King Felix II and Rhea emerged from the "Devil's Throat" several miles outside the capital. The sky over the Aesthetic Imperium, once a vibrant canvas of shifting auroras powered by the Flow, was now a bruised purple, choked by the smoke of distant battles and the atmospheric instability caused by the failing shields.
"It's different," Rhea whispered, adjusting her Flow-Neutralizing Dust Armor. "The focus is gone. People aren't 'gooning' for inspiration anymore; they're just trying to survive."
They reached a main transit artery leading to the capital. Usually, this road would be filled with high-speed Flow-skiffs, but today it was a slow, somber procession.
Part II: The Carriage of Shadows
They found their opportunity at a roadside rest-stop. A Mourning Carriage—a heavy, low-tech vehicle made of dark, treated timber and draped in light-absorbing black silk—stood apart from the others. These carriages were commissioned for the families of the high-ranking officers lost in Aethelgard.
The carriage was fundamentally un-aesthetic. It represented death, stagnation, and the end of focus—things the modern Imperium found "cringe" and difficult to process.
"If we take this, we aren't just hiding our bodies," Felix realized. "We're hiding in the one emotion Evelyn has purged from her own heart: Grief."
They quietly intercepted the carriage, Rhea using her non-Flow combat skills to distract the driver while Felix slipped inside. They donned the heavy, hooded mourning veils found within. To any observer, they were simply two more souls broken by the war.
As the carriage approached the capital's primary checkpoint, a squad of Aesthetic Patrols—elite soldiers in shimmering, high-DF armor—floated toward them on anti-gravity discs.
[SYSTEM ALERT: ACTIVE FLOW-SCANNER DETECTED. SPECTRUM: VIBRANCY AND MENTAL RADIANCE.]
The patrol leader held up a Prism of Discernment, a device designed to detect high-level Focus. In any other vehicle, Felix's royal presence would have set off alarms. But the carriage was a "Dead Zone."
The Flow-Neutralizing Dust Armor absorbed Felix's internal energy, and the heavy drapes of the carriage, soaked in the "Aesthetic of Loss," baffled the sensors.
"Move them through," the Patrol leader barked, his voice filtered through a synthesizer. "No need to scan the bereaved. Their signatures are flat. There's no Flow left in them."
The irony was bitter. Because Felix had embraced his own shame and the weight of his people's suffering, he was now "unworthy" of the scanners' attention. The King was too "cringe" to be detected.
The carriage rattled through the golden gates of the capital. The city was under a state of high alert. Holographic banners of Evelyn's Imperial Focus Initiative flickered everywhere, demanding "Total Focus for Total Victory."
"We're in," Rhea said, her eyes peering through the veil. "But the palace is a fortress. Even with this armor, once we step out of this carriage, the internal security net will find us."
Felix clutched the Original Confession scroll. "We don't need to reach the throne yet. We need to reach the one man who still cares more about the truth than the network."
"Lord Reginald," Rhea finished.