A dark-blue flame lit inside the skull the man stood beside.
As tears flowed out of his sockets, the flame intensified.
Clasping his hair, he murmured, "How much more are you going to take from me?"
Still veiled in the dark, Kamil, Lias, and Amaya stood dumbfounded.
They stared at each other, hoping someone could console him.
Stepping forward, Amaya answered steadily, "I know what it's like to lose. At least you have something to remember them by."
For a second, they stared at the ground.
Then, the man sniffled, "And I could never forget it. I'd lived with him all my life, and I never thought he hid that sickness."
Amaya gave a sullen expression, "If you don't mind telling, who did you lose?"
He let go of his hair, and he caressed the candle cased by a skull. He kissed the cranium, as he let out a slight prayer.
Turning his head, he gulped, ". . . I lost my son."
A cold breeze wafted in the atmosphere, as the man hung his head once more.
Amaya handed the cooler to Kamil, and he understood that face she held.
She stood beside him, clutching a warm hand around his shoulder, asking, "From what realm do you come from?"
He dabbed his cheeks, "I-I come from Mala. After that outbreak happened, I took my son with the refugees to this island, in hopes of a place where joy can spread."
Amaya smoothly spoke, "I understand that pain of losing a home, a family . . . a life. But once I saw the aftermath, I knew what I had to do, even if I didn't want to. A step into making something they'd be proud of."
He listened carefully to her words, as tears lined his eyes.
She added, "But if I may ask, why live in a place obsessed with the dead, when all you wanted was to be happy?"
He took a deep breath, "We were rejected from Marah, and the only people that would provide for us are this tribe, Penthos. My son wanted to play with the children of the other tribes, especially Marah . . ."
"But they always distanced from him, as they would make fun of him because they said he was from the 'sad tribe.' I tried to explain to him that the sad tribe was the only one that wanted us, but he never listened, and now he'll never get a chance to listen."
"And do you blame them for what happened?" Amaya asked softly.
"Obviously not," he said. "I don't blame the people or the world, because that's just how it is. I blame myself because I couldn't convince my own son that the world was lying to him."
A frigid gust of wind flew past them.
Kamil and Lias watched from afar, barely maintaining their composure.
Amaya took off her glasses, "I'm sorry . . . I can't fathom how hard that must be on you."
"His birthday was today, that's why I visited here. I heard that children are supposed to outlive their parents, it should've been me." He sobbed, "Sure, he would've struggled without me, but he'd still smile. But I can't stop crying ever since; he was the only joy I had."
"But if he would want to see you happy, why do you weep in front of him?" Amaya asked.
He whimpered, "Because then I'd be lying to him. I wouldn't teach him any better than the world has if I forced a smile."
. . .
Warmly, Amaya hugged the stranger, as he continued to mourn his loss.
Looking over her shoulder, she waved to Lias and Kamil to arrive.
Kneeling down, they too patted the man's shoulder.
"Everything's alright. Doesn't matter the pain, your son wouldn't want to see you like this," Kamil uttered considerately.
The man turned his head, staring at the skull again, "You wouldn't understand it unless you're a father. A single one. His mother left when the boy was young, and I haven't fulfilled the proper role of a mother nor a father."
Kamil softened, "You did all you could. He must've looked up to you; don't give him a reason to look down."
The words resonated within the man, as he held his heart tightly.
"This pain. It hasn't stopped ever since," he said, looking at the ground as he felt penance staring into him within flames.
"It's because you felt regret waking him up and crying for him to see. I think it's best if you let him sleep tonight. He would want the best for his father," Kamil uttered.
The man interjected through a tearful gaze, "And what would you know about what's best for me and my child?"
He sighed, "I helped raise a boy I thought we'd lost countless times, but it seemed death loved him or feared him, because he held it in his palm at all times. He would always laugh with it, and I imagine your son would do no less."
Continuing, "We had tried to douse multiple flames in him, but he could never rest. Dousing that blue flame would be enough to allow him to rejoice in his slumber. You know the right thing to do."
Kamil's words pierced deeply into the man, as Amaya helped him get up.
He offered his palm, and they shook hands together.
Shaking his hand, "If you don't mind, what's your name?" Kamil inquired.
"Thakal. Pleasure to meet you."
"Kamil."
Thakal had tired eyes, with unkempt facial hair. His lips were thin, given his soft words.
He turned around, and faced his back to the rest of them, giving a final whisper to his son before hesitantly dousing the blue flame within his skull.
Thakal muttered, "Goodnight, son. I hope you're happy in paradise. Dad's not sure if he'll make it, but he'll try his hardest for you."
As the blaze turned to cinder, the man felt a heavy relief off his shoulders.
He stood up, facing the rest of them. He spoke normally, "I apologize for this. This isn't how I'd want to make my first impressions to people."
"It's okay, Thakal. Anybody would feel the same for their child," Kamil uttered.
Thakal gave a slight smile, "I'm glad. But you guys seem to be lost. I mean, the dirt on your clothes speaks for itself; you were running from those things."
Lias finally spoke, "What are those things?"
Thakal slowly walked away and waved for them to follow him.
The three following him saw a polished granite wall, layered with skulls of all shapes and sizes. The way they displayed it didn't seem like it was for morbid purposes, but rather for remembrance of those who they've lost.
"The skulls warn those things to keep out, so they protect us while we sleep in our tears," Thakal muttered, staring at the arrays of craniums.
"We don't know what those things are. They cry louder than us, but tear through flesh like paper." He swallowed a lump in his throat, "At least he slept peacefully. There are families here who weren't fortunate enough to have a skull for their loved ones."
As he spoke, they reached the entrance. It was a quiet, dull one, and each step felt like another layer into solace.
Thakal's words began to pierce the group even deeper the more he spoke.
Blue streetlights dimly lit the path to their homes. Each home was of different material, some made with brick, others made with straw.
"My house is made of tempered glass; hit it enough, and you'll find my heart. But you guys didn't need to use force."
The incandescence made the houses easy to see. Barely any people left their homes, but when there were, they always hung their heads.
It was a cold night, but they felt a hug embrace them as it bawled mellowly.
Lias turned around. He saw the open entrance to the tribe and remembered the campfire. He asked, "I'm sorry to ask, but are there any places we can stay the night?"
Thakal pointed up ahead to the right, "There's a bar with a motel on its second floor. You only pay the man in words," he spoke in gentle words.
Kamil pondered on the man's tone, slightly sloshing the cooler in his grasp.
These people drown in loss, but speak in such kindness. I'm guessing they all know what it's like to lose.
Eventually, they reached the corner, where the bar was visible from afar.
Thakal pointed to the left, "My home is on the other side. And if any of you find that place too personal, my door is open, since you people already unlocked it."
The three nodded, as they went their separate ways. Thakal went away with a seemingly faint smile, whilst the others marched to the bar.
Quietly, their steps waved goodbye as they faced each other's backs on their own path.
It had dark-blue lights visible from the outside, and the second floor's lights were off, as the tenants must've been sleeping at this time of night.
When they reached it, they slowly pulled the door open and met a cozy pub.
There were many tables lined up, but on the right, the wall of various liquors stood in an open back bar.
Standing behind a long bar table with many high chairs aligned with it, a well-kept bartender wiped a glass with rolled-up sleeves.
He noticed his visitors, bowed to them, and winked for them to take a seat.
Gleaming with a luscious mustache, "Come have a drink, you lot look stressed. Free of charge."
His voice was simple, yet spoke eloquently. Although, no threads escaped his lips.
The tired group glanced at each other, nodding.
Lias scoffed, "After that, we need a good drink."
They agreed, as they sat beside each other in the dim room. Kamil set the cooler beside his seat. Everything smelled of an oaky wood, oddly comforting.
Amaya twiddled her fingers, and suddenly—
The bartender handed her a tall glass of wine. When she grabbed it, she could feel the sweetness before even tasting it.
She raised an eyebrow, "How'd you know wine was my favorite?"
He smiled, preparing two more drinks.
Then, he laid a warm beer in front of Kamil, and a strong-scented shot of potent alcohol in front of Lias.
"How'd you know?" they both asked with bright smiles.
Simultaneously, they all chugged their drinks.
Their vision went hazy, and a warmth ensued in their bodies, as the memories slowly faded. It was a warmth like being held underwater.
The bartender saw Amaya giggling to herself, and he walked up to her.
Speaking in such a captivating manner, he asked, "You laugh like you carry a burden buried deep in passion. Was it a passion that felt forced?"
His words were gentle, yet so alluring; it was a voice that you couldn't ignore.
Plastered, Amaya laughed at the question, then her mind connected the dots.
Lias drunkenly guffawed, "What a question, are y-you some kinda 'fortunate' teller?"
The bartender chuckled, "I am no fortune teller, if that's what you meant. I am only a server."
As they sneered together, something rose in Amaya, and a tear dripped unprovoked.
"Ya' know, I-I miss when I was a little delinquent, not havin' to study chemistry and stuff. But I miss bein' dumb. When everythin' crashed down in that damn explosion, I worked on that piss-colored vial in hopes of helpin' those around me, but when I was able to, it was too late . . . but aye! I got it now!"
She slurred her words, "Now I kinda regret not bein' there for Kaya-dear right now, she might be hurtin' without me. She's not one to talk to the others like with me."
Then, Amaya put her head down and snored in her drunken state. She spoke words that were too honest, like the server's words asked her for the truth, and she obliged.
The server walked up to Kamil, and said, "You brought yourself down so that you could bring others up, but always acted like a leader through it all no matter the pain, right?"
He felt his vision blur, as sounds were warped in his mind, but he read his lips as clear as day.
His question was gold in a blue room, but his words were genuine.
Kamil slouched in his seat, waving his finger, "Ya' know, I liked lettin' my people get my old buddies the promotions at that news office, but it costed me. I help 'em till they were better off without me. My fault, they might be doin' well now . . . who knows."
He mumbled, "Now that I realize it, Malik ain't a bad kid, but he ain't a really good one. He's lost. Sometimes I wish I could raise him, but I'm not his dad—"
Before Kamil finished his sentence, he fell back in his seat, snoring.
Lias pointed at Kamil and laughed as he saw shapes in different colors, pretending to be reality, as he thought to himself.
Cobalt. Zinc. Copper. What a nice hull.
The bartender strolled to him, and with grandiosity, asked, "You're waiting for somebody, and you haven't quite appreciated them as much as you wanted to, right?"
Lias scoffed, "Ahh . . . yeah. That old Zayne saved ma' life when we got drafted, but he acts like a numbskull sometimes. After the battle, he taught me the basics of weldin', and what can I say? I got hooked."
"But he's my numbskull, nobody else calls him that. Wish I coulda' given him a proper bye, but oh well, sh*t happens."
Then, Lias shook his head as his vision slightly cleared, "Wait, did I just . . . say that? Hey server, how'd you just get me to say all that? Are you a magician? Wait . . . an Ishkanan?"
Chuckling, the bartender leaned back, gripping the table with four fingers, excluding the pinky, "Both wrong. I come from Mala. Probably can't see through the light, but my nametag says Nadeem."
"Huh." Lias understood.
"From my observations, I've seen more tears than drops of liquor. The emotions? I can't tell you, but they're tears nonetheless," Nadeem spoke calmly.
For a moment, silence hummed in the desolate bar.
Then, "If you're really wondering where I learned and crafted my words along with charisma, I learned from a priest. I'd say it was ten years ago . . ."
. . .