The bustling streets of Port Albion echoed with merchants’ cries and laborers’ grunts as Nathaniel Ashcroft made his way through the crowd, his polished boots clicking sharply against the cobblestones. His scarlet coat, trimmed with gold, demanded respect, though the townsfolk’s stares spoke of disdain.

“You’re just another king’s dog,” one muttered, another adding, “How many villages must burn before the army’s satisfied?”

He pushed aside the whispers, heading for the officers’ quarters near the governor’s mansion. Inside, the scent of polished wood and aged wine filled the air.

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“Captain Ashcroft,” Edmund Fairfax greeted him, lounging near a grand fireplace. “The governor hosts a ball tonight. I trust you’ll attend?”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. The reports of “victories” came with a heavy price—villages razed, families displaced. “I’ve no stomach for celebrations,” he replied, his voice cold.

Fairfax frowned. “Nathaniel, you must not let sentiment cloud your judgment. These rebels are no more than thieves. We bring order.”

“Order?” Nathaniel repeated bitterly. “Or tyranny dressed as order?”

Fairfax’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Loyalty to the crown is not optional. Be careful with your words, old friend.”

That night, alone in his quarters, Nathaniel opened On the Rights of Man. The words rang out in the silence: “All men are born free and equal in rights.”

Duty had always guided him, but now he wondered if it had led him astray into the shadows of tyranny.