It’s that time of year again. What a strange coincidence that a ceremony for the dead and departed would be held around the same time. If he didn’t know any better, he might have called it “fate” or “destiny”… but he knows the true meaning of those words, and so he knows that this is coincidental and nothing more.
It’s nice, though. The atmosphere is a little melancholy, but there are as many people silently celebrating the lives of their loved ones as there are mourners. It is not a wholly depressing affair, nor is it when he, the Eight Generals, and those who were there at that time gather at the memorial. Though they mourn their losses, it is their wish that those who lost their lives can see how far they’ve come, and that their sacrifices were not in vain. It is a time of reflection and mourning as much as it is a time of celebration for what they have accomplished and how much closer they’ve gotten to making their shared dream a reality.
It’s different this time.
The parade is quiet. Somber. He hardly says a word as they make their way to the water’s edge; nor does Ja’far, who walks silently beside him. For Ja’far, this is not unusual; while he mourns as much as anyone else, he does not show it as loudly as Hinahoho or as verbosely as Spartos. To speak now, in the absence of their other companions, would feel like interrupting or trespassing upon his grief. Thus, Sinbad says little until the formal ceremony nears an end.
Ja’far’s smile, however unsteady, is welcome, and Sinbad gives one in return. Only the edges are false and uncertain, with the rest invigorated by his genuine desire to celebrate how far they’ve come, lest all these sacrifices be in vain.
( Perhaps they are, he thinks. At least for now, when there is no Sindria for them to smile down upon and no link to the world they’ve left behind. )
“I think so,” he says softly. “If we set their course due south, they should reach Sindria in no time at all.”
It’s a nice thought, at least, and one he hopes will earn a smile, or perhaps even a chuckle, from Ja’far. Goodness knows they could both use it.
It’s true that Ja’far has plenty to dwell on himself while walking in the parade. Years later he still sometimes questions why, why all of it happened. The senseless devastation of life, the loss of loved ones, it all occurred so unfairly and abrupt. Sometimes he wonders, what they’d all be doing if they were still alive. What Rurumu would say in any given situation. If she’d be proud of him.
The adviser always stops himself before any tears start welling up, however.
Seeing the smile returned provides Ja’far with small sense of relief, though honestly it’s tied likely with just having Sinbad there. They’re not home, but neither of them are alone. Despite the hiccups he’s had so far in adjusting to this place, he’s grateful for that at least. Always.
“Haha, perhaps,” the idea does indeed earn a small laugh, not loud but warm and genuine, “They might just discover somewhere new instead... I hope the tides and currents are kind to them on the journey, in any case.” Ja’far moves, nodding for Sin to follow.
“I think I see a empty spot on the shore over here. Let’s give them a proper Sindrian sendoff hm? Like we always do.”
