Grandfather Emin began to recite the first verse, his voice low but steady. Elif didn't speak the words aloud; she didn't need to. The instrumental music said everything for her. The melody carried the sacrifice, the hope, and the stubborn resilience of a nation born from ashes.
Elif pulled the rope. The canvas resisted for a moment, heavy and stiff. Then, as she heaved, the red fabric broke free from its fold. istiklal+marsi+fon+muzigi+ve+dalgalanan+bayrak+top