Flames painted the imperial capital in shades of crimson and gold. From the Lionhart Estate's highest tower, Roman watched as the city that had stood for a thousand years burned. Another explosion bloomed in the western quarter—the seventh in the past ten minutes. The pattern was too precise to be random, too coordinated to be anything but meticulously planned.
"The latest reports, Emperor," announced a communications officer, presenting a scroll bearing urgent updates. "White Lion's Third Division reports the central bridge has fallen. Éclair's forces are stretched across four sectors, unable to contain the spread of cultist activity."
Roman scanned the report with practiced efficiency. "Casualties?"
"Over two thousand confirmed, with estimates tripling that number. The living bombs continue to detonate in sequence."
"And our perimeter?" Roman asked, his gaze returning to the burning city.
"Holding, Emperor. Triple guards at all access points as ordered."
