The fork scraped porcelain. I chewed slow, savoring the last bite as sugar melted across my tongue.

  God, this is bliss.

  Six months of coming here on and off, and I’d tried everything the café had to offer. But this one? This one was the winner. A sponge so soft it barely held together, cream so sweet it left me dizzy. Whoever baked it was a saint in my book.

  I leaned back in my chair, exhaling in contentment. Maybe the world was spiraling into heretics and all out war, but at least there was cake.

  A shadow fell over the table. I looked up.

  A girl no older than me stood there, her uniform apron crisp, her posture nervous but polite. She set down a steaming cup with careful precision. “Your tea, sir. Sweet, just the way you like it.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled lightly, my tone polite, even formal - a reflex I didn’t entirely mean.

  Her cheeks colored faintly. She bowed, quick and flustered, and hurried away.

  I blinked after her. Then frowned. “…I’m not that good-looking.” I sipped, lips quirking faintly. “She must just have weird taste in men.”

  The tea was perfect. Just enough sugar to keep me from scowling at the headlines.

  The paper crinkled as I turned the page.

  Martial Law Relieved but Not Lifted.

  After weeks of lockdown, the restrictions have been “eased” under the Regent’s decree. Patrols remain heavy, with Imperial troops supplementing Morren’s own garrison. The Regent assured citizens it was merely a military exercise meant to test the readiness of the city. Still, many doubt the official line.

  I flipped to the next column.

  Imperial Troops Clash with Locals.

  Reports surface daily of altercations between citizens and Imperial soldiers. Witnesses describe the troops as arrogant, dismissive, and overly authoritative, treating both Outer and Inner Rim residents as inferiors. The Ministry has released no comment.

  Another article, this one heavy with speculation.

  What Caused the Lockdown?

  Though the Regent claims this was a drill, questions remain. Rumors spread of assassins, cultists, even spies from the East. Official statements deny all such claims, but uncertainty lingers. The true cause remains classified.

  And finally - the parade piece, dressed in propaganda.

  Grand Military Parade Scheduled. Four Divisions to March.

  The Imperial garrison will march in four waves, each division representing one of the four gates of Morren. Citizens are advised to expect street closures, heavy congestion, and delays as the soldiers make their procession. May the Almighty bless our soldiers.

  I folded the paper, tapping the headline with one finger.

  Nobility sure know how to bury the truth. All the chaos in the streets reduced to parades and blessings.

  The cake plate was empty. The cup drained. No delaying it now.

  “Excuse me,” I asked the man at the next table, “what time is it?”

  He pulled a polished watch from his vest pocket, flicked it open. “An hour to midday.”

  I tipped my flat cap in thanks, slipping the paper under my arm as I stood. “Appreciate it.”

  The bell chimed overhead as I stepped into the drizzle.

  Arthur’s parade was set to start in an hour. Best not keep him waiting.

  —

  The military complex loomed like a city within the city. Steel fences. Barracks stacked in rows. Training fields wide enough to swallow entire streets.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  This was the provisional garrison area - close to the Nobility’s walls, far enough from the outskirts. Soldiers here weren’t green recruits. These were active duty, seasoned men. Thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of them, gathered for one show of force.

  I drew Arthur’s medallion from my coat as the first checkpoint barred my way. The guard stiffened, saluted, and barked to his partner. Within seconds I was being escorted deeper into the grounds.

  Self-propelled artillery lined the avenues, steam vents hissing. Anti-air cannons crouched like steel beasts, their barrels pitched toward the cloudy sky. Officers stalked through the sun, bellowing orders at formations of troops whose boots struck the ground in perfect rhythm.

  I slowed slightly at the anti-air, watching the mechanics crank elevation wheels with practiced ease. For a second, Earth memories bubbled up unbidden. Radar. Jets. Dogfights streaking across skies.

  Not here. Not yet. Prop planes, maybe. But radar was highly doubtful. Judging by the sightlines, they were still flying blind.

  If I had to say, the Empire was close to the late Nineteen-Thirties of Earth when it came to military technological advancement. I had no doubt that if I looked around deeper, I’d find the tanks propelled by Aetheris stones instead of fuel.

  The soldiers stopped at a squat administrative building. Two older officers stood guard at the doors. Their eyes swept over me, sharp and measuring.

  “He’s expected,” one said curtly.

  The escorts stiffened, saluted with fists to their chests, and left in quick retreat.

  The door opened.

  Inside, the air was thick with voices.

  Arthur stood beside a replica model of the city, his coat damp but his posture commanding. Around him, nobles in decorated jackets leaned over the miniature streets, their medals glinting under lamplight. Among them - the Regent, silent, watchful.

  I drifted closer, listening as Arthur gestured at the model.

  “The parade will split in four directions, each signifying a gate. North, east, south, and west. From there, they’ll march outward through the Outer Rim, then wheel clockwise back through the next gate. A cycle. The entire city covered.”

  He paused, his voice firm. “While the parade marches, the leads we’ve uncovered will be investigated. Each noble here will take personal troops to scour their designated sector. If the heretics move, they’ll be caught in the act.”

  Arthur’s eyes flicked to a stern noble with a chest heavy in medals. “You - the docks.”

  Another. “The abandoned brewery.”

  Another. “The drainage tunnels.”

  Another. “The train yards.”

  I noted each one down in the back of my mind. Especially the tunnels.

  Guess it’s good me and Mary haven't gone yet. With any luck maybe the Heretics will bite and reveal themselves. Would make my life much easier.

  Arthur continued, voice cutting across the room. “Meanwhile, I and three of my senior officers will lead the parade. I’ll take the north procession. Colonel Vey, east. Brigadier General Marthas, south. Colonel Reiks, west. No mistakes.”

  The Regent’s gaze lingered over the table, unreadable, as the miniature streets glimmered beneath the lamplight.

  I folded my arms, lips tightening faintly.

  A parade to draw snakes from their holes. And hunters waiting at the burrows.

  A bad feeling lingered in my gut. No matter how clean the plan sounded on paper, the shadows in my head whispered otherwise. I had no doubt if Charlotte could, she'd be calling the whole thing a paper tiger.

  Arthur’s voice cut through the chamber. “Final preparations. See to your troops. Dismissed.”

  Chairs scraped, boots thudded, voices dropped to murmurs as the nobles and officers filed out one by one. Soon, only three figures remained at the model table - Arthur, the Regent, and me.

  The Regent’s hand rested lightly on the miniature walls, eyes glinting. “Your military genius cannot be questioned. You’re a once-in-a-lifetime commander, Arthur. Men would follow you into hell itself.” His smile thinned. “But this is risky.”

  Arthur’s jaw tightened, but his voice was steady. “If it means we can burrow out the heretics, then it’s worth it.”

  He finally noticed me drawing closer, his expression softening for a flicker. “Damian. Forgive me. I’ve ignored you since you arrived.”

  I shook my head. “It’s fine. I can see the strain already weighing on you.”

  The Regent’s eyes flicked between us, unreadable but sharp. “He’s right. You bear enough as it is. Which is why I will march with you.” His tone left no room for debate. “The people must see you not as a lone general, but as my chosen successor.”

  Arthur dipped his head, eyes still locked on the miniature city. “Then I thank you, Lord Regent.”

  “You needn’t thank me,” the Regent said smoothly. “I would not stand at your side if I did not see your potential. When the Empire enters another conflict - and it will - I’d want you at mine.”

  Arthur’s grin was faint, but the Regent’s chuckle carried more weight. “Especially since my brother sits on the throne.”

  Arthur gave a rough grin, almost humorless. “Only you could call his royal majesty with such an unbecoming term and not get your head lobbed off.”

  The Regent chuckled. “I’d hope so, I backed his succession from the start, after all.”

  Their banter carried the weight of long familiarity - one forged in politics and battlefields both.

  I let my eyes drift back to the model. Streets crisscrossed in meticulous detail. Districts marked with colored pins. Potential threats noted. Retreat points mapped. Civilian congestion zones shaded in grey. It was a web of strategy stretched tight, every angle accounted for.

  And still…

  My jaw tightened faintly as I stared at the miniature drainage tunnels.

  I only hoped this would be enough.

  leave a review to help me get to rising stars! Every review counts, much more than you may think.