Tempus Fugit, Memento Mori.

Edraven’s restored name remains clear upon the fallen plaque as Halwen leads Silas up the hidden stair. Mara’s clay lamp and Vaeroth’s ember glow together in his keeping.

Halwen replaces the foundation stone, then guides Silas east from the shrine. Morning widens over the crossing, revealing a descending road bordered by weathered lantern stones.

The road slopes toward a small gathering place where several old lantern stones form a rough circle. Unlit niches wait along their faces, and distant voices drift upward.

Halwen stops at the first worn marker, her staff planted in the dust. Below, figures turn toward the approaching light as the clay lamp burns steadily.

Silas raises Mara’s clay lamp above the first lantern stone. Its small flame catches the morning light, and every face in the gathering turns toward it.

The name travels through the circle and settles among the weathered stones. The lamp burns steadily, its glow touching unlit niches carved for countless remembered dead.

An elderly man removes his woolen cap. Beside him, a young woman bows her head, while others repeat the name softly until the road seems to carry it eastward.

Halwen’s cloudy eye shifts toward the descending road and its buried continuation. Behind Silas, Vaeroth’s ember pulses warmly beneath his scorched glove, awaiting the northward way.

Silas lowers Mara’s clay lamp to his side. The flame dips in the morning wind, and a thread of heat seeps through his scorched glove from Vaeroth’s ember.

The gathered witnesses bow or touch the nearest lantern stone. Mara’s flame steadies, though the lamp’s clay handle cracks beneath Silas’s tightening grip.

Halwen points toward the descending road, where gray stones vanish beneath thorn and dust. She gives Silas a strip of green mantle-cloth to bind the cracked handle.

Silas wraps Halwen’s green mantle-cloth around Mara’s cracked lamp handle, pulling the knot firm. The rough fabric stains with clay dust, but the flame remains sheltered and steady.

The binding costs him a strip of cloth he can no longer return, and the tightened knot presses painfully against his scorched glove. The lamp is secure.

Silas turns from the lantern circle. The gathered witnesses fall quiet behind him, their repeated blessing fading beneath the whisper of thorn branches and morning wind.

He follows the descending road north alone. Gray stones lead between banks of ash-colored earth, while Mara’s lamp swings at his side and Vaeroth’s ember warms his palm.

Ahead, the road disappears beneath the hill where Halwen promised the buried way. Behind him, the first witness keeps Mara’s name; before him, three memories travel toward the elder dead.