"It doesn't take a master to hold a sword. Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm." (Publilius Syrus)
The sun bore down on the huge stadium, and the people were packed to the brim.
Seventy Thousand.
"Long live the Heraklean Republic!"
"For the Republic! For the future!"
"One nation, one will, one Republic!"
That was the number of people who had gathered to celebrate the eightieth anniversary of the founding of the Heraklean Republic.
At the Epicenter of all of this patriotic fever, was a stage.
"The atmosphere is really intense, right?"
Behind the doors that opened to the massive fighting grounds of the colosseum, a small group of people were waiting for entry.
"The gate will be opened soon enough, Your Majesty Isabelle. I hope you've prepared your speech." The chief guard beckoned to the lady dressed in a white gown.
"Yes. I hope everything is in place, Geron." Her voice contained elegance.
The guard nodded, and she gestured him away with his hand. She then turned around, to meet a handsome young man dressed up in royal attire.
"I have prepared my speech as well, Your Majest—Oh wait, your dress is out of alignment, let me fix it for you." He quickly kneeled down to adjust the Queen's dress.
"Thank you, Hagen." The queen replied, and then turned her gaze to the other person who was adjusting their dress in the room.
"Getting nervous, Ed?" A pair of brilliant blue eyes shot at him through the mirror.
Eduardo Herakles' hands trembled as they adjusted the dress he had been wearing.
"This is a pointless tradition. Not much I see here."
Hagen's eyebrows twitched. "That isn't the goal of traditions. It's a celebration."
"Celebration of what? Trying to hold this country together?" Ed quickly shot back, Hagen and Ed's glares meeting.
Isabelle sighed. "Enough. This is not the time to argue. We must present a united front. You both know how the old kingdoms are watching."
Geron nodded gravely. "There are whispers from Thros and Yitis. Even Tricaria's senators refuse to acknowledge today as a true anniversary. They still see us as invaders."
Hagen scoffed. "Let them whine. Their kingdoms fell decades ago. The Republic endures."
Eduardo shook his head. "And yet, their insurgents still plant bombs in our cities. Their exiled princes still whisper rebellion. Do you think a mere celebration silences that?"
Isabelle placed a firm hand on Eduardo's shoulder. "We will not be baited into war. We are not conquerors. We are leaders. Our strength lies in unity, not in old blood feuds."
A tense silence followed before Geron cleared his throat. "Your Royal Highness, the time is now."
The tension remained unspoken as the doors opened to wild cheers.
"Your Royal Highness Eduardo, you're being summoned by Chief Commander Abram. Follow me this way, please."
"Okay, Her Majesty and I will go on ahead. Report to Abram."
The sound of trumpets rang through the air, signaling the Queen's entrance. As Isabelle stepped forward, flanked by Hagen and the other officials, the roaring crowd reached a deafening pitch. The colosseum was alive with banners, cheers, and chants that shook the very ground beneath them.
From the side of the grand stage, a group of dignitaries whispered amongst themselves.
"The Herakles family, always at the center of it all," murmured one senator, a balding man with a stern expression.
"They are symbols more than rulers," another replied. "We govern. The Senate, the House—we are the ones who shape policy. The Republic is not a monarchy, after all."
"Tell that to the common folk. They still look at them like royalty."
As Isabelle reached the podium at the center of the grand stage, she raised her hand. A hush spread over the colosseum like a rolling wave, leaving only the fluttering of banners and the distant cry of a lone seagull overhead.
She took a breath, her voice calm yet commanding.
"Eighty years."
She let the words sink in before continuing.
"Eighty years ago, our forefathers stood where we stand now—not with celebration, but with resolve. They did not gather in the wake of victory, but in the shadow of uncertainty. They did not inherit a throne, but built a foundation. Brick by brick, word by word, sacrifice by sacrifice."
A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd. In the upper tiers, an older veteran nodded solemnly, his hand resting on his ceremonial blade.
"And yet, through war, through hardship, through blood and sweat and unbreakable will, the Republic was born. It was not given to us. It was forged."
Hagen stood beside her, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze unwavering as he surveyed the masses. Eduardo, meanwhile, stood further back, watching with a thoughtful expression.
"And today, eighty years later, we stand as proof that the Republic endures. Not because of one ruler, not because of one family, but because of every citizen, every soldier, every worker, and every voice that has dared to speak for the future. The Heraklean Republic is not the will of a single man—it is the will of a people."
The senator from earlier gave a slow, approving nod. "She knows the right words."
"You know, they are really smart indeed. They gave all the political and social power away, but have still held on to militaristic power."
Meanwhile, Eduardo followed the guards to a secluded chamber beneath the colosseum. The air was thick with tension as Chief Commander Abram awaited him. The man's piercing gaze locked onto Eduardo the moment he entered.
Chief Commander Abram strode in, his presence sharp and commanding. He wore a striking peacock-green ensemble, accented with gold, the fabric flowing with each step. His polished armor, fitted like a second skin, gleamed under the torchlight, reflecting the chamber's opulent decor.
At his side hung a longsword with a dark, ornate hilt, inlaid with precious stones that glimmered like stars. The grip, wrapped in supple leather, was worn from use, and the blade itself bore the marks of countless battles, its surface honed to a mirror sheen.
Eduardo barely had time to take it in before meeting Abram's gaze—tense, unreadable, filled with urgency. A sense of unease crept over him.
"Sit. We have a situation," Abram said, his voice low and tense. "We've intercepted intelligence about a potential bomb threat. Do you know anything about this?"
Eduardo opened his mouth to respond, but before the words could leave his lips, a bone-shaking roar of an explosion ripped through the air. The ground trembled violently beneath them, and a blinding flash of light engulfed the room.
The walls cracked, and massive chunks of concrete plummeted from the ceiling, cascading like an avalanche. A deafening crash followed as the shockwave tore through the colosseum, rattling the foundations. Eduardo's ears rang, his chest tight with the echo of the blast. For a moment, everything was chaos—dust swirling in the air, people screaming in panic, and the acrid scent of smoke filling their lungs.
Abram stood frozen, his face pale as he scanned the devastation above them. His voice was barely a whisper. "Damn it. We're too late."