Most people wake up and go about their day as normal, scattered throughout the SMP. But as the day wears on, and its significance sinks in, people gather at the ruins of L'manberg. A sheet of glass has been plastered above the crater, a memorial to the nation that once stood there. Small groups begin to form, each participant uncertain of what to do, but partaking in the silent vigil nonetheless.
As time goes on, stories get murmured to each other. Those who had been there since the revolution share their tales. They speak of the L'mantree, the Carmaravan, Independance, relics destroyed with the country. They tell of events, both sad and happy, the revolution, the election, Doomsday. They talk of leaders and soldiers that fought tooth and nail for the country that used to exist. L'manberg, Manberg, New L'manberg, each history is told.
Around noon, the people have started to sing. Someone had the foresight to bring a guitar. Campfire songs that had rarely been heard since the revolution are sung. People dance and sing on the grave of their country. Children hum the anthem, a familiar tune, without knowing the words or their weight. But it isn't sung, not yet. It isn't until the sun has started to set that the people begin to sing My L'manberg. Each person reminisces on their lost home, a symphony of past wishes.
As night falls, torches and campfires are lit to light up the area. Some people light fireworks, but most don't. The last thing their home needs is more explosions.
(A king, a traitor watches from their palace. They had known what day it was and had stayed away from the doomed country. They had tended to the museum, welcoming the visitors to its exhibits. Most were kind, but others seemed distrustful, eyeing the replica of the Final Control Room. The king paid little mind, instead opting to pay their respects to the nation late in the night, after most had gone back to their homes.
After all, can you celebrate a nation you betrayed?)
(The child of L'manberg sits outside of Las Nevadas. He knew what day it was. Of course, he did. He was the first child born within L'manberg's walls, the son of General, and later, President Soot. He had fought in the revolution, served under Schlatt, and had been a cabinet member in New L'manberg. But still, he sits, unwilling to visit his birthplace, knowing he'd only find a hole in the ground. Despite the longing for his home, he'll stay.
Why celebrate L'manberg when you have a new home?)
(The founder of L'manberg barely notices the date. He's hard at work, trying to one-up Las Nevadas and create a "new nation." He has given his former country very little thought since he destroyed it, since he was resurrected there. He left his unfinished symphony forever unfinished, after all.
Why celebrate a country you can't recognize?)
(The latest president of L'manberg is high in his outpost. He moved on quickly after his country's destruction, making a new one only a day after. He spends his days fortifying Snowchester with weapons, with walls higher than L'manberg's. Now, he spies on Las Nevadas, just as he did Manberg. Some think he forgot the date, but on the contrary, it haunts him. He had fought in the revolution, at L'manberg's beginning, and had presided over it during Doomsday, at its end.
Can you celebrate a country if you're the reason it's gone?)
(The hero of L'manberg takes a train to the Snowchester Outpost. He had built it for his and Wilbur's new country, opting to make a stop at his friend's close base. He's built many rails like it over the years, some of which used to zig-zag over L'manberg. He climbs the stairs to his friend, bringing bottles of potions with him. They sit and drink, laugh and cry, just like the good old days, despite being only seventeen.
As long as we're still here, can L'manberg ever really be gone?)
The dark settles in and most people make their way home, the songs and stories still ringing in their ears. They don't think of the destruction that ravaged their land, or the many wars that had been fought over it. They think of the happiness, the joy, the brief freedom that it brought its people. This was not a day of mourning; a day would come for that. It was a day of happiness, of memory, of sharing the knowledge that as long as its stories were told, as long as its songs were sung, and as long as its people remembered, L'manberg would live on.
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