The sun shines brightly in the cloudless sky, casting a warm, golden glow over everything it touches. The gentle breeze rustle the leaves of tall, green trees and tickles Helena’s skin. It was a welcoming contrast compared to the hellish mission in Lanshiang. Helena was so used to the smell of rotting zombies and smoke that the sweet scent of pollen from the flowers in her hands seems almost foreign to her. She grimaces and shakes her head, trying to keep those memories at bay and focus on the grave in front of her. Deborah's. Her gaze softens as she places the bouquet down, her free hand tracing the carved letters and dates on the stone slab.

“It’s time for me to take responsibility.”

She whispers, hoping her words will carry in the wind and somehow reach her sister.