The pale dawn light crept over the black obsidian spires and bronze domes of Alika City, illuminating a capital scarred by the midnight coup.
Smoke still drifted from the artisan quarter where rebel barricades had smoldered through the night, but the avenues were now firmly locked down by imperial loyalists.
Cadets and senior healers moved through the streets, dragging away the dead and binding the wounds of surviving sentries. Veteran city guards in heavy iron plate marched in tight formation, ripping down the black coiled-serpent banners from every gateway and watchtower. In their place, the golden sun crest of the Supreme Mandra was hoisted back atop the high battlements, snapping sharply against the freezing northern wind.
Thousands of citizens and soldiers had gathered in the Great War Plaza before the Convergence Palace. The crowd was deathly quiet.
