Yet precisely because of this situation, no one dared to move at will or pass orders. They had to wait for the King, or at least one of the council members, to take initiative and control the situation.

The oldest amongst the council, High Elder Halifax of the Moon Elf Clan, took on this role.

He ordered the warriors to move away to allow those grieving privacy.

Some were ordered to head back to the Netherfields and report the situation to those in charge, others to seek White Tiger Logan who was the Deputy Commander of Warriors, while the rest were to investigate the truth of the situation and look for casualties around the palace.

As the sky slowly regained normalcy and the chaotic atmosphere calmed, those who were waiting at the Netherfields received the news that Divine Eagle Morpheus  was no more. Many dared not believe it, but when it was later confirmed, they had no choice but to accept it.

There were some who were angry, a few who were in fear, and while some felt pain for the loss, all of them had a question no one could answer.

How did Morpheus die?

Due to the sensitivity of the issue, until after they had confirmed the truth, Halifax had strictly ordered the messengers to withhold crucial information about Ember, Morpheus, Isa and the three females of the Divine Fox Clan who were killed by Ember.

On the witches’ side, the senior witches Maria and Glinda found Zelda who had strayed away from her kind. She was sitting on a tree stump near the edge of the graveyard, her dull eyes seemingly staring at nothingness. Streaks of tears had long stained her cheeks.

“You were aware of this all, weren’t you, Zelda?” Glinda’s voice floated to her ears.

Zelda closed her eyes briefly and she tried to calm her bitter emotions. “Do you blame me?”

“Should I?”

“You wouldn’t have come to me otherwise.”

Glinda said nothing, but her silence held condemnation.

With a tired sigh, Zelda tightened the grip of her wrinkled hands over her cane. “It is the least disadvantageous alternative for not losing our king.”

As it was about saving the life of the King of Agartha, the two White Witches could not object to the decision those involved had made.

“Thala, she was part of this,” Glinda said, “and she didn’t let us know.”

“You two would not have allowed her to interfere with a person’s destiny. Your kind have always strictly abided by the rules,” Zelda responded, her tone tired.

Glinda’s silence affirmed Zelda’s words.

After some reluctance, Zelda briefly explained Morpheus’ plan.

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“She does hate him but not to the point of wanting to kill him,” Zelda spoke. “But thanks to her hatred towards him, she played a role in fulfilling the King’s destiny and we managed to keep him away from that real taboo weapon.”

The Black Witch  sighed, wondering if this too was a trick of fate. “I am not sure whether we should thank her for hating the King this much.”

“Thank you for clearing up our doubts, Senior,” Maria spoke in gratitude. “We shall excuse ourselves now and search for Thala. I am sure the Commander’s death would weigh heavily on her conscience.”

“Let’s go. She must have returned to the Spirit Circle,” Glinda said, and the two witches left after offering a light nod to Zelda.

Upon receiving the heartbreaking news, the members of the Divine Eagle Clan and other feathered races who were stationed around the kingdom flew towards the palace. The sky above the palace became covered by the wings of those who hurried, wanting to verify the truth of the news of Morpheus’ death.

After handling the most important affairs, Halifax put his hand on Agraleus’ shoulder.

“Chief Agraleus, we should move. We cannot keep the Commander here like this. You need to take him back to your clan and prepare for the memorial rites. Allow our kingdom to pay our respects to the brave commander.”

Agraleus could only silently nod, his expression complicated. He and his sons, along with their clan members, prepared to take Morpheus back to Redcrest, the city of the Divine Eagle Clan.

The weight of the man in his arms seemed unbearably light, and a sense of conflict rose in the Chief’s heart. Morpheus had always been a strong man, annoyingly casual yet steadfast, a powerful figure of a warrior…yet at this moment, Agraleus seemed to recall the young Morpheus, an obedient little boy who always badgered his father, the former Chief, so small and so precious, tagging along with his little sister.

How could anyone understand the grief of an elder who outlived the younger generation?

Agraleus struggled to rise to his feet, but when his sons offered to carry Morpheus, the older man vehemently refused.

“Your Majesty, if you allow us to…” Agraleus choked, unable to complete his sentence.

As Morpheus was a member of the Divine Eagle Clan, it was only proper that his dead body should be taken back to their territory. After the ritual arrangements of the clan, his body would be buried next to the grave of his parents.

Still on the ground, Draven woodenly lifted his head, and regardless whether he understood the Chief of the Shapeshifters properly or not, he nodded. Erlos moved to guard beside his master who was obviously not in a good condition.

Agraleus looked at Aureus.

The golden eagle gritted his teeth, his reddened eyes growing firm. Yet, tears continued to pool at the corners of his eyes, betraying his emotions.

“Let’s…Let’s bring your Uncle home.”

Aureus was not ready to accept that he had lost family just as he had found him. He was racked with guilt, his heart burdened with shame.

If only he decisively stopped his uncle…

His uncle shouldn’t have…

Morpheus didn’t even hear him call him ‘uncle’ even once…

Soon, the Divine Eagle Clan rose to the skies, and those who were on the ground were bowing in their direction as they left.