That evening, Dilrik finally heard the voice of its government.
The Prime Minister appeared on screens across the nation, standing alone at the podium. The national flag flanked him on both sides, its blue and yellow folds hanging down and still. No ministers stood behind him; it was a deliberate choice, a visual declaration that he was taking full responsibility for what had happened and whatever was coming next.
He stood there with the demeanor of a man weighed down by loss. His shoulders down, his eyes shadowed and his voice rough when he finally spoke.
"Citizens of this great nation," he began, "and to the families keeping vigil by the bedsides of our wounded, I stand before you at this moment not as your leader but as a servant who has heard your cries."
The words moved across the country through screens in crowded waiting rooms, through radios in cars stuck in traffic, and through phones held in tired hands.
