Snow-dusted banners snapped in the chilled dawn air as Leon Seres rode through the ruined streets of the capital, kingly presence undiminished by grief. Elsa's bier, draped in white and silver, was borne on a gun carriage toward the Grand Amphitheater. Nora Awen rode at Leon's side, cloak pinned over her ceremonial surcoat, eyes steady on the throng of citizens gathered in silent mourning and resolve.
The amphitheater's marble tiers were crumbling, but packed with survivors, veterans, and children clutching makeshift flags. At the dais, a circle of burnt obelisks bore the Canglan-Seres crest in smoldering inlay. Leon dismounted, lifting his sword—a symbol now of unity, not conquest—and stepped before the assembly. His voice rang clear:
“People of the realm! We gather in sorrow for our fa
