Morning light crept slowly down the mountain while Hans fastened the casualty register high above the freshly carved memorial stones. Marrick held its lower edge steady as families crowded the steps, and nobody in the whole square raised a cheer.
Hans smoothed the register with his one working hand before turning toward the people waiting below.
"Thirty-two defenders died on our ramparts," he announced, keeping his palm beside the names, "their families receive lifelong municipal pensions, and every name stays here for this province to remember."
A mother lifted her son high enough to find the line her trembling finger pointed toward.
The child touched one letter before she quietly lowered him against her shoulder and stepped back among the waiting families. Miners pulled off their caps while residents bowed toward the stones, and Hajin claimed nothing of their morning for himself.
'They don't need a speech from the bastard who couldn't bring everybody home.'
