The cobblestones trembled under iron and steel.

  Arthur rode tall at the front, his officer’s coat gleaming under the now cloudy gray sky. The Regent was beside him, posture regal even in the saddle, his expression unreadable as always. Around them, a cluster of senior officers formed a ring of brass and braid, their medals flashing with each crack of sunlight through the clouds.

  And just behind them - me.

  I tugged at the reins, settling my horse into rhythm. The beast snorted, its muscles shifting under me, but it kept pace. Thank God I’d forced myself to learn riding. For once, my past self had done me a favor.

  Ahead, the parade stretched in columns. Soldiers marched in lockstep, rifles gleaming like rows of teeth. Tanks rolled slow and deliberate, black smoke pumping from their exhaust stacks. Behind them, the artillery groaned along on their carriages, barrels pitched skyward. Further still, lines of infantry snaked back as far as the eye could see - thousands of boots striking stone in perfect rhythm.

  The crowd roared approval from both sides of the avenue, their voices rising like waves crashing against walls.

  Meanwhile, I was nearly nodding off in the saddle.

  “Mom,” I heard a child’s voice from the edge of the road, just audible between the cheers. “Who’s that one? The one that looks weird?”

  Poker face. Hold the poker face.

  “That boy?” the mother whispered back, loud enough for me to hear. “That’s the commoner blessed by the Almighty. Someone who's blessed with divine energy! Can you believe it? A commoner!”

  The boy gasped, tugging at her sleeve. “Really? He’s one of those magic people? That’s so cool!”

  I kept my expression as blank as I could, staring dead ahead. Internally, though, I sighed.

  Kids. Bipolar little creatures. One second you’re weird, the next you’re holy.

  Also, when the hell did this become public knowledge? Did I miss that part in this mornings newspaper?

  My lips tightened, the mask cracking just slightly. I forced the thought down and ignored it.

  The tanks growled past, steam boiling from their exhaust vents. My eyes lingered on them, fascinated despite myself. Divinity and machinery - two paths clashing, fusing, building a world that made no sense and yet worked anyway. Part of me couldn’t wait to see the capital with my own eyes.

  Especially the floating city. Seat of the military academy. The place where I’d originally planned to carve my name into the Empire.

  Now, I’m the Regent’s leash-hound, paraded as his little inquisitorial pet.

  But hell, why not be both? If fate already dragged me here, maybe I could still take the academy for myself one day. A general’s stars on my chest, and the Regent’s shadow at my back.

  The thought lingered as we approached the northern gate.

  But first, I still have to find out where the hell that Bishop is - and find the Cardinal. Or at least find something that leads to him.

  I shook my head, staring at the crowd cheering around me.

  At this point, there's no doubt the Cardinals most likely dead or worse. Yet the question still remains. Why did the Bishop capture the Cardinal? What did he need from him?

  The crowd thickened. Here, on the border of the Outer Rim, the press of bodies was so great that the watch had been forced to raise barriers. Officers lined the street, palms outstretched, each clutching a gemstone that pulsed faint blue. The forcefields shimmered against the mass of people, holding back the tide without strain.

  We passed through the gates as rain started to drizzle from above, and the roar doubled. The crowd here was massive, a sea of faces packed shoulder to shoulder, their cheers echoing like thunder. Hands waved, voices screamed blessings, children sat on shoulders to glimpse the march.

  The turnout was better than I’d expected.

  Oppressed or not, people still loved a good show of force.

  And Arthur, for all his iron severity, still commanded respect from the commoners. Even out here, even among the ones the nobility spat on, his presence carried weight.

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  Radicals like Halrigg might sneer, lumping Arthur with the rest of the nobility. But here, they were smiling. Shouting. Hopeful.

  But if things continue how they are, I can’t even blame some for becoming radicalized.

  Even if we stop a revolution here, what's to say the idea won't spread? Something needs to change, and I fear brutality won't do anything but delay the inevitable.

  I scanned the crowd, watching faces streaked with rain but bright with joy.

  And for a fleeting moment, I almost believed it.

  Maybe Arthur was right.

  The parade was steady, ordered, unbroken.

  Our column had reached the avenue that cut toward the west gate, the tanks rumbling forward with groaning treads as the formation began to wheel. Steam hissed in clouds from their stacks, the rhythm of marching boots pounding behind them like a living drum.

  But as the heavy machinery started to turn, an uneasy feeling attacked me.

  My gut tightened. In a crowd this thick, eyes played tricks and instincts played up. But this feeling was all too similar, it was exactly the same feeling from the Regents mansion.

  One of impending doom.

  My breath caught. The shadows at my feet stirred.

  Anxious. Too anxious.

  I shook my head, trying to dispel the feeling from my body.

  Until I saw a carriage roll out of an alley.

  Its wheels screeched, its frame already engulfed in fire. Flames poured through shattered windows, heat twisting the air.

  Time seemed to stretch.

  And then the voices rose - what felt like tens of throats roaring as one.

  “LIBERTATEM VEL MORTEM!”

  The language of the old Empire.

  Freedom or death.

  The words hadn’t even faded when the world tore apart.

  The fire carriage detonated.

  A wave of heat and force smashed into me, hurling my horse sideways as I fell off. My skull rang like a cracked bell, vision flashing white. Men screamed as their mounts went down, bones snapping under iron hooves.

  I hit the street hard, rolling as shards of carriage iron hissed into the cobbles around me.

  Gunfire split the air. Staccato cracks from alleys, upper floors, windows. Soldiers toppled where they stood, their blood streaking the rain-slick street. Civilians shrieked and scattered in a stampede, trampling one another underfoot.

  “ROOFTOPS! THEY’RE ON THE ROOFTOPS!” someone bellowed, voice half-drowned in the chaos. Return gunfire sounded, but even now it didn’t seem clear.

  I shoved myself upright, stumbling through a storm of screams, bodies, and bullets. The acrid tang of smoke choked my lungs. Shadows thrashed at my heels like panicked animals, snapping toward threats I couldn’t even see.

  Through the haze - I spotted them.

  Arthur and the Regent had been dragged from their horses, a wall of soldiers closing ranks around them. Rifles barked back at the windows as officers screamed orders. Arthur’s face was locked in shock, his jaw tight, his eyes wide. The Regent, in contrast, looked carved from stone, his gaze severe, his presence iron even as chaos swallowed the street.

  My stomach twisted. Half the officers who’d ridden with us were gone. Their bodies sprawled across the cobbles beside shattered horses. Medals and blood both glinted in the rain.

  The tanks at the fore were smoking wrecks. Out of twenty, five had been gutted by blasts, their crews clawing their way from burning hulls. Soldiers scrambled with axes to pry hatches open before the flames consumed them whole.

  Then the next explosions hit.

  Not here - further off. A shudder in the distance. Then another. And another.

  Each boom rolled like thunder through the city, each plume of smoke rising from a different sector.

  My blood ran cold.

  The man in the crowd hadn’t just been bait for a burning carriage. He’d been a signal.

  And now the city was answering.

  The worst-case scenario was here.

  Arthur’s face shifted. Shock melted to rage. His voice ripped through the chaos, a roar that seemed to drag men back from the edge of panic. “CLEAR THE ROOFTOPS! FLUSH THEM OUT!”

  Even before his order finished, squads were already storming buildings, bayonets flashing as they smashed through doors and windows. The streets shook with their fury, the gunfire redoubling.

  The Regent was already being pulled back, soldiers in Imperial uniform closing tight around him.

  Then a soldier stumbled into the circle, soaked in blood and rain. His uniform bore the crest of Lord Thale - the noble tasked with monitoring the docks.

  He leaned into Arthur, whispering urgently.

  Arthur’s face darkened. His jaw clenched, his hand crushing the hilt of his blade. His gaze shot to me, hard as iron.

  “Damian!” he barked. His voice was ragged but commanding, cutting through the din. “Take some men and get to the docks! Now! The heretics are moving there. This is the worst time to fuck this up. You understand me?!”

  I didn’t argue. Just nodded once, sharp.

  I whirled, grabbing the nearest five soldiers who hadn’t yet been swallowed by rooftop fire. “With me! Docks, now!”

  We ran. Boots hammered the cobbles as the chaos bled behind us. The sounds of gunfire and explosions chased us through the streets.

  Ten minutes. The docks were ten minutes away if we push.

  My teeth clenched as I forced my legs faster.

  Whether it was the heretics or Halrigg… this wasn’t just blood. It was a message.

  A declaration.

  And if it was Halrigg…

  My chest tightened.

  If it was Halrigg, then this city wasn’t the only thing burning today. The Empire’s wrath would drown every worker in Morren before the sun set.

  The thought lodged heavy as a stone in my chest.

  And still - I ran.