The capital was still.
Fires burned in the distance. Crumbled houses and shattered walls surrounded them. The stench of blood, ash, and smoke filled the air.
Broner and Corpuz, armor cracked and faces bruised, limped toward Aiah.
Behind them, soldiers, some wounded, others barely standing, gathered in silence.
A few stood watch from the broken walls. The nobles arrived next, uncertain and wide-eyed.
Broner dropped to one knee. Corpuz followed.
The crowd of soldiers followed their lead.
"Your Highness," Broner said, voice rough but steady, "Bulcan awaits your command."
Aiah stood tall. Her clothes were torn, her hands stained, but her eyes were firm.
"This city has bled long enough," she said. Her voice rang across the courtyard. "But we have won."
"King Geoffrey is dead. The corrupted are gone. From this day forward, Bulcan belongs to its people!"
A cheer erupted, weak at first, then louder as more voices joined in. Fists raised. Swords lifted.
