Cold morning mist curled off the Red-Iron River as the first bronze bells of Iron-Crown City tolled a frantic, jagged rhythm.
Ten miles north of the Sky-Bridge, the massive portcullises of the ducal capital slammed shut with a concussive boom that vibrated through the riverbed.
Heavy iron chains were winched across the harbor mouths, locking four hundred merchant barges in place.
From the high battlements of the Iron Citadel, ducal heralds unfurled black-and-gold execution banners across the stone towers.
“High treason!” the heralds shouted through brass amplification trumpets, their voices carrying across the crowded city squares. “Princess Valeria and the White-Lotus Academy have murdered the imperial customs envoy! By order of Grand Regent Malakor, martial law is declared across all seven prefectures!”
Every gate was sealed with molten lead.
Ducal enforcers in spiked iron plate swept through the residential wards, seizing armories and arresting suspected rebel sympathizers.
The coup had officially begun.
