As the hours passed and the candlelight flickered gently across thousands of tear-stained faces, a quiet calm settled over the crowd.
Then, slowly, everyone sat down on the ground. Not in disorder, but in reverence.
From among them, a small figure stood.
It was the girl — perhaps ten years old — the same voice that had first lifted the song. In her hand, she held a single red rose, its petals half-wilted from the rain. She clutched it to her chest as she made her way through the quiet crowd toward the stage.
At the foot of the steps, she paused before a royal guard.
Lifting her face, she looked up at him with tear-glazed eyes and asked softly,
"Can you put this flower near brother Aariv?"
The guard looked down at her — his face unmoving, his armor glinting in the candlelight — but he didn't move.
Varyan stepped forward. He turned to the old queen, Seriya. She held his gaze, then gave a slow, silent nod.
Varyan walked down to the child, knelt beside her, and whispered gently,
"You do it. You place it yourself."
She nodded, her hand trembling, then reached out and took his finger in her small grasp.
Together, they climbed the steps.
She walked to the coffin alone now. Her steps were quiet, slow, almost sacred. She knelt before it, then bowed her head all the way to the earth, her forehead touching the stage floor. Her sobs broke softly against the silence, and she placed the rose gently above his legs.
She stood in silence.
No one interrupted her.
Then — suddenly — she reached into her dress and pulled out a small, thin dagger. The blade glinted in the candlelight.. Without hesitation, she pressed it to her palm and drew a line across it.
A sharp gasp swept through the crowd.
She lifted her bleeding hand above the rose and let her blood drip onto its petals.
The singing stopped. The drummers froze. The world held its breath.
"Brother," she said, her voice steady but trembling, "I was six when I lost my parents. You took care of me. You gave me a family. You told me I was your sister. You taught me to study… to fight… to smile again.
"And today… someone took you from me."
She paused. The weight of silence grew heavier.
"They made me an orphan again. But this time… I won't cry.
"I will search every corner. I will find them. I will enter their homes… and I will cut them down with this dagger — the one you gave me. I promise."
Some covered their mouths. Some looked away. But none interrupted.
"You said you wanted to rule, and protect this kingdom."
Her voice cracked, then rose again with fire. "And I told you, when I grow up… I'll protect you."
She turned her eyes toward the stars.
"Now… I will protect your kingdom. I promise."
"I will come back to see you — when I grow strong enough to protect what you loved."
She gently placed the dagger at the foot of the coffin, its blade glinting beside the blood-soaked rose.
"And if I never come back…" Her voice turned into a whisper.
"Then know I died trying to be strong enough. I'll be the sister who couldn't take revenge."
The little girl who walked up had looked innocent, naive — a child in mourning.
But the one who turned and walked down was something else.
There was pride in her spine, rage in her step. Her tears had dried. Fire remained.
The people watched her part through them like wind through wheat. Some reached out to stop her. None succeeded.
She walked out of the city, alone. No bag, no family, no escort.
Only her bloodied hand, the clothes on her back… and the moonlight above her.
And those who witnessed that moment never forgot it. Not the guards. Not the old king. Not Queen Seriya. Not even Varyan.
A girl, born unknown, had branded her grief onto the hearts of thousands.
Her name had once been Manavi.
But to Aariv…
He had named her Megan Vayansar.
The silence remained for a long while. Even after she was gone, the people didn't speak.
Finally, Varyan stepped forward.
He said nothing.
Instead, he simply nodded.
And as if on cue, the singing resumed.
It started again from one side — soft, uncertain.
Then others joined.
The melody returned.
Grief had shifted, now mixed with something else. A weight, a vow, a burning promise passed from lips to lips.
One by one, people stepped forward.
They carried whatever they had brought — flowers, toys, locks of hair, personal tokens — and placed them at the foot of the coffin.
A wooden flute. A child's drawing. A ring.
Each item, a story. Each gift, a whispered farewell.
The old queen sat beside the coffin now, her hand gently resting atop it.
Sitting beside him, she whispered something into the wood, so quiet that no one heard.
And then — just one tear.
It slid down her cheek and fell.
The candlelight caught it as it hit the lid.
Varyan stood off to the side, watching. The girl's words still rang in his ears, sharp and clear.
He had seen brave men crumble under loss. He had seen queens fall to their knees in war. But nothing had struck him quite like the sight of that little girl bleeding onto a rose.
Not out of desperation.
But out of decision.
He turned to Queen Seriya. She hadn't moved since placing her hand on the coffin. Her fingers were still there, resting on the coffin.
Her face, framed by silvered hair, seemed unreadable — but Varyan could see the weight behind it. Not just grief. Memory. Years of it.
"She meant it," he said quietly.
The queen didn't look at him. "I know."
"She'll go after them."
"I hope she doesn't find them too soon."
Varyan exhaled through his nose, watching the crowd. "She'll survive."
Seriya gave a slow nod. "And when she comes back… I wonder who she'll be."
A faint wind blew through the square. The candles flickered. A few went out.
Nearby, an older man stepped forward, hunched and weathered. He placed down a simple stone pendant — one tied on a frayed leather cord.
He didn't speak. He only looked at the coffin, whispered something that no one could hear, and turned away.
One by one, others followed. A boy who couldn't have been older than five offered a wooden sword. A woman laid a hand-sewn sash.
Every face that passed by the coffin seemed lighter after doing so — as though by leaving something behind, they were able to carry the rest of their sorrow a little further.
Each person brought something. Each offering found a place.
And as the pile grew, so did the quiet around it. It wasn't empty silence — it pulsed with shared sorrow, thick as fog.
Some people whispered prayers. Others wept soundlessly, their hands clutched to their hearts. Still more just stood in place, their eyes locked on the casket, unwilling to blink as if afraid to lose the last glimpse of someone who had once walked among them.
Varyan didn't speak again. Seriya didn't move.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and fell quiet.
A single flower fell from the tree beside the stage, drifting down slowly until it landed near the girl's blood.
Time stretched.
Above them, the stars wheeled on.
And below them, the mourning held.
The night passed slowly.