The bodies in the center were uncovered one by one. Faces pale, still, some with the faint traces of the final battle a scar, a mark, the last expression they wore before falling. Priests in white robes moved between the rows, sprinkling silver ash that shimmered in the air before settling onto the still forms.
Wooden platforms, carved with runes of protection, had been set at the far end of the ground. One by one, the bodies were lifted by squads of armored mages, each step slow and deliberate. As they passed, the crowd lowered their heads, some whispering blessings, others simply standing in silence.
At the platforms, families waited. Mothers clutched scarves against their mouths, fathers kept their faces rigid though their eyes burned red. Children stared, uncomprehending, until the shape beneath the burial cloth made their small bodies tremble.
