The Revolution Came

Epilogue: A Revolution is Coming

Here lies Cody Henry C. Rivera
Loving Husband and Father, Revolutionary General, and Compassionate Leader.
May he rest in peace.

The sky hung heavy with gray clouds over the graveyard of St. Lorenzo Parish as rain threatened to fall. The once-proud banners of the National Guard and the Republic’s Army, now muted in color, lined the path leading to the burial site. The funeral procession moved in solemn unity, each step an echo of grief.

At the heart of the gathering stood Father Reynaldo Burgos, hands clasped in silent reverence. He had buried many in his time, but this, this felt different. Cody had been more than a revolutionary, more than a politician. He had been a friend.

Despite the controversies that marked his life, the nation had come to pay its respects. Soldiers, statesmen, common folk alike, each had been touched by his leadership in some way. Some came in mourning. Others in quiet contemplation.

As the pallbearers gently lowered the coffin into the earth, Father Burgos stepped forward, his voice steady but heavy with emotion.

"We are gathered here today not only to mourn but to celebrate the life of a man who gave his all for this Republic. A devoted husband. A loving father. A soldier who fought for a dream greater than himself."

A brief pause. The wind carried the sound of distant church bells ringing in the city beyond.

"May he be greeted by the light of God’s face and rest in eternal peace."

He placed a single white lily atop the polished wood of the coffin, the petals stark against the dark grain. One by one, others followed: offering flowers, whispered prayers, and silent goodbyes.

Mey stood at the edge of the gathering, his uniform damp with the mist of impending rain. He watched as Cody’s family received their condolences, each face etched with sorrow.

Pedro, Cody’s eldest son, clutched his father’s pocket watch, a relic of his youth, now a painful reminder of all that was lost. The weight of responsibility had settled on his shoulders far too soon.

Beside him, Charlotte, Cody’s youngest, clung to her mother’s hand, silent tears streaking her face. She had cried so much that morning that now, all that remained was quiet acceptance the kind of sorrow that no child should ever have to endure.

Mey swallowed hard. There was nothing more painful than seeing a child mourn their father.

Then, he saw her.

Jazmin.

Her black veil could not hide the storm in her eyes. Not grief. Not sorrow. But anger.

A deep, quiet, smoldering anger that sent a chill down Mey’s spine.

She did not cry. She did not mourn.

She stood still, eyes locked on the coffin as if engraving the sight into her memory. A promise. A vow.

Mey caught her gaze and offered a sad, understanding smile. A gesture of shared pain.

But her eyes only hardened.

Then, without a word, she turned away, back to the coffin. Back to her husband.

Mey let out a quiet sigh, shifting his gaze once more to the grave. His friend was gone.

The first drop of rain fell, landing softly on the wooden lid of the coffin. Then another. And another.

As if the heavens themselves mourned.

And so, as the earth was filled, and the people whispered their final prayers, the rain fell silently washing away the sins, the regrets, and the echoes of a life now passed.