Nyx
The fire hasn’t gone out. Even after the fight, even after the surrender, the scent of smoke clings to the square like memory. The world watches the old order burn, both literally and digitally. The Council stands before me now, torches in hand.
The flames rise high enough to paint the clouds in molten orange. The old scrolls, centuries of decrees and laws written by men who feared women like me, curl and blacken in the heat. Kaelen stands to my right, silent and unflinching. Orion is at my left, every inch the fallen prince.
His face unreadable, his father’s absence a shadow across his expression. The cameras hover like silent witnesses. Drones drift in slow arcs above us, broadcasting the funeral of the old world in high definition. Comments scroll across the bottom of the scree
