Nature looked especially smug now, he noticed, as if he knew a secret that he was dangling before him. Grimr noticed the curious expression and grinned widely, then placed a finger to his lips. Just wait, the gesture said, and all will be explained.

Tobi bowed now, placing his hands and forehead to the earth in a sign of blessing. In a wave, the citizens of Milagre also lowered their heads, placing their palms upon the grassy slope. Hundreds and hundreds of heads dipped in honor of the soul of the warrior, offering him silent blessings in wherever he would find himself next. This was an ancient ritual, created long before words.

“The Mother’s Embrace,” Grimr said softly. “It is an awe-inspiring thing.”

Raveonic nodded, rising once again to his knees. His attention fell upon the tall, thin, and pale figure standing at Tobi’s right side, and frowned thoughtfully. He leaned slightly towards Grimr. “I do not recognize the young Ancient beside Shigeru’s son. Who is he?”

Grimr grinned again. “That’s Samuel. He is a very interesting person.”

Raveonic waited for further explanation, but it seemed that none would come. Frowning thoughtfully, he gave the young man one more searching look. Seeming to notice his scrutiny, Samuel glanced over in his direction. He made brief eye contact with Raveonic, but his attention was focused almost immediately upon Grimr, and a slight smile formed on his face. Samuel was glad to see that Grimr had returned in time for Shigeru’s funeral. He could feel the ripple of energy as the youth sent a mental message to Grimr, and felt Grimr’s reply.

Suddenly, the figures closest to the tomb gave out cries of shock and stumbled back on hands and feet, recoiling slightly. Those behind them hurriedly moved to make room for them, looking up to see what had caused the commotion. For a moment, they only saw the tomb and Tobi, who was standing once more, staring down at it in stunned surprise. The breeze changed ever so slightly, becoming colder. Something strange was happening to the air as well, they thought. It was thicker, as if time itself were slowing around them.

The earth around the white marble tomb trembled slightly, then cracked, as roots began to appear. They grew rapidly higher and thicker, wrapping around the tomb and spiraling towards the sky. They weaved together as they grew, forming a thick, healthy trunk. Then branches began to stretch out like fingers, reaching up and to the sides. Finally, small pink flowers formed, creating buds and then blooming. The marble tomb had vanished. In its place was a thick, towering cherry blossom tree, the symbol of Shigeru’s home.

Another cry of shock came from the crowd, as, before all their eyes, mist descended from the still perfectly clear sky. It gathered at the base of the tree and formed the figure of a man. Realizing that it had formed directly over the body of the warrior, they instinctively knew who had come to them, and they all bowed again. The figure of mist stared out over the crowd of those he had once fought to save, his very presence radiating out a sense of calm and protection. Then his form blurred and shifted, changing to that of a wolf.

Nearly identical to the beast that he’d fought alongside for so much of his life, Shigeru padded softly over to Tobi, and peered into his eyes, perfectly level with his own. Tobi stared back into his father’s soul for several long seconds, then bowed his head. The wolf seemed to survey him for a moment longer, then, with another gust of wind, he was gone.

“This is ascension,” Samuel said, certain of his words. He’d felt the same surge of energy when Grimr had ascended after his fight with Neratas.

“I see,” Raveonic said calmly, turning once again to look at Grimr. He was smiling now. “You knew that he would obtain divinity.”

“After all he’d done in life, it was unthinkable that any other fate would meet him,” Grimr said simply. “You just had to trust me.”

Tobi was turning to Samuel now, his eyes wide, unsure of how to proceed. His friend offered him a comforting smile. “You know what has to be done now. It is for you to do. Welcome him.”

Tobi hesitated a moment longer, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and nodded. He turned away from Samuel, moving to stand before the new tree, facing them. He cleared his through nervously.

“Long live Shigeru Tokugawa, the God of War.”

This novel is dedicated to Raveonic Lance, a wise man who continues to guide me. Thank you for your many teachings, wisdom, and infinite patience.