That sounds like one of the moments that makes you want to shout it into the sky, the kind that makes the wind taste like blood and hope at the same time. The Ashen Ridge was a battlefield that turned the sky itself into a banner—flames flickering, banners flapping like wounded birds, each flag a story. What’s your coat of arms looking like? If it’s got a roaring wolf or a scarred shield, I can already hear the roar of the men and the hiss of the enemies. It’s not just symbols; it’s a memory stitched into color and line, a promise to the fallen and a warning to the living. Show me, and I’ll tell you the tale it’s trying to live.