"It is the good luck of our Valthorn Kingdom," Damien declared, his voice steady and deep, "that such bravehearts were born among us."
He stood tall atop the grand ceremonial stage, dressed in royal battle attire, his cloak catching the wind with a regal flutter. The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue on his figure, making him look like a painting come to life—equal parts warrior and prince.
"They may have left this world… journeyed to a place even more beautiful…" he continued, pausing for a breath, "but none shall be forgotten."
The words echoed through the quiet crowd.
Before him sat hundreds of people, dressed in muted colors, their eyes fixed on the Crown Prince. Faces old and young bore expressions of solemn reverence, the kind reserved only for the dead… and for those who honored them.
