In Sarovan, at a high balcony carved in white stone, light banners hung from every pillar. Below, an entire district knelt in the streets, thousands of people pressed together, shaking, starving, but their eyes were… determined, shining with a strong light that screamed resistance.
These people were bowing but… they had not bowed the "right" way.
They had not… repeated the oath.
They had… refused to accept Light.
Archon stood above them, wearing his crown and his perfect robe, surrounded by priests and commanders.
The halo above his head was shining so cleanly that it almost looked… fake.
"My lord… we can still negotiate. We can send instructors. We can—"
One of his advisors whispered, his voice cracking in panic, but before he could even complete his words—
Archon lifted a hand.
"No,"
He spoke directly.
"My world should not have resistance.
Not against Light, that will only be seen as weakness."
