"Will we ever forget? Will we heal from the wounds?" "Please, let me not forget. May this struggle never be erased from my mind and heart. So many sacrifices, so many unjustly lost souls, let not one be forgotten..." She took her gaze off him and looked with tearful eyes at Thessaloniki, slowly fading in the morning mist. "You are right..." she whispered in the end. "The only grave of the dead is the hearts of the living..." Milios, Anthi, little Vasilka, small candles of enslaved Macedonia. Only a handful of years their lives, anchored in fire and war. Areti and Fotini, women of the small homeland, dedicated to a brave struggle for the race and freedom. Their souls grew fierce and wept at the same time. For the child one lost so unjustly. For the man the other loved passionately and killed with her own hands. Close to them Pavlos Melas, Tellos Agras, Captain Kottas, Captain Garefis. Those who sacrificed and rested eternally in the bosom of Macedonian land, along with thousands of other men and women of our people. Chronicles of the small homeland. Blood of martyrs and heroes. This is their story.