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Despite the warmth of the sun, Fox still felt a chill settle over him as he looked across the field. Cold gray stone and dark metal plaques dotted the green field. Each one carved with names and dates. Each one marking someone’s final resting place.
It was quiet. There were few visitors here today. It seemed the post-war influx had finally tapered off. Yet still Fox couldn’t help but wonder how many of these graves marked a soldier’s resting place. How many of those markers hadn’t been there before the Stalemate at Sector Beta or the Battle of Area Six.
He shook his head. The casualties of the war wasn’t why he was here. He walked along the path slowly. It had been a few years since he’d last stepped foot in this field, but he still knew the way.
There was a slight hill with a tree standing upon it. Like a sentinel watching over the cemetery. Particularly over the joint headstone that the tree’s shadow sheltered from the sunlight. Fox’s footsteps slowed as he approached it.
He looked down at the names carved in the polished stone. Vixy Reinard. James McCloud. His parents’ names.
Fox shook his head as he looked at the marker. He knew buried six feet deep in the dirt was his mother’s mortal form. Despite the name carved into the stone, the grave beside her was empty. Dad’s body had never been recovered.
He knelt in front of the gravestone, a single finger tracing the number carved beneath Dad’s name. The supposed date of his death. It was inaccurate. Fox knew that now.
Dad hadn’t died five years ago. He hadn’t been the first casualty of the Lylat War. He hadn’t died three weeks after his capture either. He had escaped. He had lived.
Only to die with Andross at the end of the war.
Fox hadn’t wanted to believe that. He wanted to find Dad. To bring him home. To make sense of what the hell had happened in that ethereal plane of Andross’ design.
He’d spent well over six months scouring Lylat for any sign of Dad. From Venom’s barren landscape to Macbeth’s healing forests, to Zoness’ still poisoned oceans. He hadn’t found him. Would never find him.
Dad was dead. He had survived the impossible for five years… only to die minutes before he would have been able to finally come home.
Fox’s hand clenched into a fist. It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t Dad have escaped that hellhole? Why couldn’t he have been thrown free just like Fox was?
Why did he have to die?
It. Wasn’t. Fair!
Fox could already hear the rebuke to his childish thought. Life wasn’t fair. Fox got to escape Venom. Dad didn’t. End of story.
Yet it filled him with rage. Dad hadn’t deserved that. To live as a prisoner in Andross’ realm only to have his one chance at freedom lost. To die before he got to come home.
He had come SO close to getting to hug his father again. To tell him how much he loved him and missed him.
And it had been ripped away.
Taken before he’d even fully realized what was happening. Before he’d gotten the chance to do more than utter a shocked word.
It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.
No amount of repeating that sentiment would change what had happened though. Dad had died. Once again Fox was left with nothing but an empty grave.
There still wasn’t even a body to bury. Not that seeing the corpse would bring him any comfort. It would be just another reminder that Dad’s fate hadn’t changed. He still hadn’t come home. He’d never come home. Not a damn thing had changed.
Except now Fox knew the date on the headstone was wrong.
That was it. That was the only thing that had changed.
He may have gotten to defeat Andross. He may have ended the Lylat War. He may have gotten his revenge.
Yet he still couldn’t bring Dad home.
Admittedly, Fox didn’t even know why he’d come to the cemetery. There hadn’t been an ounce of closure here the first time. Why would that change when nothing else had?
Shaking his head, he stood and turned. He’d get nothing from staring at a stone with an inaccurate date carved into it.
No comfort. No closure.
He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to find those two things. Or if they would forever be just beyond his grasp.
Just like Dad was.