Atlas did not leave the tower immediately.
The Wizard King sat bound against the low wall, breathing in short, uneven pulls. Blood darkened the front of his coat. The device lay cut and inert a few feet away, its core cracked open by the same blade that had ended the fight.
Below them the dukes' army held its lines in front of the castle. The city was beginning to move again under the morning light.
Smoke still rose from scattered blocks, but the main avenues were clear enough for people to start testing the streets. Atlas remained standing, looking out over the rooftops for a long moment before he spoke.
"You thought the seat was the only thing that mattered," he said. "That if you held the center hard enough, everything else would fall into place."
