Dawn broke not with birdsong but with the groan of iron.The city's breath was unmistakable now. Every piston, every vent, every streetlamp pulsed in rhythm, the tempo of a vast hidden heart. Brasswick was alive, and the Phantom Engineer's will bled through its arteries.
From the Iron Spire, Elric gazed down upon the awakening machine-city. Zeppelins hovered like carrion birds, their searchlights sweeping alleys. Soldiers of brass and flesh patrolled the streets in twinned ranks, each step synchronized with the city's slow beat.
Selene leaned against the railing, shadows coiling around her boots. "He doesn't even hide it anymore. The city belongs to him."
"No," Elric murmured. His gray eyes were steel. "Not yet. He's claimed the body. But the mind of Brasswick—its people—are not his. Not unless we let them believe it."
Evangeline's hands trembled around the remains of her bird. She spoke softly, as though to herself. "Machines whisper to me still… but now it is one voice. One endless voice, drowning all others. He's binding them together. If he succeeds, there will be no rebellion. Just harmony. Eternal, suffocating harmony."
Elric turned sharply. "Then we must light fire enough to break his harmony. We strike not as soldiers. We strike as sparks in powder."
And below them, as if answering his words, a scream tore across the fog. Smoke billowed from the southern quarter. The first uprising had begun.