Seven Years Later*
The capital of Valeria had not softened under Emperor Xavier's reign—it had hardened.
Where once stood marble halls and perfumed gardens, there now rose bastions of stone and steel.
The old ornamental arches were carved away, replaced with sharp-angled gates that spoke of function, not grace.
Colossal banners, each marked with the black sun of conquest, hung from every tower and bridge. They snapped like whips in the northern winds, casting long shadows over the city's avenues.
The streets were widened to make way for marching cohorts; cobblestones thudded beneath iron-clad boots day and night.
Barracks had swelled beyond their old boundaries, bleeding into merchant quarters and swallowing inns, warehouses, even temples. Smithies ran endlessly, forges glowing like open wounds in the night, hammering out spearheads and breastplates in numbers fit for endless war.
Everywhere, soldiers lived and trained.
