The bells of mourning rang through the city. Cloaked in blue and black, the people of the coastal capital gathered by the sea to honor those who had fallen during the pirate assault. King Lusweti stood at the center of the funeral procession, hands clasped, eyes closed. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The silence was its own kind of prayer.
The Watchers lined the perimeter, heads bowed. Children left flowers—white petals for the fallen soldiers, red for the civilians who had perished in the past. Priests and priestesses offered chants for their souls to pass safely, as was custom. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of myrrh mingling with the salty breeze.
