Your Federation will fall. It is only a matter of time.

There may still come a day when the Federation turns to dust and disappears into the fog of history.

We arrive in Cardinia to a celebration unlike anything I’ve seen in my life. It pales in comparison even with the national fair we witnessed when Jeran, Adena, and I first attempted to infiltrate the capital.

The train tracks that lead into the capital of the Federation all run along black steel bridges, something I remember from my first excursion into this place—but this time, those bridges have been painted in gold. Enormous scarlet-and-black banners hang at each entry tunnel, and as our train passes through one of these tunnels, I look up to see crowds cheering our arrival, each of them flinging basketfuls of paper confetti over our carriages. Beyond sprawls the capital, a cityscape of glass domes and towers that reach for the sky.

“The celebrations will go on for the next week,” Constantine tells me as I stare at the scene. “It will escalate each day until it ends on the evening of the summer solstice. There will be a series of games throughout that time.”

I look at him. Games?

He nods. “It’s a tradition from the Early Ones, who used to host games every four years that drew participants from every part of the world.”

I open one of the windows and stick out my hand to catch bits of the red paper. When I bring my arm in to look at the papers, I realize they each have the Karensan crest printed on one side, along with the flag of Mara on the other.

I glance quickly at Constantine, who gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Welcome into our fold, he tells me through our link.

And I realize that this year, they are also celebrating their new conquest.

When Adena, Jeran, and I first came to Cardinia, I’d been so awestruck by the sight of its towers that I’d never even bothered to notice the district that circles around the inside of the city wall. This district has its own, smaller wall, with a series of gates attended by guards.

This time, as we head into the city, I turn to look back at that district. I’ve learned what it is now, because my mother had labored within this place just months earlier. It’s the prison district, a camp so large that it runs in a ring all around the outskirts of the city. Over the top of the prison district’s gates, I can see clouds of steam pouring from buildings.

It houses prisoners of war. Traitors and spies. Thieves, murderers, and anyone that has crossed the Federation.

General Caitoman oversees their interrogation.

I turn my eyes away from the sight, sickness roiling in my stomach. I’d seen the hard labor my mother did in one of their factories, had to bear the horror of her bruises and wounds. I’d witnessed prisoners shackled to that inner wall, hanging until they were dead.