Walking cautiously through the shadowed alleys of Valyra, Ries and the revolutionaries moved with practiced stealth, avoiding patrols and ducking under flickering gas lamps that barely held back the encroaching darkness.
They finally stopped before a nondescript tavern, tucked between two dilapidated buildings, its exterior faded and unremarkable, blending seamlessly into the city’s weary landscape. It’s the kind of place where most criminal groups come in to resolve disputes and whatnot. A place that often attracts trouble.
“This is it,” the old man said, glancing at Ries and Viviana. “The boss is inside, but don’t expect a warm welcome. She doesn’t take kindly to outsiders, especially those who work for the Empire.”
The old man pushed open the door, and they were immediately greeted by the thick scent of tobacco smoke and the muted buzz of quiet conversations. The tavern’s interior was dimly lit, with a long counter made of dark wood scarred by age and use. A few patrons—tough-looking men glanced up and narrowed their eyes suspiciously at the newcomers.
At the far end of the room, a woman sat flanked by two guards, her figure partially shrouded in the hazy gloom, though her fiery red hair pierced the darkness like a blazing signal fire. She was dressed simply, her attire reminiscent of a common barmaid—a plain, earth-toned dress with the sleeves rolled up and a threadbare apron tied around her waist.
Like many others in this room, she looked like a weary commoner. Tired? Perhaps tired with the status-quo.
“So, you’re the empire’s new pet cat,” the woman said, her voice carrying a faint accent, thick with sarcasm and a hint of amusement. “Or have you come to show us how well you can bite?”
Ries smirked, unfazed. “I’m not here to play fetch. And I sure as hell don’t take orders from Eden or anyone else.” She pulled out a chair and sat, her feline ears twitching as she settled in, matching the woman’s casual defiance with her own. “I came to see if you’re as smart as they say—or if you’re just another rebel playing dress-up.”
Beneath her composed exterior, however, she was sweating cold. Viviana noticed this but chose not to say a word.
The woman scoffed, her eyes narrowing with a blend of disdain and scrutiny. “Is that so? Funny, I’ve seen plenty who wag their tails for their masters, trading their pride and people for a seat at the table. A Beastman cozying up to the empire isn’t exactly unheard of. Sellouts, every one of them. It’s just my first time seeing one that openly joined their ranks in the government. How many did you have to please, I wonder?”
“Careful,” Ries warned, her voice low and dangerous. “I’m no one’s pet, and I didn’t crawl my way up from the gutter just to bow down to anyone. You think you know me? You don’t. I’m here because I see through their lies, just like you do. The difference is, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make sure my people aren’t crushed under their heel.”
“Hah. Do you think we aren’t willing to do the same?” The woman’s voice sharpened. She leaned forward, her fiery red hair catching the dim light as her eyes bored into Ries’. “We’ve been fighting tooth and nail against them long before you ever stepped into their gilded halls. You think your fancy title means anything here? It doesn’t. Not to me, and not to the people whose blood has stained these streets.”
“How much did that achieve I wonder.” Ries couldn’t help but snicker.
“You know, my father, the founder of the CDLWP was arrested by the ISD. I received the news about his arrest after I came home from work to help my family. I was only fifteen. He was never heard from again.”
“Oh? So you inherited the leadership just like… an empire?”
The woman’s face darkened, her eyes narrowing as if Ries’ words had struck a nerve. “Inherited? No, I earned my place—through sweat, through blood, through every betrayal and loss that your empire forced upon us. You think this is some kind of privilege? The day they took my father, I had to step up, not because I wanted to, but because there was no one else.”
The woman’s voice quivered with a mix of fury and grief, and her hands clenched into tight fists on the table. She was slowly losing control of herself, perhaps she went too far?
Every eye was on them now, the air was thick with unease and a sense of impending conflict. Ries could feel the weight of every gaze—the revolutionaries’ quiet resentment, the anticipation, the hope that this confrontation would lead somewhere, anywhere but another dead end.
Viviana, standing just behind Ries, nudged her… “Don’t agitate the people with the numerical advantage,” she whispered. “Though I like your attitude.” She gives her a wink.
Ries kept her eyes on the woman, her own composure was ironclad, though her ears twitched in subtle annoyance. Right… she was here to get help in crushing Eden’s coup, not to trade barbs with a revolutionary.
“Your anger’s justified,” Ries continued as she swept the assembled people. “But what’s it getting you? Another year, another lost cause, another leader thrown to the wolves. You’re not the only one who’s been forced into a fight they never asked for.” Ries paused, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in, emphasizing her point. “Which is why I’m here.”
The room was silent, the air thick with anticipation. The woman eyed her, then her gaze shifted to Viviana, and then to her again. She knew there was truth in Ries’ words, but pride was a stubborn beast. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the table, the rhythm betraying her agitation.
“And what makes you think we need your help?” she spat.
Ries had one of her hands to her back. “As I understand it, your group has been stockpiling weapons in secret. Not exactly subtle, but then again, somehow the ISD never figured it out.” She let her words hang, allowing the weight of her knowledge to press in. “The only conclusion I can draw is that you’re planning to strike—take over this city while the imperials are distracted by Eden’s coup. You’re betting everything on a single, desperate gamble. What makes you think you will succeed?”
The woman’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she glanced around at her comrades—fighters, survivors, rebels who had bled for this cause. Their faces, lined with fatigue and anger, told the story of battles fought in the shadows.
She scoffed. “We’ll overthrow the Empress, and sweep clean the empire from all its corrupt influence. Then we’ll establish a democracy, a republic, like the one in Avarze.”
Ries raised an eyebrow. Avarze. She had heard plenty of stories about that nation—tales of a land without kings or queens, where no one bowed to lords or deities, a republic built on the ideals of freedom and equality.
To some, it was a beacon of hope.
To others, it was a lawless mess held together by fragile alliances and constant power struggles.
To Ries, it always sounded like a fantasy, a far-fetched dream of utopia spun by those who’d never seen the chaos beneath the surface.
“Avarze,” Ries mused, her voice dripping with skepticism. “The land where no one answers to kings, and every man and woman is their own master. Sounds noble in theory, but what about in practice?”
Though she has never been there, it doesn’t take a genius to tell that there’s bound to be more struggle without a central figure of authority. Its just the way of the world.
“Every man for himself, every faction clawing for power, and no one to hold it all together. It’s one thing to dream of a world without masters, but how do you keep the wolves from tearing each other apart when there’s no shepherd?” She continued.
The woman’s expression hardened, unwilling to concede. “You’re wrong. Avarze is a symbol of what we could be—what we should be. People ruling themselves, no chains of nobility, no faceless bureaucrats. Just freedom.”
“Then I guess all you have is theories with no real application.” Ries smirked.
“YOU—!” The woman’s voice rose, her anger flaring, but she was abruptly silenced by the old man beside her. His hand gently but firmly rested on her shoulder, his presence commanding without uttering a word. He wasn’t just another face in the crowd—there was a quiet authority about him. His hair was grayed with age, yet he carried himself with a dignity that suggested wisdom rather than weakness.
Ries recognized him instantly. She’d seen him countless times in the heart of Valyra—on street corners, in smoky taverns, or at impromptu gatherings where crowds hung on his every word. He was a demagogue, a voice of dissent, and one who had become a fixture of the city’s restless underbelly.
This was a man who knew how to work a crowd, how to ignite the embers of discontent into a roaring fire. His speeches were fiery, full of grand promises of freedom and justice, but Ries had always suspected there was more calculation behind his rhetoric than pure idealism.
Without another word, the woman looked to the man and nodded. She seemed to be holding tears. Without another word, she left and disappeared behind a door behind the counter.
The man then calmly turned to face Ries. “Deputy Minister, it is an honor to meet someone high in the food chain.”
Ries remained guarded as she acknowledges the man. “So am I talking to the real leader of the CDLWP?” She asked.
The man chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and weariness. “Oh, no. I am merely one of the leaders,” he corrected. “Young Anya, the one you just berated, is the true leader of the CDLWP. She’s the heart of our cause, even if she sometimes lets her emotions get the better of her.” He glanced at the door Anya had disappeared through, his expression softening momentarily. “I represent the liberals, those who still believe in the possibility of reforming the Empire from within, rather than burning it all to the ground.”
Ries raised an eyebrow, amusement in her eyes. “Reform? You’re running a resistance group stockpiling weapons, not a lobbying firm.”
“True,” he acknowledged, unperturbed by her skepticism. “But reform and revolution aren’t as far apart as people think. We all want change—it’s the methods that differ. Anya, she’s fire and steel, driven by a fury that’s both her strength and her weakness. She wants to see the Empire bleed, and she won’t rest until it does. But there are others, like me, who see the value in strategy, in negotiation, and in knowing when to strike and when to stay our hand.”
“I take it you’re not a commoner, then?”
The man smiled, but he didn’t give an answer. Instead, he turned his back and motion both Ries and Viviana to come with him.
“I’d love to sit down and discuss the weather, but there’s a coup going on outside, and I’d rather we get down to business,” he said, he sounded confident.
Ries exchanged a quick glance with Viviana, who shrugged, clearly just as wary but willing to play along for now. They followed the man through a narrow hallway that twisted and turned, each step taking them deeper into the bowels of the building. The air grew cooler, the light dimmer, and the muffled sounds of the street outside faded away, replaced by the quiet hum of whispered conversations and the occasional clink of weapons being handled by unseen rebels.
Was this really a tavern?
Finally, they arrived at a small, dimly lit room that served as a makeshift war room. A large map of the city was sprawled across a wooden table, marked with red and blue lines indicating troop movements, barricades, and key points of interest. Several men and women huddled around it, their faces hard with determination, their eyes flicking up to assess the newcomers.
The man gestured for Ries and Viviana to sit, then took his place at the head of the table, leaning against it with a casual air. “This is where we plan our next moves,” he said, his tone matter-of-factly. “We’ve got eyes and ears all over the city, and right now, chaos is our ally. But chaos alone won’t win this fight—it has to be directed, controlled.”
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Viviana crossed her arms as she took a seat.
“Call me Sardine.”
Ries blinked, momentarily thrown off by the absurdity of the name. Even Viviana, who usually maintained her poise, looked visibly taken aback. “Sardine,” Viviana repeated slowly with a flat tone, clearly questioning whether she’d heard him correctly. “Like… the fish?”
The man, Sardine, didn’t seem bothered by their reactions. In fact, he seemed amused, as if he were accustomed to the incredulity his name often inspired. He chuckled, a light, unbothered sound that contrasted sharply with the gravity of the room and the seriousness of their discussion.
“Yes, like the fish,” he confirmed, leaning back casually against the table’s edge. “It’s a name that sticks, don’t you think?”
Viviana didn’t answer and stared at the map strewn on the table. “What’s your angle here, Sardine?” Viviana finally asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was even, almost disinterested, but Ries knew better—Viviana was probing, trying to get a read on him. “Let’s assume we’re on the same page, at least for now. What happens after the dust settles?”
“Simple. Whether we like it or not, the army will intervene. And then, the Empress would regain power. What I want is a guarantee of reforms.” He said. The others in the table nodded their heads, though some sneered at the thought. “Not just empty promises or token gestures to placate the masses, but real, tangible changes—things that matter to the people who’ve been trampled underfoot for generations. The old ways aren’t just broken; they’re shattered. And if we don’t fix them now, the next uprising won’t be something the Empire can control.” He continued.
Viviana’s eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing as she tried to gauge the sincerity behind his words. “Reforms are vague, Sardine. What exactly are you hoping to see changed? A new government? Redistribution of wealth? A purge of the nobility?”
Sardine smirked as if waiting for this question. “An end to the unchecked power of the aristocracy, the establishment of laws that actually protect the common people, and a dismantling of the bureaucratic monstrosity that serves only the elite. We want a system that serves everyone—not just those born into privilege.”
Ries folded her arms. “That’s quite the laundry list. And you really think the Empress, the army, or any of the old guard will just roll over and let that happen?”
“That’s where you come in.”
----------------------------------------
Ries lit a cigarette, the ember glowing as she inhaled deeply, savoring the brief moment of calm. The smoky haze curled around her, mingling with the heavy atmosphere of the dingy room they’d just emerged from. God knows she needed this more than ever.
In short, the CDLWP was gearing up to launch an insurrection, capitalizing on the chaos of Eden’s coup. They intended to strike swiftly, seizing control of the city’s key points before the army could intervene. If all went according to their plan, they would fortify their hold on the core of the city, claiming it as their stronghold.
Then, she and Viviana would negotiate with the Empress or whoever is in charge to not harm the revolutionaries and promise reform.
This was Sardine’s plan, and it most certainly isn’t Anya’s plan. But it was the most sensible one, Sardine argued.
It was audacious, and it was reckless. They were counting on the fact that the Empire would be too preoccupied with Eden’s power grab to deal with a full-scale uprising. But if the timing was off, if the army moved quicker than expected, or if the people didn’t rise to support them as Sardine believed, it would end in a bloodbath.
The tavern doors creaked open, and the revolutionaries began to spill out, one by one, into the dimly lit alley. Clad in mismatched coats and hastily donned armbands, they moved with a mix of purpose and uncertainty, rifles clutched tightly in calloused hands. The weapons, a hodgepodge of stolen, smuggled, and salvaged arms, were as varied as their owners.
Some adjusted their rifles, checking the chambers with shaky hands as they whispered hurried last-minute prayers or steeled themselves with quiet determination. Others exchanged nods and claps on the back, the silent camaraderie of those about to face death together.
Her gaze swept to Anya, the young leader of the revolutionaries, as she took her place at the front of the group. There was something raw and unrefined about Anya, a fire that burned bright but recklessly, untempered by experience or restraint. For all her youth, she carried herself with the gravity of someone who’d seen more than her fair share of pain, her eyes hardened with the resolve of someone who had no choice but to lead.
Ries took a long drag from her cigarette.
Humans—so dependent on one another, drawing strength from shared glances, brief touches, and words of encouragement whispered between clenched teeth. It was unlike her own people, who valued strength and self-reliance above all else. In her tribe, you were expected to stand on your own, and any sign of weakness was an invitation for others to take your place.
But here, in this human struggle, she saw a different kind of strength—one born from unity, from bonds forged in the fires of shared suffering.
Taking a deep drag one last time, she threw the cigarette to the road and stomped on it to put it out. Then she slung the rifle on her shoulders. She felt the weight of the rifle settle on her shoulders as she straightened up, for the first time a while, her expression hardened into one of cold resolve.
She wasn’t here to fight for grand ideals or to pledge herself to any revolution, but she knew where her lines were drawn. For all her disdain for the Empire’s ways, for its hypocrisy and corruption, there was a line between tearing down a system and tearing down everything with it.
Eden and his ilk sought power for themselves under the guise of reclaiming order. The revolutionaries, in their desperation, were banking on chaos to level the playing field, but the cost of their gamble was written in the eyes of the men and women who followed Anya—frightened, resolute, but ultimately expendable. There was no honor in this fight, no glory, just the grim reality of survival and the hope that when the dust settled, something better might take its place.
That is the way of the world, and has been for millenia.
Ries took one last look at Anya’s back, the young woman standing at the edge of a precipice she couldn’t yet see. She admired the girl’s courage, but courage alone wouldn’t be enough. The streets of Valyra were about to become a battlefield, and there was no guarantee of victory, only the promise of blood and sacrifice.
With a final glance at the distant rumble of unrest, Ries moved forward, merging into the shadows and out of sight. Her role wasn’t to lead, but to decapitate, to eliminate Eden, and to ensure that whatever madness gripped this city didn’t swallow it whole. She was no revolutionary, but in this twisted game of power, she’d carve her own path—even if it meant standing against those who believed they were saviors.
Eden’s coup needed to be stopped. Not for the Empire, not for the Empress, and certainly not for any of the nobles who sat in their gilded halls—but for the people who would bear the brunt of the destruction. Stability wasn’t an ideal, it was a necessity. And if she had to play the part of the reluctant defender to keep the wolves from devouring each other, then so be it.
“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered under her breath, gripping the rifle a little tighter as she merged with the shadows.
----------------------------------------
Eden stood in a makeshift war room somewhere deep within the National Assembly, the very heart of the Empire’s governance now twisted into the nerve center of his coup. The grand marble floors and opulent decor that once spoke of power and tradition were marred by the chaos of hastily arranged maps, flickering lanterns, and the constant flow of messengers reporting from the streets
Eden’s appointed ministers—handpicked loyalists, opportunists, and a few outright zealots—huddled around a large table draped with a map of the city, marked with colored pins and hastily drawn arrows indicating their forces’ positions. They were the architects of this insurrection, the movers of pieces in a deadly game that, if played right, would see them all elevated to the new ruling class. If they failed, well, Eden had made it clear there would be no second chances.
He was calm, almost unnervingly so, standing at the head of the table with the posture of a man who was in complete control. His eyes darting from one map to another, soaking in every detail. Despite the chaos outside, he seemed utterly unflappable—a man who thrived on this very disorder, who saw in the crumbling walls of the Assembly not ruin, but opportunity.
“Valyra is ours,” he stated, his voice smooth but laced with an undercurrent of steel. “We have the National Assembly, the key districts, and most of the military installations. The Empress’ loyalists are scattered, and the city guard is in disarray. All we need is to hold firm until the rest of the military bends the knee or if the Empress comes to negotiate.”
“It wasn’t ideal that we couldn’t capture the Empress,” Eden admitted, the faintest hint of irritation slipping into his otherwise controlled tone. He tapped a finger on the map where the palace was marked, a stark reminder of his one significant failure thus far. “But if we hold the city center, the rest of the city will fall in line. It’s only a matter of time.”
Though Eden spoke with conviction, doubt lingered beneath his composed facade. He knew better than anyone the reality of the military’s might—he had served in its ranks, seen its relentless efficiency up close. The army wasn’t known for subtlety or restraint, it was a blunt instrument of imperial power, and if it decided to reclaim Valyra, it wouldn’t be with diplomacy or negotiations. It would be with overwhelming force.
Eden’s grip on the city was precarious, and he knew it. Holding the National Assembly and key districts was a significant victory, but it wasn’t the endgame. The army’s response was the real test, and with every passing hour, the uncertainty gnawed at him. How many loyalist forces were regrouping outside the city? How long before the full might of the Empire came crashing down on his fledgling regime?
His Marechausse, though formidable on its own, wasn’t designed to withstand a full-scale military confrontation. They were an elite paramilitary force, trained for precision strikes, urban control, and maintaining order in assisting police—not prolonged warfare against seasoned soldiers. The Marechausse was excelled in swift, ruthless action, but against the organized might of the imperial army, they would be outmatched.
Eden’s strategy had always been to leverage chaos, to seize key points before his enemies could regroup, but now he was faced with the reality that his forces were a stopgap measure at best. They could hold the line for a time, but the longer the standoff continued, the more their weaknesses would be exposed.
Eden’s eyes moved across the map again, lingering on the palace, the symbol of imperial authority occupied by his men. Capturing the Empress had been his original plan—the coup’s keystone that would have forced the military’s hand. Without her as a bargaining chip, he was left to contend with the uncertainty of a protracted conflict. Negotiations with the Empress from a position of strength had been his goal, but with each passing hour, the balance of power shifted further away from him.
“Time is not on our side,” Eden muttered, more to himself than to his ministers. Every second wasted brought them closer to the army’s inevitable intervention. He needed to consolidate his hold, fortify his positions, and find a way to break the stalemate before it was too late.
He glanced at the faces of his ministers—some loyal, some fearful, all caught in the gravity of the coup. They looked to him for leadership, but he could sense the unspoken questions behind their eyes. How long can we hold? What happens when the army arrives? Eden had no easy answers. They were operating on borrowed time, after all.
“Uh, sir. You may want to hear his,” one of his guards handed him a radio.
Eden’s face darkened as he listened to the crackling, frantic voice coming through the radio. The words were fragmented, the urgency of the report clear despite the poor reception.
“This is Lieutenant... of... We are under attack... enemy forces... unable to hold... request immediate assistance…”
The message cut off abruptly, leaving only static. Eden’s jaw tightened, the implications of the report sinking in. The news was as bad as it could get, one of his key positions was under attack, and the situation was deteriorating faster than anticipated.
He turned to his ministers, his expression a mix of anger and frustration. “Get me a full situation report on that position immediately. I want to know who’s attacking us and how bad it is.”
If his forces were already being pushed back, it meant the city was in turmoil. It was clear that the loyalists were regrouping, or worse, that a coordinated counterattack was underway.
“Prepare the reserve units,” he ordered. “We need to reinforce the positions under attack and shore up our defenses. I want every available Marechausse ready to deploy.”
“Sir! It’s a group of armed civilians!” One of the ministers nudged at him through the flurry of activity.
“A group of armed civilians?” Eden repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. He stared at the minister, processing the unexpected news. Civilians were the last thing he had anticipated being a serious threat. Insurrections from rival factions, loyalist soldiers, perhaps even remnants of the Empress’ guard—but not this.
“Yes, sir,” the minister confirmed, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “Reports are coming in that they’re well-organized and armed. They’ve already taken control of a few key intersections and are moving toward the city center.”
Eden felt a surge of frustration. This was a problem he hadn’t accounted for—ordinary citizens picking up rifles and pushing back against his forces. It was chaotic, reckless, and entirely outside the usual rules of engagement. But it was also dangerous. Civilians didn’t fight by military protocol, they were unpredictable, desperate, and often willing to go to extremes that trained soldiers would avoid.
“Who are they?” Eden demanded. “Who’s leading them?”
“We don’t have all the details yet, but it seems they’re part of the CDLWP,” the minister said, referencing the clandestine group that had been a thorn in the side of every authority in Valyra.
Eden cursed under his breath. Just his luck, isn’t it? Blasted commoners and theory crafters! The city was already a tinderbox, and their sudden appearance was like striking a match.
“Damn fools,” Eden muttered, running a hand through his hair. “They’re going to turn this city into a slaughterhouse.”
He turned back to his ministers, recalibrating his strategy on the fly. “Pull our Marechausse units back from non-essential areas. We need to focus on holding the core and securing key government buildings. Let the outer districts burn if we have to, but we can’t lose control of the city center—we can’t let them pour into the boulevard. And I want those insurgents killed off immediately.”
Eden’s command snapped through the room like a whip, jolting his ministers into action. He didn’t care about the collateral damage at this point. He would maintain his grip on valyra—the important parts—at all costs. The outer districts were expendable if it meant keeping the heart of the city under his control.
“Sir, what about the civilians caught in the crossfire?” one of the younger ministers asked hesitantly, his voice betraying a sliver of conscience that had no place in Eden’s war room.
“This isn’t the time to play savior,” he snapped. “Anyone who picks up a rifle and joins this rebellion is an enemy combatant. Civilians who stay out of our way will be spared—those who don’t won’t be our concern.”
“Reinforce the Marechausse with whatever reserves we have left,” Eden continued, his mind already two steps ahead. “And find out who’s leading this rabble. I want names, I want locations, and I want them dead before they think they can plant their flag in my city. I authorize the use of indiscriminate artillery fires.”
There was a brief, stunned silence as Eden’s words sank in. The ministers exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to voice their objections. They knew the implications of his order, entire blocks reduced to rubble, countless lives snuffed out without warning. It was a brutal, unforgiving tactic, one that would turn the streets of Valyra into killing fields.
“Sir… are you certain?” one minister finally asked, his voice tight with unease. “Artillery in the city could—”
Eden’s glare cut him off mid-sentence. “I am not asking for your approval, Minister. I’m giving an order. We cannot afford to show restraint when our enemies are converging from all sides. If the insurgents want to fight a war, we will give them one. And if civilians get caught in the crossfire, that blood is on the hands of those who dared to rise against us.”
He turned to his communications officer. “Get me the artillery commanders. I want those guns trained on any insurgent stronghold that poses a threat to our lines. No hesitation, no warnings. We’ll bury them under the rubble if we have to.”
The officer nodded, swallowing his fear as he relayed the command. Eden’s Marechausse units would be pulled back to defensible positions and entrench themselves around the National Assembly, while the artillery began pounding away at the insurgent-occupied districts. It was a scorched-earth approach—one designed to crush resistance through sheer overwhelming force.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
It also meant he would retreat his forces away from occupying the Imperial Palace and station them all to defend the National Assembly.
“I am not going to lose this city,” he declared. “Not to the loyalists, not to these anarchists, and anyone who stands against me will be made an example of.”
He was playing a dangerous game, sacrificing strategic positions for the sake of consolidating his power around the National Assembly. By pulling back from the Imperial Palace, he was making a calculated risk—one that hinged entirely on his ability to maintain a stronghold at the city’s heart.
His ministers scrambled to adjust their plans, the weight of Eden’s decision pressing down on them like a leaden fog. The choice to abandon the palace had not been made lightly. It was the very heart of the Empire, a beacon of power and tradition. But Eden was no traditionalist. He was a pragmatist, and pragmatists knew when to sacrifice a queen to protect the king.
"Mobilize the reserves and reinforce the Marechausse positions," he commanded, turning his attention to a map of the city. "Establish fortified lines around the Assembly. If they want a fight, they’ll have to go through us first. And prepare the radio lines for propaganda broadcasts. We need to break their spirit before they even set foot on the boulevard.”
He could feel the weight of his own desperation. Eden was no stranger to war, but leading a coup against his own empire was a different beast entirely. The loyalist forces were a constant threat, regrouping and probing his defenses. Now, with the insurgents adding to the chaos, the battlefield was more unpredictable than ever.
Then artillery boomed in the distance. Explosions rattled the room, sending tremors through the building. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, a physical manifestation of the chaos erupting outside.
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Anya watched as the revolutionaries surged forward, their cheers of defiance rising above the cacophony of battle. The gendarmerie’s sudden retreat had left behind critical positions—machine gun nests, artillery emplacements, and barricades hastily abandoned in the face of the advancing insurgents. It was a victory, albeit a small one.
She felt the rush of adrenaline as she led the charge, rifle in hand, shouting orders to the ragtag band of fighters who had rallied to her cause. It was her first time leading a charge against the reactionary imperial forces. She felt alive.
“Hold the line! Secure the barricades!” she shouted, her voice hoarse from the smoke and dust that hung in the air. She ducked behind a sandbag as a stray bullet whizzed past, the sharp crack echoing in her ears. The gendarmerie’s retreat had left the revolutionaries in control of key vantage points, and Anya was determined to hold onto them.
Revolutionaries scrambled in every direction, dragging abandoned machine guns into place and repurposing artillery that had been left behind in the chaos. Men and women alike worked feverishly, some still learning how to operate the cannons and machine guns that had once been wielded against them. They didn’t have formal training, but desperation was its own teacher. If the gendarmerie could use them, so could they.
“This is our city!” Anya bellowed, raising her rifle high, rallying the fighters around her. “We show them what we are!”
The air filled with a roar of approval, the sound of hundreds of voices united in defiance. It sent a chill down her spine—a fierce, unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of revolution
A young lieutenant hurried up to her side, his face streaked with soot and grime. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen, but his eyes burned with a resolve that belied his youth. “Leader Anya,” he said breathlessly, wiping the sweat from his brow, “we’ve pushed them back to the boulevard. They’re entrenching themselves in the National Assembly.”
Anya nodded, her mind racing as she glanced over the smoldering landscape. The National Assembly was their last bastion, a fortified position surrounded by layers of Marechausse and artillery. Taking it would be a monumental task, but it was also a symbolic one. If they could wrest control of the Assembly, they’d hold the institution that is used to oppress them.
“They’re on the defensive now,” Anya said, her eyes fixed on the distant spires of the Assembly. “That means they’re afraid. And fear is our weapon.” She turned back to her fighters, determination etched into every line of her face. “Get those guns operational. I want those walls pounded until they crumble. We have the momentum, and we can’t afford to lose it.”
The lieutenant nodded. “But, do we take the Imperial Palace? The reports say they are unguarded, the same goes for the governance complex.”
Anya paused, considering the lieutenant’s words. The Imperial Palace and the governance complex, the twin pillars of power in Valyra, stood unguarded—ripe for the taking. But as tempting as it was, seizing those landmarks would stretch her forces thin, and she knew it. Her instinct told her to push forward, to grasp at every opportunity, but the strategist in her knew that overextension could spell disaster.
She glanced at the lieutenant, weighing her options. The palace, with its opulent halls and the governance complex, would be powerful symbols in their hands. But symbols didn’t win wars; they could just as easily become traps. The Minister had pulled back to the Assembly for a reason, and it wasn’t just fear—it was strategy. He’d bait them with the lure of unguarded prizes, knowing the revolutionaries might overreach.
“The palace and the governance complex are empty because that Minister wants them to be,” she finally said, her voice measured. “They’re honey traps. He’s daring us to split our forces. If we go for those, we’ll be fighting on too many fronts.”
The lieutenant’s brow furrowed, frustration flickering in his eyes. “But Leader Anya, imagine what it would mean for the people to see our flag flying over the palace! The Empire’s heart in our hands—it would break their morale!”
Anya could see his point, and it was tempting. The bright red flag flying over the palace would be a devastating blow to the imperialists. It might even make them immortal in the books of history as the people who flew the flag of the commoners at the top of the food chain.
She took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her chest. “Morale won’t matter if we’re spread too thin to hold anything,” she said.
The young lieutenant looked deflated but nodded in reluctant agreement. Anya placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “We’ll get our moment, but not like this. Not when we’re still fighting tooth and nail just to hold the boulevard.”
She turned back to her fighters, raising her voice over the din of battle. “CHARGE!!”
A horde of revolutionaries charged the Marechausse positions, their battle cries echoing through the smoky, debris-strewn streets. The Marechausse, with their disciplined ranks and superior training, responded with cold efficiency. Machine guns roared to life, spitting out a hail of bullets that tore through the front lines of Anya’s forces. Revolutionaries fell in droves, but the sheer momentum of their assault carried them forward.
The Marechausse were not easily intimidated. Behind sandbags and barricades, they fought with the precision of soldiers accustomed to battle. The well-coordinated volleys of rifle fire and the controlled bursts of machine guns kept the revolutionaries at bay, even as the Marechausse themselves took losses. They were outnumbered but not outmatched, and they made every shot count, picking off the advancing rebels with ruthless accuracy.
“Hold the line!” a Marechausse sergeant shouted, rallying his men. They adjusted their positions, keeping their sights trained on the advancing rebels. The sound of bullets striking metal and stone filled the air, a deafening chorus that threatened to drown out Anya’s command.
But the revolutionaries had numbers on their side, and their resolve was unbreakable. They surged forward, dragging makeshift shields and using overturned vehicles as cover. A group of them managed to get close enough to lob Molotov cocktails, fiery bottles arcing through the air before smashing against the Marechausse positions. Flames erupted, forcing some of the defenders to fall back or reposition, creating momentary gaps in their lines.
Anya, in the thick of it, led from the front. She fired her rifle in controlled bursts, picking off targets with an unerring focus. She knew her fighters lacked the training of the Marechausse, but they made up for it with sheer ferocity. These people she commanded had nothing else to lose, they were robbed already by the empire they lived in.
“Push through!” Anya shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. “Don’t give them an inch!”
The Marechausse line wavered under the relentless assault. Some of their soldiers, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers, fell back to secondary positions. The revolutionaries seized the moment, charging into the breaches with renewed vigor. In close-quarters combat, the Marechausse’s disciplined formations began to falter as they were swarmed by the furious tide of rebels.
One revolutionary, wielding a bayonet affixed to a battered rifle, lunged at a Marechausse officer. The two grappled in a desperate struggle, each fighting for control of the weapon. Nearby, another revolutionary hurled a grenade into a Marechausse machine gun nest, silencing the weapon in a deafening explosion that sent shrapnel flying.
Anya’s forces were turning the tide, inch by bloody inch. For every revolutionary that fell, another took their place, driven by the unyielding belief that victory was within their grasp. The Marechausse were well-trained, but they were unprepared for this kind of relentless, chaotic warfare.
“Break their lines!” Anya roared, waving her fighters forward. “Take no prisoners!”
The Marechausse, now outnumbered and overwhelmed, began to retreat in disarray, abandoning their positions as the revolutionaries surged through. Anya watched as her fighters pressed on, securing the Marechausse’s former strongholds and repurposing their weapons. For the first time, the boulevard was within their control, and the path to the National Assembly lay open.
Just then, a deafening roar split the air. A shell struck mere meters from Anya, sending a shockwave that blasted her off her feet. She hit the ground hard, her vision swimming as the world around her erupted into chaos. Dust and debris filled the air, choking her lungs as she struggled to regain her bearings. A ringing sound pierced her ears, drowning out the shouts and gunfire that continued unabated.
She glanced up, dazed, and saw the bloodied form of a young revolutionary sprawled beside her—his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. He had pushed her out of the shell’s path, sacrificing himself in the split second between life and death. Her chest tightened, a surge of rage and grief boiling within her. She barely had time to process it, the Marechausse were firing their artillery now, and the battle was quickly turning into a slaughter.
The enemy’s bombardment was relentless. Explosions rippled across the boulevard, tearing apart the makeshift defenses that Anya’s forces had so painstakingly erected. Chunks of concrete and twisted metal flew through the air, shredding anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast radius. Fighters were thrown like ragdolls, their screams lost in the thunder of artillery. The ground shook violently with every impact, and Anya could feel the shockwaves deep in her bones.
"Get down! Take cover!" she shouted, her voice straining against the ringing in her ears. Her fighters scrambled, ducking behind whatever cover they could find—overturned automobiles, rubble, anything that might shield them from the onslaught. But it wasn’t enough. The Marechausse gunners were methodically targeting the revolutionaries’ positions, trying to break their will with overwhelming firepower.
Anya pressed herself against the cold, jagged stone of the collapsed wall, her breath ragged and shallow. The battlefield was a cacophony of chaos—screams, gunfire, and the relentless, deafening thud of artillery shells pounding their positions. She could barely hear anything over the ringing in her ears, but she knew they were running out of options. Her fighters were pinned down, unable to advance or retreat without being cut down.
How do they get past the artillery?
Their seized artillery, their one chance at fighting back, had been obliterated almost as quickly as it had been put to use. The Marechausse had anticipated their moves, zeroing in on the captured guns with ruthless precision. Anya glanced around, searching for anything that could tip the scales back in their favor, but there was nothing—no mages, no air support, just a street littered with bodies and broken dreams.
She clenched her fists, rage boiling in her chest. They had no choice but to keep moving, to close the distance with nothing but sheer willpower and a blind charge into hell. Anya knew it was madness, but there was no other way. They were going to have to march straight into the fire.
“Get ready!” she barked at her fighters, who were huddled behind makeshift barriers. “We’re moving forward. We advance now or we die here!”
----------------------------------------
Ries crouched low on the rooftop, her sharp eyes scanning the chaotic battlefield below. The city she once knew was unrecognizable, shrouded in smoke and fire, with Eden’s forces turning Valyra into a warzone. The booming of artillery echoed through the night, sending shockwaves that rattled the crumbling buildings and shattered the fragile peace that had once defined these streets.
"They’re shelling their own city…" Ries thought, her feline ears twitching in irritation as another round of artillery fire lit up the sky, those things are loud.
She moved swiftly, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with the grace and agility of a predator stalking its prey. The city had become a maze of death, but Ries navigated it effortlessly, staying hidden beneath the dark veil of night.
Eden’s fortifications were formidable. Trucks blocked entire streets, repurposed as makeshift barricades. Machine gun nests dotted the landscape, their barrels pointed mercilessly at the advancing revolutionaries. The Marechausse had entrenched themselves, turning the National Assembly into a fortress surrounded by layers of barbed wire, sandbags, and heavy weaponry. Eden’s forces were dug in deep, prepared to fight to the bitter end.
Ries watched as revolutionaries attempted another charge, only to be cut down by withering machine gun fire. It was a slaughter. It came to a point where the revolutionaries were hiding behind the bodies of their dead comrades.
The artillery, meanwhile, pounded away without mercy, shelling indiscriminately. Buildings crumbled under the relentless bombardment, entire blocks reduced to rubble as the shells tore through brick and mortar. Civilians screamed in terror, caught between two warring factions with nowhere to hide. Eden’s strategy was clear as day: crush any and all resistance through sheer overwhelming force.
Ries dropped down onto a lower roof, closer now to the entrenched Marechausse. She could hear the chatter of soldiers, the grinding of metal as they adjusted their positions. It was a reminder that his forces were regular soldiers. Disciplined, heavily armed, and well-coordinated. They were prepared for a siege, and the revolutionaries were outmatched.
She moved closer, keeping to the shadows as the cacophony of battle raged below. The National Assembly loomed ahead, a once grand symbol of governance now warped into a bastion of authoritarian power. Its towering walls and balconies, lit by searchlights and patrolled by armed guards, looked more like a military stronghold than a place of civil debate.
Ries finally reached an open window near the top of the building, slipping through with the ease of a wraith. Inside, the air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the muffled shouts of soldiers relaying orders. The Assembly’s grand halls, usually bustling with bureaucrats and politicians, were now filled with maps, ammunition crates, and makeshift command posts.
She landed softly on the marble floor, her ears perked up, picking up every sound. The faint buzz of radio chatter, the clinking of metal as soldiers armed themselves, the distant rumble of artillery firing once more.
She pressed herself against the wall, scanning her surroundings. The guards were spread thin, focused more on the entrances and the street-facing defenses than the upper floors. It was clear Eden didn’t expect anyone to infiltrate this deeply, not with his forces in such disarray outside.
Moving swiftly, Ries made her way through the corridors, slipping past armed sentries and ducking behind statues and pillars. She could hear snippets of conversation—exhausted voices, doubts creeping into their words as they questioned their orders and the chaos that had engulfed the city. The morale was fraying, and even Eden’s most loyal soldiers couldn’t ignore the carnage happening just outside these walls.
‘Now where is Eden?’ she thought, her eyes scanning every doorway, every corner. The Assembly was a vast place, but the clamor of activity centered around one area, the main chamber. Ries followed the flow of movement, keeping to the periphery, every step as silent as a whisper.
She reached a balcony overlooking the main chamber, now repurposed from a parliament area into a makeshift command center. Peering into the chamber, she saw a hive of frenzied activity. Officers clustered around a large table, arguing over maps and troop deployments, their faces strained and weary.
And then she saw him—Eden, standing at the head of the table, his presence dominating the room. His once immaculate uniform was disheveled, his expression a volatile mix of anger and resolve.
Eden was barking orders, his voice rising above the noise, but even from her vantage point, Ries could see the cracks forming in his composure. He was leaning heavily on his officers, demanding updates, answers, anything that could give him an edge. The arrogance that had once defined him was now tinged with desperation.
Ries’ tail flicked in agitation. This was the man who had turned the city into a battlefield, who had sacrificed everything to gain more power. What selfish bastard.
She aimed her rifle, the cold metal grazing against her cheek. Her finger hovered over the trigger, her breath steadying as she locked Eden’s head in her sights. This was her moment. One shot, and it would all be over—no more chaos, no more bloodshed.
‘Focus, Ries,’ she reminded herself, narrowing her feline eyes to a sharp, deadly slit. The air was thick with tension, her senses hyper-aware of every heartbeat, every breath. She exhaled slowly, squeezing the trigger. The rifle cracked, echoing through the vast chamber.
But in that split second, fate intervened—a lieutenant approached Eden, forcing him to turn his head. The bullet whizzed past, missing him by mere centimeters and slamming into the wall behind. Ries’ tail bristled in frustration, her perfect shot ruined by the random chance of a passing officer.
Chaos erupted. Officers scrambled, diving behind tables and shouting in alarm. Eden flinched, his eyes darting to the impact point just inches from where his skull had been. For the briefest moment, Ries saw the slightest fear in his eyes, reminding him that he was not invincible. But the moment passed, replaced cold fury.
Eden flinched, eyes darting to the impact point just inches from where his head had been. Without a second thought, he pulled out his handgun and began shooting at her general direction. Like a soldier who’ve seen countless wars, his movement were robotic.
Eden reacted like a veteran of countless battles, his movements were precise and unhesitating. He yanked a sleek, silver handgun from his side holster and fired back in her general direction.
‘fuck!’
Ries pressed herself flat against the balcony railing, shards of glass raining down around her. She could hear Eden barking fresh orders. “Up there! Sweep the upper floors! Don’t let the shooter escape!” The guards below rallied, charging up the staircases with weapons drawn.
Ries’ heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She reloaded the rifle with a fresh magazine and ducked back into the shadows. There was no time to dwell on the missed shot, Eden’s men were closing in, and she had only moments before they would overrun her position.
Ries peeked over the balcony edge, quickly assessing the guards storming up the stairs. There were too many of them to fight head-on, especially in such tight quarters. She needed to stay mobile, unpredictable—keep them guessing at every turn. With a deep breath, she pulled back and moved swiftly along the balcony, staying low as the hail of bullets followed her.
A flash of movement caught her eye—a guard rounding the corner, rifle raised. Without hesitation, Ries took aim and fired, the shot echoing through the darkened chamber. The guard crumpled, but his fall only spurred the others on, their shouts growing louder, more frenzied.
She kept moving, leaping over fallen beams and ducking under drapes that had once been the pride of the Assembly. She rounded a corner, coming face-to-face with another soldier. She swung the butt of her rifle, cracking him across the jaw and sending him sprawling to the ground.
More were coming. She could hear their boots stomping and the clatter of weapons. The group of soldiers were now visible to her as they took their positions and opened fire. Forcing her to take cover behind a pillar.
Ries pressed her back against the pillar, bullets chipping away at the stone and sending shards flying around her. The soldiers had her pinned with relentless gunfire. She could feel the vibrations of each impact, the whine of ricocheting rounds whizzing past her ears.
She needed a plan—and fast. Spotting a chandelier swaying above the chamber, Ries got an idea. She shifted her aim upward, her eyes locking onto the chain that held the ornate fixture in place. It was a risky shot. She inhaled deeply, steadied her rifle, and squeezed the trigger.
The chain snapped with a metallic ping, and the chandelier plummeted to the ground, crashing into the makeshift command center below and what used to be a chamber of legislature.
The debris sent Eden’s command into chaos, papers and maps flying, tables splintering under the weight of the chandelier. The massive impact knocked soldiers off their feet, sowing confusion and fear. Guards were trapped beneath the wreckage, and the lucky few who managed to avoid it stumbled away, disoriented and shouting orders that fell on deaf ears.
Ries moved swiftly, darting out from behind the pillar. She fired at the scattered soldiers, picking them off one by one. The element of surprise was back in her favor, and she capitalized on it with brutal efficiency. She vaulted over a toppled bench, taking cover behind a column as she reloaded her rifle.
A sergeant barked orders, trying to rally his men, but his voice was drowned out by the gunfire and the cries of the wounded. Ries shot him in the leg, sending him crashing to the ground, clutching his wound. The remaining guards hesitated with their momentum shattered.
She sprinted through the chamber, her movements swift and deliberate, taking down any guards that dared to stand their ground. Each shot was precise, even if it didn’t outright killed them, clearing her path forward.
She vaulted over the wreckage, landing near the center of the ruined command post. The place was barely recognizable, twisted metal and shattered glass littering the floor. The officers were in disarray, their desperate attempts to regroup falling apart as panic set in. Officers who had been shouting orders moments before were now backing away, some fleeing through side exits, abandoning their positions in sheer panic.
Her eyes flicked across the disarray, searching for the man who had orchestrated this madness. Most of the brass had already evacuated, knowing that their positions were untenable. They’d left the common soldiers to fend for themselves, a final act of cowardice that spoke volumes about Eden’s command.
Then she spotted him.
Eden was half-crouched near a collapsed column, his once-commanding presence now reduced to a shadow of rage. His hair was disheveled, and his uniform—once a symbol of his authority—was streaked with dust and blood.
Without a second thought, she rushed towards him and pointed the barrel of her rifle with the bayonet at his neck.
“It’s over, Eden.”
Eden seemed unperturbed by her actions. Despite the chaos around them, he managed a crooked smile, the kind that reeked of arrogance even in the face of defeat. “So it’s you. My own Deputy Minister, ready to turn assassin. Is this your grand rebellion? To put a bayonet through my throat and call it justice?”
Ries pressed the rifle closer, the blade grazing the skin of his neck. “You don’t get to talk about justice, not after what you’ve done. You turned this city into a slaughterhouse.”
Eden chuckled, the sound harsh and brittle. “And what did you think, Anise? That you’d march into the halls of power, play their games, and come out clean? You’ve tasted the same poison as the rest of us. Just as bloodstained as the rest of us.” He glanced at the rifle’s tip, unfazed, almost as if daring her to drive it through. “But go ahead, if you think that’ll change anything. Kill me, and the Empire’s problems don’t just vanish. They’ll eat you alive, like they did to me.”
Eden’s calm was unnerving, a man who’d seen the worst of power and who still believed he understood it better than anyone. “You think you’re different?” he continued, his voice low, laced with a bitter resignation. “You think you’re better than me? Sooner or later, you’d become just like the rest of us. Just another beast in this endless game, fighting for scraps.”
His words stung more than Ries wanted to admit, and for a moment, she saw herself reflected in Eden’s eyes—angry, desperate, and caught in a world that seemed to chew up anyone who dared to fight back. But she refused to be swallowed by the same darkness that had consumed him. “No,” she said quietly, but firmly, the conviction in her voice growing. “I’m not you. I won’t become you. I’ll never become you.”
“Then prove it,” he taunted, leaning forward until the blade almost punctured his skin. “Prove you’re different. Put me down like the dog I am, and let’s see if you can live with it.”
The challenge hung in the air between them, and Ries knew she could end it all right there. But there was something hollow in that victory, something that wouldn’t bring back the lives lost or heal the wounds left in Eden’s wake. Killing him would make her a tool of vengeance, no better than the tyrants she’d always despised.
Instead, she pulled the rifle back, lowering it but keeping it trained on him. “No,” she repeated, her voice steadier now. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction. You’re not dying a martyr’s death. You’re going to face everything you’ve done and watch as the Empire rejects you. That’s your punishment.”
For the first time, she saw Eden laugh, a bitter, almost relieved chuckle that echoed through the ruined chamber. His laughter was a jarring sound amidst the chaos, and as it subsided, he wiped away the tears that had formed in his eyes. “Should’ve ended it here and then.”
Before Ries could react, Eden moved with an agility that belied his age. He thrust his hand forward, pushing the rifle aside with a forceful shove. In the blink of an eye, he delivered a brutal punch to her midsection, knocking her backward.
Ries rolled to her side, trying to clear the daze that clouded her vision. The weight of the rifle felt like a leaden burden as she struggled to regain her footing. Eden had already seized a gleaming saber from his side, its blade catching the flickering light of the chamber.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Eden taunted, his voice dripping with strained arrogance. He advanced on her, the saber held with a menacing confidence. “You think you can just walk away from this? You’ve no idea what it means to lead, to make the hard choices. You’re as lost as I was, and you’ll find out soon enough.”
Ries steadied herself, her breathing ragged but resolute. She couldn’t let his psychological games distract her. She had to stay focused.
As Eden closed in, Ries dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a deadly swipe from the saber. The blade whistled through the air where she had been moments before.
She lunged forward, using the momentum to swing her rifle in a wide arc. Eden parried the attack with his saber, the clash of metal ringing out in the chamber. Ries gritted her teeth, pushing against the weight of the rifle as she fought to regain the upper hand.
The chamber echoed with the sounds of their struggle. The sharp clang of metal meeting metal, the shuffling of their feet across the debris-strewn floor.
Ries gritted her teeth, her eyes fixed on Eden. Her rifle, though heavy and unwieldy, was her lifeline. Each shot she had left could make the difference between victory and defeat. Eden, on the other hand, wielded his saber with a deadly grace, each swing were precise and calculated.
In a moment of opportunity, Eden feinted to the left, forcing Ries to block instinctively. He followed up with a rapid series of strikes, each aimed to exploit any opening in her defense. Ries ducked and dodged, her muscles straining as she struggled to keep up with his relentless assault.
Desperation fueled her actions. She pivoted on her heel, using the butt of the rifle to catch Eden’s saber in a defensive maneuver. She felt the impact jolt through her arms, but she pressed on, determined not to falter.
With a swift motion, Ries swung her rifle’s bayonet toward Eden’s neck. The blade gleamed in the dim light as it sliced through the air, aimed to end things swiftly. Eden’s eyes widened, and he barely managed to deflect the strike with a frantic parry, his saber knocking the blade off course. The force of the impact sent his weapon skittering across the floor, leaving him momentarily defenseless.
Ries seized the opening, driving forward with her rifle gripped tightly in both hands, her bayonet aimed squarely at Eden’s heart. She could feel the weight of the moment, the tension between them sharpened to a deadly point.
Eden’s survival instincts kicked in. With a last-ditch burst of strength, he grabbed the rifle and twisted it away from his chest. The bayonet missed its mark by a hair, scraping along the fabric of his uniform, tearing a shallow gash across his side. He grimaced, a mix of pain and raw determination as he used the momentum to roll away from Ries and scramble back to his feet.
They grappled for control of the rifle, Eden’s hands desperately working against Ries’ iron grip. She pushed, muscles straining as she fought to angle the bayonet back toward him. But Eden was relentless, using every ounce of his strength to shift the rifle and wrest it from her grasp. With a final, brutal shove, he sent the rifle clattering away across the chamber floor.
Before Ries could react, Eden surged forward, his fist connecting with her midsection in a powerful strike. The blow knocked the wind out of her, forcing her to stumble backward. She barely managed to keep her footing, as she narrowed her eyes at the man.
Eden’s face was twisted with fury and desperation, but Ries wasn’t about to back down. She wiped the blood from her split lip and met his gaze with a fierce resolve. “You wanted this? Fine.” Her voice was a low growl, filled with the ferocity of her Katzen heritage.
She closed the distance, moving with the agile grace of a predator. Eden swung wildly, but Ries ducked under his fist and delivered a punishing jab to his ribs. Eden grunted, the impact forcing the air from his lungs. He retaliated with a sharp elbow to her side, but Ries absorbed the hit, her body coiling with raw energy.
Ries went on the offensive, raining down a series of blows, each one more precise than the last. She moved like a whirlwind, her fists connecting with a brutal rhythm that kept Eden on the defensive.
Eden saw an opening when Ries momentarily overextended her punch, her momentum carrying her slightly off balance. With a swift move, he sidestepped and drove his knee into her side, exploiting the gap in her defense. The impact was sharp and jarring, forcing Ries to gasp as pain shot through her ribs.
Sensing an opportunity, Eden followed up with a vicious uppercut, his knuckles crashing into her jaw and sending her staggering backward. He pressed his advantage, closing the distance and throwing a flurry of punches, with each one aimed to overwhelm her.
Ries, gritting her teeth, ducked under his next swing, ignoring the throbbing pain in her side. She pivoted sharply, using her feline agility to slip behind Eden and deliver a brutal elbow to the back of his head. He stumbled, and Ries didn’t hesitate, she grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back, and slammed him against the nearest pillar with a resounding crack.
Eden groaned, the fight slowly draining from him as his body slammed against the cold, hard stone.
Ries held firm, tightening her grip and forcing his face against the pillar. “You’re done, Eden,” she spat, her voice rough with exertion. “No more running, no more lies. You’re going to face what you’ve done.”
Eden snarled, still struggling despite his battered state. “Make me.”
Eden’s snarl turned into a howl of pain as Ries brought the jagged piece of debris down with all her might, the sickening crack echoing through the ruined chamber. His body convulsed as he tried to pull away, but the damage was done—his ankles shattered under the brutal impact, rendering him immobile.
Ries tossed the stone aside and loomed over Eden, who now lay on the ground gasping for air. The mighty figure who once commanded armies was reduced to a broken old man, barely able to muster the strength to lift his head. There was no more fight left in him—only the raw, visceral reality of his defeat.
“It ends here, Eden.”
Eden’s breaths were ragged, his body broken, but his spirit remained defiant. Somehow, he still managed a twisted smile. “Then do it,” he rasped, his voice filled with a hollow bravado. “End me.”
Ries crouched and retrieved the saber that had clattered to the ground amid the chaos. As she rose, her gaze fell on the medals pinned to Eden’s chest, tarnished but still gleaming with the hollow promises of honor and valor. She scoffed, the irony almost too bitter to swallow.
“Were these medals for your unmatched talent in hiding behind your soldiers? Or maybe they’re for your exceptional skill in turning cities into graves,” she sneered, twisting the saber slightly as if testing its weight.
Eden let out a choked, mirthless laugh, his expression unfazed even with the blade so close to his life. “Bravery, leadership, chivalry,” he spat, the word like a challenge, as though daring her to prove him wrong.
Without a warning, and with swift motion, Ries sliced the saber across Eden’s throat. Blood spurted, hot and vivid against the dim light of the ruined chamber. Eden’s eyes locked onto hers, refusing to look away even as his life drained away.
He met his end with the same stoic defiance that had marked his every action—a final, silent act of resistance
Ries stood over him, breathing heavily as the realization of what she’d done sank in. Eden was dead, and with him, the empire’s most notorious architect of chaos and cruelty. Perhaps a million souls cried out in unison at that moment, a silent chorus of the forgotten and the wronged, echoing through the ruins of Valyra.
Clenching the bloodied saber, she turned away from Eden’s lifeless body. The weight of his death was heavy, but it was not a burden she regretted.
The Empire’s struggles were far from over. The real battle would begin now, in the aftermath of Eden’s reign, as the city and its people grappled with what had been done in the name of power and ambition.
But for the first time in a long time, Ries felt a sliver of hope for the future. Eden was gone, and with him, the shadow that had loomed over the empire, suffocating it with his schemes and ruthless grasp for control.
And that was enough. For now.
Ries took a deep breath, the air sharp and cold, tinged with the faint smell of smoke and the distant cries of a city on the edge of rebirth. For once, it wasn’t the familiar burn of tobacco filling her lungs.
“Change is in the air, it seems.”
But elsewhere, the fight was far from over.
----------------------------------------
Anya clutched her rifle as another deafening barrage shook the earth, the relentless roar of artillery drowning out the shouts and cries of her fellow revolutionaries. The city’s skyline was torn asunder, smoke billowing from every corner as the Marechausse unleashed hell. Debris rained down like a storm, choking the air with dust and the acrid stench of gunpowder.
They had been so close—so close to striking a decisive blow against the Empire, to seizing the heart of Valyra and tearing down the symbols of oppression that had loomed over them for so long. But now, all that remained was chaos and ruin. Anya could barely keep her footing as another shell slammed into a nearby building, sending a cascade of rubble crashing onto the streets below.
“We can’t hold them!” one of her comrades yelled, his voice ragged and filled with despair. The barricades they had hastily erected were crumbling under the unyielding assault, and the once-determined faces around her were now etched with fear and exhaustion.
Anya’s gaze swept over her battered fighters—men and women who had risked everything for a sliver of freedom, who had dared to stand against the might of the Empire. She had promised them a better future, had vowed that their sacrifices would not be in vain. But now, staring into the maw of annihilation, she wondered if it had all been a futile dream.
They can’t fall now… not when they are this close to freedom!
Anya braced herself, expecting the deafening roar of artillery to resume at any moment. But the next barrage never came. The sudden silence was jarring, eerie, as if the battlefield itself was holding its breath. She peered through the smoke and rubble, her heart pounding, waiting for the Empire’s cannons to fire again. But instead, a new sound filled the air—the low, menacing rumble of engines.
Out of the darkness, headlights pierced the smoky night, followed by the steady advance of trucks and soldiers. Rows of Imperial troops spilled out, marching in disciplined lines, their boots striking the ground with a chilling, rhythmic precision. Anya’s breath caught in her throat as she watched them move, not towards her ragged fighters, but directly to the grand, battered façade of the National Assembly.
They didn’t even glance at the revolutionaries, stepping over bodies and debris with cold indifference, as if the rebels were nothing more than an afterthought—an inconvenience. The sight filled Anya with a bitter rage.
“Even now, they don’t take us seriously,” she muttered, gripping her rifle tighter.
The Empire’s soldiers moved with a purpose that was unmistakable—they were here to seize control, not to fight. Their true target wasn’t the revolutionaries at all but the treasonous Marechausse and the rogue Minister who had seized the city and dared to defy Imperial command.
A soldier broke away from the formation and approached her, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his helmet. The armband around his arm read ‘MP’—Military Police.
“Ma’am,” he said, his tone formal but firm, “please surrender your weapon.”
Anya’s eyes flicked to the soldiers pushing into the Assembly, then back to her own fighters—exhausted, outnumbered, and utterly spent. They had fought tooth and nail, but it had never been enough. They had failed to even seize control from the underequipped Marechausse. What hope did they have now against the Empire’s disciplined forces?
Slowly, with every ounce of defiance drained, she lowered her rifle and placed it on the ground. The clatter of metal against stone echoed in the tense silence. One by one, her fighters followed suit, their weapons clattering to the ground in reluctant defeat.
The rogue Minister who had promised a new dawn lay dead, his ambitions reduced to nothing but empty echoes in the grand halls of the National Assembly.
Anya’s insurrection, born from the desperate cries of commoners yearning for change, had been obliterated in the crossfire of the Empire’s power struggle, and were left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure.
Above them, the sky began to lighten, the first rays of dawn creeping over the jagged silhouette of Valyra’s ruined skyline. The city, scarred and broken, lay in the aftermath of a battle that had claimed so much and promised so little in return.
The clock tower, a silent witness to the night’s chaos, chimed the hour, its mournful bells ringing out through the quiet streets. Six o’clock.
The beginning of a new day, and yet for many, it felt like the end of everything.