Perhaps it was intentional. Or perhaps it wasn't, given that the guide never accounted for the lives of NPCs.
It was just a game, after all.
It was just a game, but….
——That's my boy…. that's my boy in there….
A woman stood by the edge of the grave.
——Mom…. why isn't Dad coming back home?
A young girl, no older than ten, asked.
On the other side of the cemetery, a young man knelt in front of a different headstone.
——You promised, brother…. You said you'd be there at my graduation, remember? You said it like it was nothing. So why? Why aren't you here?
It was a funeral.
A funeral for the guards who lost their lives in the Index incident.
They weren't just NPCs anymore. They had stories. They had lives. They had families waiting for them.
A line of uniforms stood in silence. Fellow guards of the Index Prison. Their hands were raised in a salute while the rain soaked into their uniforms.
They watched as the names were read aloud. One by one.
