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It's a common occurrence in the Luxiem household for there to be constant bounds of chatter whenever they aren't busy at work, always bantering with each other and joking around. Peals of laughter from Ike as Luca fawns over Augustus, stretching his dopey Golden Retriever face like in Super Mario 64. Vox and Mysta having their daily argument over trivial things, and Shu enjoying the show as he butts in with comments every now and then.
It's not really a surprise on days when one of them is more sensitive and quiet, to which they joke a little less and try to cheer them up. It works out, and it usually involves a bit of a meaningful talk together in the living room, all cozied up together with warm drinks.
There's one day in particular, to which Vox is abnormally quiet. His words are short and clipped, just enough to get his message through, combined with smiles that barely last for a few moments before dying off. All of them can tell that this isn't just a typical off-day. This is something more.
It's Mysta who notices first — how as soon as the attention is off of him, Vox simply… stares off. His eyes drift away from the discussion at hand and glaze over with something of grief and sorrow.
It's almost as if he's constantly looking at something they can't see.
The behaviour persists to the next day. His mind in the air, never in the present. Worse than the day before, in which he has absolutely no response to any of their prodding. Even Shu — who is used to the supernatural, who can detect minuscule changes within the air and the presence of mythical beings — can't tell what's wrong.
Even at night, he acts as if possessed. Haunted by some force that none of them can comprehend. Vox sits at the dining room table with sheets of fine, calligraphy paper and a small brush in hand. There is ink, freshly ground from an ink stick sitting in a small inkstone. His hold is gentle, each stroke of his brush delicate and calculated.
"Vox?" Ike whispers, padding down the stairs with his arms wrapped around himself. He woke up to grab some water, and was mildly surprised to see the light still on. "You're still awake?..."
There's no answer.
"Vox?"
Ike is careful, trying not to startle the demon as he creeps around to look over Vox's shoulder. There are hundreds of scribbles packed tight among the page, and yet each one is orderly. Vox doesn't pause in his work, murmuring to himself as he continues to write.
The writing is too small for Ike to read, especially at this hour of the night where he doesn't have his glasses on. He sighs, worry creasing his brow. Ike leaves a glass of water on the table before heading back to bed.
(If he had worn his glasses, if Ike had just leaned in a little closer, then he would have been able to make out dozens of names.)
It marks four days since the start of Vox's sudden silence when it finally breaks.
All of the members of Luxiem have been vaguely aware of Vox's actions during the day, moving from his room to the backyard with cardboard boxes. It's almost as if the grief has spread to his entire body, marked by how he holds himself with his shoulders slightly hunched, only wearing black clothing.
The sky shifts to the dark shades of night, and that's when Vox speaks.
"Would you like to join me?"
His voice startles the others out of their thoughts, and even Augustus stops trotting around the room with a whine. It comes out as a raspy rumble, as if worn down through hours of screaming and crying. Vox's face shows no sign of having done that.
"Join you? Where to?" Ike asks.
The demon simply turns to head out into the backyard. Though confused, the others follow along, keeping a few paces behind until they reach the middle of the yard. Cardboard boxes line themselves up in a semicircle, and Vox reaches inside one of them.
They watch in silence as he takes out a lighter and brings it to the bottom of the paper lantern in his hands. It catches on the fuel, flickering to light and illuminating the words written on the paper. Vox waits — feels it gently wanting to leave his hold — and he lets the lantern fly to the sky.
"Take one each, I'll light it for you. When you feel it beginning to tug upwards then you can let it go," he tells them, eyes still affixed on the lit lantern as its light slowly gets smaller and smaller, rising higher and higher in the sky.
Luca is the first one to act, walking to the box closest to him as he carefully picks up a lantern. The others follow suit, and Shu strains his eyes to read the writing as he takes one. It doesn't make any sense at first — all just a bunch of kanji and hiragana that don't form proper sentences.
And then it clicks.
"These are names, aren't they?" he chokes out, feeling tears begin to form in his eyes. "Your clan-"
"It's been over 400 years since they all fell," Vox cuts in. He's at Mysta's side, helping him release the lantern at the right time.
It floats up in between them and out into the air, joining Ike's and Luca's.
Vox huffs. "I'm beginning to forget how long it's been. The curse of being a demon, I suppose."
Shu bites at his lip, summoning his own flame to light his lantern. He watches it join the sky.
"Though I may forget the date, I will never forget them. Their names. Every year, I will mourn for them, whether it be lanterns in the sky or candles floating down the river."
Vox inhales sharply, letting out a wet laugh. "I once folded paper cranes for each name, before burning them all. I've sat in front of a pyre for days and nights, tending to a fire without fail."
He ignores the burning feeling in his throat, how tight his chest feels as he helps Ike light another lantern. Vox watches as Shu helps Luca and Mysta, leaving one last lantern.
Shu picks it up, but instead of lighting it himself, the sorcerer steps towards Vox and holds it out to him.
He takes it with trembling hands.
"I have to remember their names," Vox chokes out, resisting the urge to wipe away the tear that trails down his face, "because no one else will."
"You don't have to be the only one," Ike whispers, resting a hand on Vox's arm. He looks at Ike with flickers of confusion — hates how his pretty face never fails to hold so much emotion.
"Tell us their names," Mysta murmurs, comfort in his eyes as a small smile forms on his lips. "and we will remember them as well."
"That's right!" Luca grins, a steady hand on Vox's shoulder. He can feel Augustus's snout nuzzle against his leg.
"It's tradition for the direct relatives of the deceased to tend to the pyre, day and night, until it has burnt away into nothing but ashes and embers." Shu has his hands overtop of Vox's, tethering him to reality with their warmth. "A burden for the family members to take. For centuries, you were the only one left, so you upheld that tradition all by yourself."
Shu looks up and smiles at Vox, and for some reason it reminds him so much of one of the older ladies that lived in his clan, always so kind and offering him food to eat whenever he strolled past.
"Tradition brings familiarity. It brings things that we so innately understand and can follow because it brings comfort. But tradition? Tradition brings the burden of the dead. You are willingly letting them hold onto you and weigh you down. Tradition means that you, as the last living member of the Akuma Clan, must do this alone. But you don't have to. We're all right here for you. At the end of the day, we think of you as family, and I know that you think the same thing."
Shu lights the fuel and lets go of his hands. He lets Vox hold onto the lantern himself, to make his own decision.
"Tradition can be broken. Remember their names, but do not let the past drag you to their grave."
It was always Shu who could knock sense into him. As he dwells on his words, thinks about what tradition really means to him, Vox realizes that tradition isn't everything.
Every year, writing their names, Vox would always think about what he could have done. He would always dwell on the events that he couldn't change, wonder what it would have been like if he could save them. That was his tradition, whenever he mourned and remembered them.
It was always about the irreversible past and actions he couldn't take. Never about moving on, never about the tangible memories that he remembers.
Perhaps that was his mistake all along.
"Tradition…" he whispers to himself, burning the writing of their names into his eyes. A small voice in his head tells him there are better ways to remember than lamenting on the past.
The lantern lifts out of his hands.
This year, as he watches the lantern fly to the sky, Vox feels a weight lift off from his shoulders. It floats away along with the light, swallowed by the night sky and becoming one with the stars.
Next year, Vox won't allow himself to lapse into mourning for people that were long dead.
He will remember their names.
And he will remember the memories that came with them.