11/23, 8:00 a.m. Beyond Sia City’s shoreline, a cremation pyre rose like a mountain of ash. The dead were a flood; the cemetery was a bowl too small, so they chose old fire.
Elyu lit the torch and set the high platform ablaze. Flames whooshed upward like a red tide; heat rolled in waves and swallowed bodies. Soldiers marched like clockwork and tossed the shrouds into the blaze.
With a thick stack of names in his hands, Elyu watched the steady stream into the fire. He read each name like laying a stone. The soldiers stared at the pyre, faces heavy as iron—inside lay family, friends, brothers, comrades, officers.
The people wept like winter rain; the soul-piercing cries rippled through hearts like wind through reeds.
Milia and the girls wore white headscarves and white robes, proud uniforms turned to mourning snow. The fit stung; they didn’t know whether to cry or to smile bitterly.
They stared at the fire, numb to the wails around them, faces like masks of clay. Medith patted their shoulders; their dull eyes flickered like embers trying to breathe.
“If you want to cry, cry,” Medith said, voice soft as dusk. “They’re people, once alive. That uncle—the owner of Nira’s bar—treated Nira like his own daughter. He sent us wine, cut us deals, little kindnesses like lanterns in a lane.
“The bar was his late wife’s gift, holding all his memories like a chest of letters. When Lachesis broke apart, he couldn’t abandon it. He stood guard and fought Segi’s rebels. Can you believe it? That unremarkable uncle cut down two fully armed elite soldiers, like a small knife finding the gap in armor.
“But in the end… the rebels burned the bar in rage, like this merciless flame eating what it loves.”
A glint returned to the girls’ eyes. They saw Nira, crying until the sky felt dim, tears falling like beads snapped from a string.
“Palmer—you know him—served as the city guard’s captain after the fall,” Medith went on, voice steady as a drumbeat. “Only three days, but a hero. Bel, ugly face, straight heart, like a gnarled tree with good wood.
“Oliver, with a wife and daughter, and eyes that sometimes wandered at Milia, a stray glance like a stray cat.
“Noel, tall, rough, a voice like thunder across a plain.
“And so on, and so on. They all truly lived. To cry for them is no shame. I taught you to bleed, not to weep—that wasn’t a ban on tears, it was steel for the fight.
“Remember this and carve it into your hearts like etching on jade. We’re people—living people. Sprite or human, we feel. No one higher, no one lower; we just happened to be born on the right side of a map.
“On the battlefield, smother your humanity like a candle cupped in wind, because only then can we guard what we cherish. After that, live as people. Cry when it’s time, laugh when it’s time.
“Otherwise, we’re just machines—cold war engines without blood.”
Medith finished. The girls found themselves again and broke into sobs, voices like rivers in thaw.
Sais watched, tears brimming, and caught the silent tear slipping from Medith’s eye. Her smile held warmth like a small sun.
“Oliver.” Elyu intoned the name, voice mechanical, rhythm like a metronome.
Oliver’s body, wrapped in white cloth, fell into the fire like a falling star, and flame took him in one breath.
Outside the cordon, a beautiful woman clutched a little girl and sobbed, voice torn like silk. Medith wiped her tears and walked to them, steps steady as a stone path.
She crouched and placed a hand on the girl’s head, eyes gentle like spring water. “Your name is Sophie, right?”
The woman turned, rain in her eyes, about thirty, hair like gold straw, eyes shining like coins, a face carved fine.
“Benefactor… I… my husband… he…” Her words broke like twigs. Medith met her with a gaze firm as a pillar. “Your name is Edis, right? Oliver asked me to tell you—he loves you very much.”
Her sobs stopped, shock widening her eyes like moonlight on a pond. Then the flood returned; she cried harder, breath hitching like a torn bellows. “I… I love him too…”
“He was brave,” Medith said, voice like a steady drum. “Of all the soldiers I’ve led, he wasn’t the strongest captain. But he was the most dutiful, the most loyal, the most brave. A rebel general took a full-force block from him; it slowed the man’s steps, and we cut him down like a tree at the root.
“This time, Oliver’s merit was great. He said, when you honor him, don’t cry and don’t grieve. Just tell him more about Sophie, like stories by the hearth.”
“Sophie… your dad…” Medith’s tears slid like clear threads, but she smiled, warm as a blanket. “I told him he went far away on a mission, and it might take a long time for him to return. Will you blame me?”
Sophie was only three, twin pigtails bobbing like little swallows, innocence round as a peach. “Mm! Dad has to do missions to earn money and feed us. Dad’s the best! Will Dad bring lots and lots of money, and come back smiling to Mom?”
“Mm… he… will bring back lots and lots,” Medith said, voice soft as wool. “Big sis promises.” She held out her pinky; they sealed it like a red string knot.
Medith rubbed her eyes and rose, spine straight as a spear. Before leaving, she told Edis, “Oliver said, when Sophie can understand, tell her: Dad died defending the country. Dad died with glory. Dad wasn’t a coward.” Then she turned, steps firm as a drumbeat.
Behind her came a wail like heaven-splitting thunder.
…
11/24. Medith’s merchant ship returned. Word of Sia City’s tragedy spread across the Eastern Nation like ink in water. The land wailed, and yet felt relief like a breath after a storm.
Ogathas the Tenth, Ostos, heard and crushed his wine cup, shards biting his palm like ice. Rage flashed like lightning. He demanded Elyu send ten thousand soldiers and twenty patrol warships, to refill Sia City’s strength. He ordered twenty-four-hour shifts, day and night, so nothing like this could happen again.
Within a hundred meters of the gate, they would set a checkpoint, an emergency line like a second wall. They would establish a City Lord. The city guard would elect one, or the royal line would appoint one. The City Lord would be directly under the royal line, with the right to refuse any audience or invitation below Grand Duke, like a gate closed to lesser banners.
They would reinforce the chokepoint like stitching a wound. The Royal Capital would station ten elite Magic Breakers there, blades of silence in steel. They would set a war stockpile, storing ten days of rations and materiel like grain sealed against mice. Messenger pigeons must fly every three days, whether or not trouble stirred. If more than three days passed without a pigeon, nearby islands and managers could send a scouting boat, a small eye on the sea.
All fallen soldiers would be posthumously named Glorious Knights, with families granted generous benefits like warm roofs in winter. The eight captains who died would be granted the rank of Count, with the title [Undying Light], and a fief, twenty personal guards and servants, and a three-story manor like a tower of pride.
This title and fief would be hereditary, lasting like a candle passed from hand to hand, until the line ended.
Heavy funds would rebuild every defense and loss in Sia City, mortar and beam like knitting bone. Families of dead civilians would receive generous solace payments. All citizens of Sia City would receive cash and material subsidies, like bread and blankets laid out. On 12/1, the whole nation would mourn the tens of thousands lost, bells tolling like slow rain.
All nobles and administrators must carry out the orders, ink to action like plow to furrow. If negligence was proven, they would be demoted under charges of [Failed Duty] and [Unjust Morals], shame hung like a black banner.
11/28. The reinforcements from Ogathas and the prime minister arrived, and the news came like spring wind. Sia City celebrated, drums and cheers like waves. The “former king” moved with thunder-speed, and the people took heart like fire catching dry wood. Elyu cooperated fully and even threw himself into reconstruction; his silhouette stamped in their eyes like a seal on wet clay.
