Days passed by after returning re from the tomb of Vaerion VII.

Everyone continued their daily routines within Dominion Sanctum, but not everyone could move forward as if nothing had happened.

For Ethan and the commanders, grief weighed heavily on their hearts, a constant reminder of what they had lost.

Just three days later, Arthur's search team returned but the moment they stepped into the estate, everyone understood the understood the outcome: Stone was not coming back alive. Instead, they carried with them his lifeless body.

---

On a secluded island in Osborn's sprawling hundred-island chain became Stone's final resting place.

The jungle there was lush and vibrant, alive with the calls of all kinds of animals. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rich foliage.

In a small clearing, a grave had been dug. Fresh soil lay heaped beside it, and a simple tombstone marked its head.

Leaning against it was a photo of Stone, his familiar smirk forever captured in time. Beside it sat his beloved wine flask,the same one he always carried.

Ethan and the commanders gathered around the grave.

Silence enveloped them; only the jungle whispered around them,the hum of insects and distant bird calls filling the silence.

That silence felt like a heavy mountain pressing down on all their shoulders.

Finally, Ethan crouched down, his eyes red-rimmed but dry. He reached out to touch the tombstone with trembling fingers before carefully adjusting Stone's photo.

"Stubborn bastard," he murmured hoarsely. "You always claimed you'd outdrink me,look where that got you now."

The others remained still; some clenched fists while others turned away from the sight before them.

---

They lingered instead of leaving immediately, setting up a small camp around Stone's grave as night began to fall.

A fire crackled to life, sending tendrils of smoke spiraling into the darkening sky.

Bottles were uncorked and glasses filled until that jungle clearing resonated with bittersweet laughter mingled with alcohol's sharp scent.

Seated in a circle around Stone's grave as if he were still there among them, Holt raised his glass first: "To Stone! The loudest voice in any room..may that bastard never stop talking wherever he is now."

They drank deeply.

Mireille let out an unsteady laugh. "Remember when he nearly got us killed in Solara? All because he wouldn't stop singing during our recon mission?"

Rask snorted bitterly at that memory. "He couldn't hold a note to save his life but sang like nobody was listening,got us chased by three squads that night!"

Even Vos managed a smile through his sorrowful haze: "And somehow… we made it out."

Laughter echoed through the clearing, but it was a hollow sound,bitter and fractured.

Ethan lingered in silence, nursing his drink as he stared at the grave. The flickering firelight danced across his face, illuminating the weight of his sorrow.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice trembling with emotion. "Stone wasn't just a brother to us; he was the heart of this squad. Without him… I don't know how we'll carry on."

His voice cracked under the strain, but he pressed forward. "We promised we'd all see this through together. But that tomb… it took him from us."

The others bowed their heads in shared grief.

With a shaky hand, Ethan raised his glass high. "I swear… I'll never forgive that place. The tomb will pay for this! Whether it's stone, traps, or curses,we'll make it pay!"

One by one, they lifted their glasses in solidarity.

"To Stone," they said in unison.

They drank deeply until their voices grew hoarse and laughter faded back into silence.

---

As the fire dwindled and bottles emptied, they rose slowly,one by one,casting a final glance at the grave etched with memories of loss before disappearing into the jungle's embrace.

But moments later, faint footsteps broke through the stillness.

Arthur emerged from the shadows.

Dressed in his usual black attire with hands tucked deep in his pockets, his expression remained unreadable.

He stopped before Stone's grave, standing motionless as he surveyed the photo and wine flask resting atop freshly turned soil.

Five minutes ticked by in heavy silence; he didn't move or speak,just stared as if grappling with something profound within himself.

At last, he drew out his own flask. Unscrewing its cap slowly, he poured its contents over Stone's grave,the liquid darkening the earth where their fallen comrade now lay at rest.

Placing his empty flask beside Ethan's,a pair of silent companions honoring a soldier lost too soon,he stood for another moment before turning away.

---

Arthur's thoughts weighed heavily on him as memories flooded back to that fateful conversation in the carrier.

The system had revealed unsettling truths about his men: souls burdened with resentment; spirits denied peace; lives stripped bare and sold like commodities.

He clenched his fists at the thought of Stone drifting through his mind like a ghost haunting him still.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was low and raspy. "System… now that Stone is gone… has he moved on? Or will he suffer like so many others,just another product for someone else's gain?"

The system replied coldly as always.

[ His soul has already moved on. No resentment anchors him to this plane. He has found release.]

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling a wave of relief wash over him, tinged with an undeniable ache.

"That's for the best," he murmured, almost to himself. "I don't want him to suffer again. Not like that."

He crouched down slightly, his gaze locked onto the soil beneath him, as if searching for answers in the earth.

---

His thoughts spiraled into a whirlwind of memories.

Ethan,Holt,Mireille,Rask,Vos,Lyra.

Were they truly his men? Or merely victims, souls yanked from other worlds, stripped bare and remade, sold like commodities?

He recalled their loyalty, their laughter echoing through the darkest times, and the sacrifices they made without hesitation.

And now he was left questioning: Was he offering them a second chance at life or merely chaining them to more suffering?

They didn't even remember their past lives; for them, this was all there was,a single reality.

Arthur's chest tightened with turmoil as his fists clenched involuntarily, nails digging into his palms like tiny anchors of pain.

For what felt like an eternity, he stood there in silence, wrestling with his conflicting emotions.

Finally, he exhaled slowly, letting calmness wash over him once more.

Turning toward the grave, he spoke softly but firmly: "Rest in peace, Stone. You've done enough. No more suffering."

With that final farewell hanging in the air like a whisper of hope, he turned away,his coat brushing against the grass,as he walked back into the embrace of the jungle that had swallowed so many before him.

In that clearing behind him remained only the grave,a solemn sentinel lit faintly by the dying embers of the fire.

Beside it sat two flasks,silent guardians of a brother who would never rise again.

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