It had taken them many long weeks, with a lengthy break for The Burn. They'd finally finished it some days beforehand, a grand memorial to the lives lost in escaping Westchester, and the many lives lost beforehand. Some saw it as a celebration of their triumphs in the face of such dangers, whilst others witnessed a dark reminder of mankind's hatred.

No matter how it was taken, it would be hard to deny the centerpiece of the memorial. A large pedestal, which displayed names to those who put their hands on it. These were the names of people that individual had saved, stretching back decades. A combination of Magic and Science, which merely reflected the uniqueness of Mutant civilisation. It had already done so much to change people's lives, assauge guilt they carried but above all demonstrate the work they commited to with each passing day. Many of those names could be find on Whenua Tipu, now safe in their own home. A Mutant home.

There'd been some argument over what to name it. Some believed it should have been 'Vergil Park' but quiet and angry words from Cordelia Bradford soon set the record straight. Her grandson would never allow for his name to be applied to a memorial, it attached too much to the stoner's name. Instead it became Memorial Park, set upon an island within the wide river that flooded into Thunderbird Bay.

It was a semi-wild environment, intentionally built some distance from the land designated for the first city to be built. A vast swathe of land had been set aside for graves and urns, bodies of the deceased. It was equal parts a national park, with rising statues and artwork. It wasn't a place to play, but it was a place of reflection and quiet meditation. The Morlocks had arranged for their dead to be put here, deep within the Earth in frozen catacombs. The Icegraves had long been a tradition of their culture, and those things would not change.

As the bridges were finally lowered, people made their way into Memorial Park, a procession to the blank ampitheatre, rows of stone seats bidding welcome in the fresh open air. In the future, there would be more joyous stories told here. For now, it was a place to acknowledge all that had been lost. Speeches were shared by family and friends of lives lost, and time enough was spent reading every name from the list of those who had lost their lives in the escape from Westchester, when they fought back an army. They praised and commended the bravery of those who fought for gruelling hours against Hyperion, Power Princess, Sentry, The Confessor and many more.

When the time came, they spoke about the sacrifices made. Including those by Vergil and The Citizen, two figures who truly seemed to understand who or what a superhero was, and what that ultimately meant.

If The Burn had been a party, this would be a wake. Drinks and hor d'oeuvres made their way about the ampitheatre and surrounding space for those who stayed to converse, to remember, to reflect and mourn in their own way. Memorial Park welcomed all of those who sought comfort in it, and they would find peace here.

It was strange to mourn beneath the scorching sun.