None dared challenge them the rest of the way, not with so many dead and the rest scattering to safety. Sinshei briefly debated calling for guards to clean up the bodies, then decided against it. The whole city was awash in fire and death. Let the mess remain as a reminder, at least until their loved ones came to collect the corpses for a pyre. She and her paragon crossed the remaining road to the docks bustling with activity in preparation for the arrival of the three ships in the distance, the lead galleon bearing the signature three stars on its flag.

“I should have sharpened my spear and cleaned my armor,” Soma said, somehow still making light of things despite the horrid turn of events. “There’s blood on both. It presents a poor picture.”

“We’re a poor picture regardless,” she said as she waited at the end of the pier. “Clean armor won’t change that.”

A proper greeting would have placed magistrates on either side of Sinshei, along with rows of priests, imperial soldiers, and a crowd of faithful citizens of Thanet eager to worship, or make a good show of pretending to worship, the Heir-Incarnate. Instead her priests were scattered throughout the city, preaching the need for faithfulness amid this newly arrived turmoil. Soldiers were chasing after dissidents or putting out fires. There would be no faithful crowd. What crowd she could have summoned was at Magus’s failed execution.

Just her and Soma. It wouldn’t be enough. She knew that. Hands crossed before her, she stood tall and prayed for the strength to maintain her resolve.

The gangplanks shook as the three galleons pulled in amid the cries of sailors, the groan of ropes, and thud of boots. Hundreds of soldiers flowed down the gangplanks of the other two warships. From the third came her brother, escorted by a half-dozen paragons. Despite their armor, and their incredible size, Galvanis towered over them all. He was the chosen vessel, the Heir-Incarnate, and the prayers and worship of the legions of imperial citizens empowered him alongside their father. His armor was sleek yet impossibly heavy, painted golden with its edges silvered. A sword heavier than most men hung from his back, and he carried it with ease.

“My dear sister,” he said as he stepped off the gangplanks and atop the docks. “Though it is good to see you, this is a disappointing welcome for the Heir-Incarnate of the Everlorn Empire. And is that smoke I see rising all across your city?”

“The result of a series of missteps and failures by Imperator Magus of Eldrid,” Sinshei said. “Culminating in his death at the hands of rebels.”

“The Imperator, slain? Do you jest, little sister? What of Regent Goldleaf?”