12:39 Hours – Central Broadcast Hall, Glyveris
The chambers smelled of burnt stone and ozone. Smoke from the aerial bombardment still lingered, coiling around shattered columns like the ghosts of old arguments.
Colonel Volst paced quietly near the entrance, flanked by Captain Morgan and two Bernardian riflemen.
The Bernardian warlord was a man of industrial muscle—thick-shouldered, eyes like black iron, his uniform crisp even in this ruin. The insignia on his coat shimmered faintly.
He said nothing at first. Let the silence stretch like a noose.
Across from him sat the last remnants of Aurelia's high command—Senator Vallen, blood seeping through the bandage on his shoulder; General Lys, barely able to stand without aid; and Ilyra, face bruised from Captain Morgan's strike, her hair clumped with soot.
They looked like beaten statues of a dying civilization.
"You know what must be done," Volst finally said.
