We were there again.

  My grandfather and I, walking with the crowd up the main avenue toward the palace gates.

  Same path, same ceremony, same faces pretending nothing ever changes.

  He sighed, already tired of me.

  「…Remember that we owe the royal family a great deal. Must I repeat this every single year? Are you listening, Ren?」

  「I’m listening. The great king gifted this land to our family… after sending my father to die. A beautiful gesture.」

  「Don’t talk like that.」

  「Why not? Because this is a ceremony? Because everyone’s supposed to stay quiet while they honor heroes we never knew?」

  He didn’t answer.

  Just gave me that look—sadness mixed with the kind of patience that hurts to watch.

  「I just want to go home,」 I said. 「Back to the farm. It’s the only thing still alive.」

  The city roared around us.

  Food stalls shouting prices, flags hanging from balconies, magically embroidered flowers drifting overhead.

  All of it to celebrate a king who’d died seventeen years ago.

  I never liked the city.

  Too loud.

  Too many faces.

  Too many people pretending everything is fine.

  …Still, I’ll admit the smell of fresh bread had its charm.

  Today, my grandfather looked even more serious than usual.

  By the time we reached the plaza, it was already packed.

  People pressed together from the lower steps all the way to the pillars of the upper tier.

  Everyone staring up at the shimmering 「Mirror of the Kingdom.」

  The magic behind it was impressive—though I wouldn’t say it out loud.

  Dozens of mages stood in formation around the square, maintaining the spell:

  synchronized water magic, forming suspended sheets of liquid air.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Each one reflected the same image, transmitted from the castle by a group of channelers.

  Spectacular.

  Still just a trick.

  The projection showed the royal mausoleum—

  an entire tower segment turned into a quiet garden.

  Every tomb decorated with the favorite flowers of each queen.

  My grandfather murmured:

  「…Queen Nerys…」

  He held the same bunch of lilacs he brought every year.

  The look on his face wasn’t just grief.

  There was anger there.

  Old, heavy anger.

  I glanced at him.

  「And yet you still come. To grieve for the people who took everything from you.」

  The image shifted.

  In the center of the mausoleum, surrounded by officials, stood the regent.

  Tall. Polished. Perfect.

  He didn’t look like a ruler—he looked like a painting.

  「Thanks to the steady guidance of our beloved regent, Thiseia avoided chaos and prospered.」

  The crowd applauded.

  My grandfather bowed his head.

  I kept watching, uneasy.

  Then it happened.

  A blast.

  Distant but unmistakable.

  Definitely not part of the program.

  The Mirror of the Kingdom flickered.

  The image shimmered twice—

  and went dark.

  Murmurs rippled through the plaza.

  Guards whispering to each other.

  People shifting, confused.

  But I focused on one thing only:

  The regent’s face before the image vanished.

  He wasn’t afraid.

  He wasn’t surprised.

  He was annoyed.

  As if someone had ruined his moment.

  A heartbeat later, the amplified voice rang out across the square:

  「For your safety, the address has concluded. Please clear the plaza in an orderly fashion. The remaining festivities will continue as scheduled.」

  My grandfather looked at me.

  「We’re leaving,」 he said.

  And that was it.

  Another year gone.

  And I still understood not