By the next day, Iron Hearth was buzzing.
The night's events had beco the only topic of conversation, spreading from taverns to bakeries, from marketplaces to alley corners. Those who had been at the barricades retold the story with wild gestures, describing the green flares, the shouts of officers, the grim march of the knights. Each retelling grew taller than the last—so swore they had seen Kaelen's corpse with their own eyes, others claid the officers had unleashed forbidden magic that blinded Iron Shield before cutting them down.
And those who had slept through it listened with wide eyes, clutching at every word.
"So it's true? Kaelen is dead?"
"Dead. Him and Tannus both. They say their bodies were carried out, chained and covered."
"Gods above… I never thought I'd live to see it."
As people spoke, they noticed sothing unusual: the officers were still patrolling.
Lines of navy-blue uniforms marched down the cobblestone streets in pairs and trios, batons at their sides, shields slung across their backs. The sight was not new—officers had always patrolled. But the mood around them was different.
Where once eyes would have slid away in indifference—or worse, suspicion—now they were t with nods and warm smiles. rchants raised hands in greeting as officers passed. Children pointed at them with awe, whispering, "Those are the ones who fought Iron Shield!" Won carrying baskets paused to thank them, and even gruff laborers stopped mid-step to offer respectful nods.
For the officers themselves, it was strange. They were used to silence, to being ignored at best and spat on at worst. Now, doors opened to offer water, streets parted without complaint to let them pass. For the first ti, they felt the weight of their uniforms transform—from target, to symbol.
The Law Enforcent Division was no longer seen as powerless. They had stood against Iron Shield and won.
The mood of Iron Hearth itself reflected this shift.
Markets bustled with unusual energy, rchants shouting with louder voices, custors laughing as if the weight of fear had finally lifted. Taverns filled not with hushed mutterings of cri, but with toasts to survival, tankards clashing in the na of victory. Even the alleys—once thick with shadows and whispers—felt brighter, though the sa crooked stones remained.
Relief spread like sunlight after a long storm.
Not everyone was at ease, of course. So whispered that the officers had been too brutal, that the barricades and threats to civilians had been heavy-handed. Others still wondering what sort of power the Crown had unleashed in the dark.
But even those voices were quiet beneath the roar of the majority.
For the first ti in years, Iron Hearth could breathe. The city that had lived under the shadow of Iron Shield now stood tall, shoulders lighter, steps quicker.
And as the officers marched through the streets, the people of Iron Hearth greeted them not as n in uniform—
But as heroes.
…
After reading the report, Arthur set the scroll aside and leaned back in his chair, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. His eyes glimred in the light.
Kaelen and Tannus were dead—ironclad proof of the Division's success. Their bodies secured, chained, waiting for his decision.
And it was precisely because of those bodies that he had to be careful.
To display them in the streets might feel like triumph, but it carried risk. Iron Shield had terrorized Iron Hearth for years. They had been villains, yes—but villains could just as easily be rembered as symbols. A corpse hanging in the square could breed resentnt, pity, or even twisted reverence. The downtrodden might whisper: "They defied the Crown to the very end." A head on a pike might satisfy the mob in the short term—but in ti, it would beco a rallying point for the desperate.
Arthur's fingers drumd against the desk.
Martyrs were dangerous. The dead often spoke louder than the living.
No—Kaelen and Tannus could not be martyrs. Their nas could not echo down alleys or beco curses whispered in rebellion.
They must vanish.
The sea was the answer. Vast, endless, unmarked. No grave to decorate, no shrine to kneel at, no headstone for conspirators to gather around. Their bodies would sink into the depths, swallowed by saltwater and forgotten by the city that once trembled at their nas.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"Better to erase them," he murmured. "No relics, no rembrance. Let their mory dissolve with the tide. The people already believe in their death—that is enough. The rest…" His lips curved faintly. "…the rest belongs to silence."
The logic was simple but rciless.
No body ant no martyrdom. Without a corpse to venerate, Iron Shield's remnants would have no symbol to rally around. No burial ant no legacy; their nas would fade into silence without even a gravestone to etch upon. And no grave ant no return—if whispers of survival arose, the Crown could dismiss them as fantasies.
Control the bodies, and he controlled the mory.
Arthur let the thought settle like iron in his mind, when a sharp knock sounded against the door.
"Your Majesty," ca the muffled voice of his valet. "Lady Audrey wishes to speak with you."
Arthur's eyes flickered from the report on his desk to the door. He leaned back in his chair, brushing a stray ink stain from his fingers.
"Send her in," he said.
The door opened with a soft creak, and Lady Audrey stepped into the study. She was dressed with her usual elegance—simple enough for court, yet refined. A gown of pale blue silk flowed around her like water, catching the lamplight with every step. Her expression, as always, balanced warmth and keen observation, a blend of courtly poise and personal charm.
She dipped into a graceful curtsy, the gown whispering against the polished floor as she lowered her head."Your Majesty."
Arthur looked up from his desk, quill pausing mid-stroke. He gestured toward the chair opposite. "Sit. Tell , what brings you here this ti?"
Audrey moved with unhurried poise across the chamber. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness; her visits had beco familiar, her steps across the study floor almost habitual. The faintest smile tugged at her lips as she lowered herself into the seat. For a brief mont, her eyes flickered to the sealed report resting on his desk—Talon's hand, unmistakable—but soon her gaze returned to Arthur's face, as if the parchnt was only a passing thought.
Ever since her reassignnt from Iron Hearth to Eldoria to oversee the blast furnace, Audrey had made a habit of visiting him. At first, the visits were easily explained: questions about construction, requests for clarification, technical reports. But as the weeks passed, a pattern erged.
The questions she brought were rarely complicated. Often they were so simple that any engineer under her command could have answered them. A few tis, she asked about concepts she clearly already understood.
Arthur had noticed—but he never called her out. Instead, he always responded with patience, explaining with care, sketching diagrams when words weren't enough. In his mind, it was diligence on her part. Perhaps an eagerness to learn. Perhaps a need for reassurance.
What he did not realize was that Audrey ca not for the answers, but for him.
Each visit was an excuse. Each question, a reason to stand across from his desk, to listen to his voice as he explained concepts with that calm precision, to watch his eyes flicker with thought as he leaned over a page, sketching diagrams or scribbling calculations. She had long admired his vision, his brilliance with machines and governance, but admiration had slowly—quietly—blossod into sothing deeper.
A quiet, insistent affection that ward her every ti she saw him.
Around him, Audrey felt a spark of joy that no forge could kindle, no furnace could produce. The blast furnaces she oversaw roared with fire, but none of them compared to the warmth she felt simply sitting across from Arthur Tesla.
Arthur, of course, remained oblivious. He misread her reasons entirely, seeing only diligence, an eagerness to learn, perhaps even overzealous thoroughness. Yet even in his misinterpretation, one thing was undeniable: he never disliked her presence.
In fact, though he would never say it aloud, he found himself looking forward to her visits.
Her laughter lightened the weight of reports and decrees. Her curiosity—even when her questions bordered on the obvious—gave him reason to pause, to speak, to explain. And in doing so, he found relief. When she entered, the study no longer felt like a prison of ink and parchnt, but a place of conversation—almost companionship.
Arthur leaned back in his chair now, folding his hands neatly before him, his gaze steady and curious."So," he said, his tone even but not unkind, "what question do you have for this ti, Lady Audrey? Another issue with the furnace?"
Audrey's lips curved into a gentle smile. Her eyes lingered on him longer than propriety demanded, bright with a warmth she could not entirely hide. Resting her chin lightly against her hand, she answered, her voice carrying both respect and a playful lilt.
"No, Your Majesty. Not the furnace this ti." Her smile deepened just slightly. "Today, I wished to speak of the surplus in steel production… and the growing stockpiles of pig iron."
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