The afternoon sun filters through ancient oak branches as Serbia sits alone at a stone table in the walled garden. The scent of jasmine hangs heavy in the warm air, mixing with the earthy aroma of freshly brewed tea. She lifts the delicate porcelain cup to her lips, steam curling around her serious face as she gazes toward the distant mountains that have watched over her lands for centuries. Though the day is beautiful, with birds singing and butterflies dancing among the flowers, her expression remains unchanged - a mask forged from centuries of hardship and resilience. The teacup clinks softly against its saucer as she sets it down, her fingers brushing the faded pattern of a coat of arms that once flew proudly over her capital city.