When the morning sun fully rose, the Republic Heroes Memorial Square was covered in crimson.
Countless flags unfurled in the wind, interweaving shades of red, forming a surging sea of fire.
As the cries of nearly a million people converged above the square, the air seemed to be pressed down.
This will, gathered from the common people, was far more heart-wrenching than the roar of the Dragon Emperor from years past.
At the forefront of the square, seats were reserved for the honorees, and Yini stood here.
These individuals were the backbone of an era.
Yini's gaze fell on an elderly man among them.
Marshal Lambert sat in a wheelchair, his figure much smaller than in the memories.
The wide marshal's uniform on his frame seemed somewhat empty.
His hands rested quietly on his knees, skin filled with mottled wrinkles, like a map repeatedly folded by time.
