Then came the paladins of both Endarius and Lycaena. They rushed the stage with a song on their lips and holy light sparkling off their weapons. Cyrus dared feel hope. The people had not abandoned him, nor had they abandoned Lycaena. A brave few threw stones or fired arrows at the Anointed, but the magistrates surrounding her lifted their hands in prayer. Steady chants rose from their throats, forming a translucent shield to protect them. Arrows snapped in half. Stones bounced off as if against steel. As much as Cyrus would love to see them killed, he trusted the surging forces in the crowd. They would win, he told himself. This was clearly planned and well organized.

Except… except the surge forward wasn’t reaching the platform. The scattered members of Thanet’s rebellion weren’t merging together to form a solid line to join the fight near the front. He watched, trying to make sense of the absolute chaos. Soldiers fell, and the trampled earth was soon bathed in blood, but the imperials held their ground as those uninvolved in the fight fled for the city. Amid the steadily thinning numbers, Cyrus understood what had happened.

Yes, the resistance had seeded hundreds of loyal followers of Lycaena and Endarius throughout the crowd, but so, too, had the Everlorn Empire secreted its paragons. They lacked their usual armor and extravagant weapons, but even without them they were ferocious warriors few could hope to match. Perhaps Endarius’s and Lycaena’s paladins could, but they were outnumbered, fighting against wall upon wall of soldiers separating the crowd from the raised platform. With each second that passed, more soldiers stationed throughout the outer ring of the crowd closed in, further isolating pathways toward the platform.

The end result was inevitable to Cyrus’s eyes. It wasn’t enough. Magus of Eldrid had leaped into the fight, anchoring the line of soldiers before the platform. He was a rock the imperials could rely upon as they overcame the surprise of the attack and beat back the rows of paladins. As those first frantic moments passed, Sinshei visibly calmed, her initial fear replaced with disgust. The multiple magistrates surrounding her continued their chant as she lifted her dagger skyward.

“Like newborns, you squabble and fight against what is best,” she shouted. The sapphire at her throat shone with brilliant light, projecting her voice above the chaos. “And like newborns, you will be born amid blood and pain.”