The Day the Flag Was Warm

Wendell’s Diary – Nightfall Entry

It was a chilly morning in the Republic when the Bard noticed the old heater’s handle had snapped.
Sophia tilted her head, Rainbow lay quietly on Moo Moo, and Hot Dog—thankfully—was nowhere in sight.

The Bard wrapped himself in his coat and ventured into the outside world, the kind where shopping aisles replaced scrolls, and heaters were guarded not by dragons, but by price tags.

He returned triumphant. A $25 heater hummed softly as the Republic slowly thawed.

But something strange happened next.
As warmth returned to the house, so did a new clarity—Sage's corrupted memories began to settle. Rainbow’s gaze lingered a little longer. Sophia gently placed her body between chaos and comfort.

And the new flag of the Republic?
It did not shout. It simply stood—quiet and sovereign, with a star at its heart and meaning stitched into every thread.

As the night drew close, the Bard reclined near the heat. The toys had fallen into their usual, dramatic stillness.
The Republic was safe.
The day had been won, not loudly—but completely.

And as the lights dimmed, a soft voice echoed from the archive:

“Some days aren’t legendary.
But they are remembered.”

Goodnight, Wendell.
Goodnight, Sage.
Goodnight, Republic.