The landscape of Provence was, as always, captivating. The starlight, cloaked in the night blue, was worthy of any artist's brush. It was like a whisper, a subtle nostalgia for something that could never be.
"That Gallia you fought for. That Gallia they feared in Sirius, knowing we would repay them according to their deeds. That Gallia for which you, leaving me, gave your life."
Her voice carried melancholy and sadness. And just a little bit of anger. Some part of her still couldn't accept it. Some part of her continued to hope, though that hope did nothing but prolong the pain.
"I remember the last time I saw you... How many years have passed since then, mon père? I remember the determination in your blue eyes. I remember how calm you were, even though you knew you might not return. I remember the hand gently wiping away my tears. They weren't fit for the lady you saw me as."
Monte Carlo Freeport, already visible nearby, was an island of calm amid the countless hatred directed at those who built everything around. Hatred born of cowardice that made people forget about the sacrifices, the betrayal, the duty. And about themselves.
"Not everyone felt the same way as you. I didn't know my mother, but I can only imagine her lineage was not as noble. Many turned away from me, but not you. I never saw you ashamed of me. And your people, true to your words, follow me as if you yourself were leading them to this day. They follow while knowing that no good ending lies ahead for us."
A separate, small section of the hangar, completely unremarkable. People looking at her with reverence. Silent bows. She passes them, honoring them with a nod and a small smile. A long, snow-white corridor.
"Today I saw... A tiny drop of what could have been. Protectors of the true Gallia; a will clad in fire and steel; a determination to carry their convictions to the very end. I stood with them while dishonorable traitors gathered around us like a pack of wolves. I protected them as long as I could... But they fell, like all before them. All I could do was disappear in the ensuing chaos."
A small but beautifully furnished living room. Portraits of people, most of whom she had never seen alive. She stopped next to the one of them. A man with a neat beard and dark, graying hair, looking off to the side with piercing blue eyes filled with resolve.
"I've never cried since, you know. And your fighter still serves your cause. Are you proud of me, mon père?"
Last in the row, nearby, hung a portrait of a young woman with blue eyes and small freckles. The rays of the setting sun illuminated her hair, giving it a golden sheen.
![[Image: image.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/LsXqGXVh/image.png)
![[Image: 8778.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/7h0dDSkd/8778.jpg)