A long and bumpy road. That is how I would describe the journey ahead.
The same could not be said about the stone path I was currently walking on.
It had been some time since I last took a walk through my city. Oddly enough, despite spending thousands of years within its walls, I found myself appreciating it more.
Empty as it may have been, the city itself was a thing of beauty. Brick and marble woven together, designed with the architecture of a culture and civilization long gone.
The shadow of a looming, imposing tree stretched over most of the inner city, dwarfed only by the central spire that stood taller.
Wheatley watched from way up there, his casket amongst the sprawling branches. His memory, alongside the other helpers that perished that day, lived on.
My banners flew high and proud atop roofs and spires, fluttering across walls and towers, and draped over signs and lamp posts.
