As long as they lived, they would remain symbols.
Hope.
Rebellion.
Resistance.
A single surviving Spear could unite thousands.
The new rulers would never allow that.
Jheven stood quietly, looking across the battlefield.
Thousands of eyes were watching him.
Former soldiers, officers. Former citizens of the empire.
Many were crying, and many looked completely broken.
The First Spear slowly exhaled.
"So this is it."
Orara laughed bitterly.
"I always imagined my death would be more glorious."
Resna wiped blood from the corner of her mouth.
"You're dying surrounded by an army after fighting three calamities."
She shook her head.
"That's already more glorious than most."
The Fourth Spear chuckled weakly.
"She's right."
For a brief moment, they simply stood there.
Not as Spears.
Just as comrades who had survived until the end together.
Heavy footsteps approached.
Grathum emerged from the crowd.
