It is plain to see: that day, the mayflies sang, shaking the tree and bringing it down. The remains of those who lost their wings in the process nourished new plants. Who knows whether the shoots breaking through the earth will block out the sunlight once more?
It doesn't matter. After all, mayflies have always lived in the pond. Once they emerge from their cocoons, they live for a day and die by nightfall. The hymns they once sang to the powerful now ring out for heroes, every note as precise as truth and fate...
(An ensemble cast story with a rebellious theme. The pacing is a little slow at first. I'm trying to give it depth without making it dull.)
