Year 72 of the Catastrophe, January 1st, the Dawn War is declared over.
The war leaders Yasa Acto, Xi, Mela, and others are handling post-war matters, and the memorial for the fallen is in preparation.
Under the ginkgo trees by the river, a blond-haired young man gazes at the wildflowers covering the mountains and fields, as well as the hundreds of slowly passing black coffins in the distance.
In his vision, tens of thousands… no, countless people are following these coffins. As the sun sets, their robes are dyed a golden hue, like a flowing river. For a moment, they all seem to be wearing a unified golden ceremonial attire.
This river flows from within the city-state outwards, passing through streets and alleys, across broad plazas, and narrow lanes. It feels as if a silent, vast, and heavy strength gathers, crushing the light spots beneath their footsteps. The funeral procession stretches for miles, from one end of the horizon to the other.
