DAWN — ALLIANCE CAPITAL
The city woke up suspicious of joy.
I could feel it before I saw it.
Not dread exactly. Not fear. A kind of civic squint. As if the entire capital had agreed overnight that celebration was probably a trap and they'd attend only to confirm the details.
Fair.
If I'd lived through what this city had lived through, I'd be wary of lanterns too.
From the balcony, I watched workers string the last cloth banners across the lower square.
No portraits.
No slogans about destiny.
No giant silver eyes staring benevolently down at the masses.
Just woven bands in local colors, stitched with plain words collected from districts across the alliance:
**kept**
**held**
**repaired**
**returned**
**fed**
**taught**
**remembered**
**stayed**
The language mattered.
Not victory language.
Not myth.
Maintenance.
I liked that.
