The rain hadn't fallen in days. Instead, the sky remained choked with black smoke — curling plumes rising from cities once considered the beating heart of the Republic. Factories burned. Bridges collapsed into flame-lit rivers. From the eastern coast to the western plateau, Alexandria's counteroffensive had shifted the momentum of the war.
But victory had a cost.
Beneath the ruins of Talrinn City, Herzl stood among the rubble, his boots soaked with a mixture of ash and blood. The wind carried a metallic taste. Bodies were still being pulled from the wreckage. Some were soldiers. Some were not.
"Is this… what winning feels like?" he asked aloud, not expecting an answer.
A flicker of footsteps behind him.
"No. This is the prelude to something far worse," said General Eryas, stepping forward. A commander known as The Iron Vulture, she was infamous for executing her own troops if they retreated without orders. And yet today, her expression was hollow. Even she seemed tired of blood.
"Why level an entire city?" Herzl asked her. "There were civilians in Talrinn. Families."
Eryas didn't flinch. "Talrinn was the Republic's largest weapons hub. You think those families didn't know what they were building?"
"But we're no better than them now…"
She turned her sharp, eagle-like gaze to Herzl. "This is war. You're looking for 'better' in a place where only survival exists. That's your mistake, Herzl. You keep trying to find justice. I try to find victory."
Before Herzl could respond, the screech of a warplane overhead cut through the silence. Anti-air sirens blared. A bombing raid — not by the Republic, but by neutral third-party planes.
Eryas swore. "The Federation again… Those bastards are fueling both sides."
Explosions rumbled in the distance. Herzl could see fire blooming on the northern outskirts — places where their wounded were being treated.
Elsewhere: Beneath the Republic's Capitol
Deep under the surface, in the caverns carved beneath Old Veylor, a figure watched the chaos unfold on a projection of darkglass. He wore a white mask that split down the center with crimson veins. His name was whispered by few, known to even fewer.
Kael Dravien — the architect of revolution. The one who gave the Republic its teeth.
Yet, he was no patriot. No idealist. He was something worse.
"The Kingdom pushes harder than expected," a soldier reported, his body trembling as Kael turned.
Kael raised one hand. "Do you fear them?"
"N-no, sir."
"Then you're lying to both of us."
Kael walked to the center of the room, where three bodies hung suspended in stasis — Republic generals who had failed him. Their minds were now his to read. Their thoughts preserved like books in a cursed library.
He whispered to himself: "The Kingdom believes they're close. But they forget: desperation is the mother of monstrosity."
Back in Talrinn
That night, Herzl couldn't sleep. He sat outside the ruined cathedral, watching the flicker of distant fires. Grim approached, his cloak streaked with soot and blood.
"I've seen you look broken before," Grim said. "But never this hollow."
Herzl didn't respond immediately. "There was a child under the rubble today. Holding a wooden sword. I pulled him out. His sister was already gone. I keep wondering… would he grow up to kill us? Would he join the Republic? Or…"
Grim lowered himself beside him. "Maybe he would've joined us. Maybe he would've stopped fighting altogether. But that's a future we don't get to know."
Herzl finally looked him in the eye. "Do you still believe in what we're doing?"
There was a pause.
Grim answered softly, "I believe in you."
Herzl looked away, unsure if that comforted him — or terrified him.