The sun rode high over the southeastern hills, the first ragged line of Romelia's defences, burning the grass pale where great men had once lain.
Time did strange things to men and to nations.
Nine years ago they had crept across these same slopes as nothing more than a ragged edge of hired blades: no banners, thin coin purses, and a single furious hope.
Until that moment their future was dark as all they knew was the chains they wore, and when they finally tasted freedom, one could only imagine how much hope they had.
How happy were they then?
That very same ground now felt different beneath their boots.
Where hunger had once hollowed them, something like pride filled their chests. Nearly a decade had congealed into this march.
Alpheo felt it like a pressure at the base of his skull, the weight of what they had become and what it cost to keep it that way.
