[Malach]
Laketown had settled into an unnatural calm. The streets, usually humming with carriages and late morning walkers, felt suspended. Houses glowed softly behind shuttered windows, each one a sealed world. When Malach stepped outside for a brief walk, the first person he saw was Wells Horn standing near his gate with his coat already on, speaking quietly with another uniformed officer.
Wells noticed him and lifted a hand.
"Stillon," he said, offering a polite nod. "I was about to come by your door."
Malach returned the greeting with the proper restraint expected of someone raised among nobles and half-nobles. "Good morning, Prefect Horn."
"Wells is fine," he said. "Everyone in Laketown calls me that."
They stood together beneath the pale streetlamps. The entire capital had felt muted for days, ever since the stars had vanished. Now the tension was crawling closer, pressing into the city's edges.
"I assume you have heard the announcement," Wells said. "Nationwide movement ban. Temporary, according to the broadcast. No intercity travel until further notice."
"I heard," Malach replied. "No one seems to know why."
"Someone knows," Wells said. "Just not us."
He gave a tired smile that did not match his steady posture, then leaned slightly on the gate as if lowering his voice would keep the world steady. "The Urban Legion has been fully mobilized. Mine in particular is stretched thin. We are covering East Central, the Port and Warehouse District, the Fifth and Sixth Wards, and the outer approaches through the Gardens and Appleshire."
Malach tried to picture it. He had only recently moved closer to the city, yet he knew the names well enough. East Central was the beating heart of the capital, dense with offices, ministries, and the courts. The Port and Warehouse District sat at the mouth of the Mississippi, where the river met the southern sea. Heavy ships, enchanted containers, elemental barges. It was the financial bloodstream of Albion.
The Fifth and Sixth Wards lined the western side of that corridor. The Fifth was older and built directly along the river's bend. The Sixth was newer, a planned ward with military housing and administrative complexes. Together, they acted like a spine linking the port to the rest of the city.
"Your legion covers almost the entire eastern half," Malach said quietly.
"We do," Wells said. "The 1st Urban Legion is holding Laketown, Riverside, and the outer districts along the levees. The 3rd Legion is across the river handling Mariner's Bay and the the other districts south of the river. But our side is the one with the oldest neighborhoods. If anything goes wrong, it will go wrong where the city first grew."
His expression softened when he mentioned Appleshire.
"Appleshire is the historic quarter," Wells said. "Built in the mid 1700s. Old stone houses. Lantern streets. First permanent settlement before New Birmingham began expanding. And Gardens, to the west, used to be swamp. Reclaimed land. Less dense, more quiet. A good place to raise children, if one likes peace."
Malach listened more closely than he expected to. He realized this was the first conversation he had with a capital native he ever had about the capital that was not delivered by a tutor or a textbook.
Wells continued. "We move out at dawn. Might not be back for a while. Depends on how serious things get. I wanted to let you know since you are new to the district."
Malach nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate the warning."
Wells hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Before I go, something else. My wife has been insistent about inviting you to dinner. Our household is small, but we would be glad to have you. Tonight, if you are free."
Malach blinked. He had not expected that. "I will need to check my schedule. I will send a note shortly."
They exchanged a few more words. Wells began to walk away with the officer at his side, but after several steps he suddenly turned back.
"One more thing, Stillon."
Malach looked up.
"I should not be saying this, but you deserve to know. There are rumors in the capital that the Citadel may take direct control of the nation. Full emergency authority. Parliament might be relieved of its duties. Even state parliaments." He paused. "They say it is temporary, but no one seems convinced."
For a moment, Malach felt the air slip from his lungs.
His father sat in one of the state parliaments. His influence, his career, his entire identity had always been anchored there. If the Citadel replaced Parliament, then Estrin Stillon would effectively vanish from the halls of power.
Malach imagined the faint portraits in the hallway of their old estate, the generations of Stillons who had risen piece by piece into the aristocracy. By no means had they been a major political force, but their family command enough respect to be recognized. He imagined how easily a single decision from the Citadel could erase their relevance for a decade. Maybe more.
A tightness spread through him.
Wells watched the change in his expression and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "The nation will endure. Albion has endured far worse. But you deserve to hear this from someone who does not speak through a broadcast."
Malach swallowed. "Thank you."
Wells nodded again and stepped away.
Malach stood there for several seconds, mind racing. Something within him shifted, a subtle click of realization. His world was no longer distant from the nation's events. His family's fate was tied to the city's heartbeat. To events outside of Albion out of their control.
"Wells," he called out.
The Prefect stopped.
"I will join you for dinner tonight."
A faint smile formed on Wells's face. "Good. I think it will do you well."
He walked off into the dim street, boots echoing against the quiet stone.
Malach returned to his home slowly, each step marked by a growing sense of weight he had never felt before.
When he reached his room, he sat on the edge of his bed and wrote down, for himself, the truth of Albion's governance.
The Citadel. The central executive. A cabinet of ministers, the highest tier of authority in the nation. They were appointed by the Prime Minister and could exercise near total control in emergencies.
Parliament. The legislative body of the state. Hundreds of members from across Albion, representing its states and districts. They created the laws, guided national policy and were advisors to the Citadel. All members of the Citadel were also members of Parliament as well.
Everyone claimed the two balanced each other.
But if the Citadel took control, even temporarily, then the entire structure that defined Albion would shift. After all, what is a warrior without a sword?
The world was changing, and for the first time in his life, he felt it press directly against him.