The President's Mansion in the capital of Sen Republic, Bangasu, was so brightly lit it was almost blinding.
The crystal chandeliers made the gilded cutlery gleam, while the air was thick with the intense scent of expensive cigars and the cloying aroma of French perfume. The long banquet table was draped with a perfectly starched linen tablecloth, piled high with delicacies—chilled lobster, sizzling roasted antelope, and mounds of caviar.
The new elites of Sen Republic and the high-ranking officers of the government army wore brand-new formal attire. Their faces were plastered with the exhilarated smiles of survivors, raising glasses and engaging in grand conversations.
President Isis held a champagne glass, weaving through the guests, receiving waves of compliments and congratulations. His dark, chiseled face seemed to expand with a glow of victory, each deep wrinkle smoothing out.
