Marin sat by the grave in front of her, putting her hand to the tombstone. Nobody would believe the sight of her sitting here, bringing flowers to this particular grave, but she had her reasons.

People would think she was crazy for saying so, but Marin knew very well that Misty had been the glue that held the Silver Saints together. They had been young and far too proud of their Cloths, and it had bred rivalry and anger between them.

Misty, however, would have none of that. She remembered countless times when he broke up fights between the other Silvers, telling them that fighting amongst themselves was counterproductive to their true purpose, which was to protect and serve Athena through the Pope’s orders.

Many of the others had looked up to him. He was a cruel and vicious opponent, but as a man and a friend, he was actually rather warm and very humorous with his large ego. He had let her vent to him several times about various things, including her feelings over Seiya, her trainee whom had so much promise, but was still so difficult. He had told her that he had faith in her abilities as a teacher, and that things would fall into place in time. He gave such gems of advice to just about anyone that needed them. That was just the way Misty was.

Then, Marin began to notice changes in the Pope. It was then that Misty’s undying devotion to Sanctuary became his downfall. He believed the Pope’s words that Aiolos had tried to kill Athena, that Seiya and the other Bronze Saints were now the enemy. Marin tried to make him see the truth, but she couldn’t speak whenever she tried to talk to him about it.

She was almost heartbroken when Misty was ordered to go along with her to make sure she killed Seiya upon the Pope’s orders. She knew she couldn’t do it, she knew that he would know that. She would be pulling away from the cohesive love and respect that he had built between the Silver Saints. She knew it would be the end of their friendship.

She had been right. He’d tried to kill her, but knew her too well when she tried to play dead. She did all she could to stop him…and he had died. She couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty for it. Maybe, if she had just spoken to him one of those dozens of times she tried to, he would have listened to her and seen her reason. She might have saved him.

“I’m so sorry, Misty,” she said to the gravestone. “I swear to you, when we find new bearers for the Silver Cloths, I will pass on the lessons you gave us. I will not let your efforts die with you.” She lifted her mask to wipe her face as she stood up, taking a deep breath before turning and walking away.