The distant night was still restless with noise.
Ding Songnan made a round of the sentries posted near the courtyard in the darkness, telling them to stay alert, before finally returning to his room. The attendant on duty brought him hot tea, and after he had the lamps in the room dimmed down to a single flame, he sent the attendant away.
“Go tell the others not to use too many candles. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”
The attendant went to do as told.
Steam rose from the teacup, carrying a fresh fragrance. Ding Songnan sat there cradling the cup — the tea itself was truly fine, but the cup was large and coarse. Back at Xiaocang River, he had always drunk from such large cups; his taste for fine tea was something he had cultivated these past two years in the Central Plains.
In his years dealing with men like Yin Zong and Chen Shiquan, he had been surrounded by countless rare treasures and precious things, and women came whenever he called for them. Ding Songnan had gradually learned to appreciate the flavors of various fine teas and had developed his own preferences, yet he still held nothing but contempt for the elaborate methods of brewing and steeping tea. Choosing to drink slowly from this coarse, oversized cup felt more like a quiet defiance against that kind of extravagant excess.
Not long after the split with the Huaxia Army had been settled at Funiu Mountain, Zou Xu had held several serious meetings with the other members of the work team who had followed him. At those meetings they had analyzed their own capabilities and strengths, and what exactly it was that men like Yin Zong and Chen Shiquan relied on them for.
Coming out of the Southwest, their group’s true skill lay in training, controlling, and managing troops — in mastering organizational discipline — something men like Yin Zong and Chen Shiquan, bureaucrats and great landowners, could never hope to match no matter how hard they tried. The military discipline of the Huaxia Army had been too strict, all duty and no pleasure, ultimately running against the grain of human nature. But if, after the split, their own group indulged itself in pleasure, and once they sank too deep into it and lost the skills and abilities they once had, then in the end they would be nothing more than pigs and sheep beneath the blades of men like Yin Zong and Chen Shiquan.
Out of this kind of analysis and self-reflection, Zou Xu and the other members of the work team had gone on managing the forces under them with great caution. On one hand they acknowledged there was room for enjoyment, but on the other, Zou Xu remained extremely strict in his demands for actual results when it came to governance, never allowing those beneath him to let pleasure get in the way of the work.
This clear-headedness of Zou Xu’s had won the support of the other work team members, Ding Songnan included. Since then, several “comrades” who had grown too decadent had even been expelled from the leadership at Funiu Mountain, and by now, in the long contest against local strongmen like Yin Zong and Chen Shiquan, the military system led by Zou Xu had gained the upper hand in every respect.
My own abilities — have they grown, or have they declined?
Cradling his teacup, breathing in its inviting fragrance, Ding Songnan turned this question over in his mind.
If it truly came to a confrontation with the Southwest, the result would be…
He sat lost in thought for a while. At some point, a knock sounded outside, and the attendant came in again. “Mr. Chen has arrived.”
“Ah. Let him in.”
Ding Songnan tidied the desk a little, poured water to steep fresh tea, and had just about finished preparing when footsteps drew near outside.
The man the attendant led in was a scholar in his thirties, dressed in a black robe and wearing a hat, looking every bit like an ordinary accountant. This was a scholar named Chen Ting, recruited by Zou Xu, Ding Songnan, and the others after they had put down roots in Bianliang and elsewhere. He came in and shut the door, and the two men cupped their hands in greeting before Chen Ting smiled and said, “Moved again, have you?”
“Got word of something,” Ding Songnan said. “Better to lie low for a while.”
“Someone from the Southwest…”
Ding Songnan smiled and nodded. “Sit first.”
Chen Ting nodded and took a seat, clearly curious about the news. “Who’s come? Do you know?”
“A work team led by Old Qian the Eighth. Better not to run into them.”
“Old Qian the Eighth… ah, the ‘Feather Blade’ from the Miao frontier…” In the dim light, Chen Ting’s expression shifted several times before he smiled again. “If there’s ever a chance, I’d truly like to meet him.”
“There may well be a chance.”
The two chatted a little about the news from the Southwest, quite naturally making clear that “I’m not afraid” was enough said. Once the pleasantries were done, Chen Ting drew a small cloth pouch from inside his robe.
“I’ve spent the last few days reaching out to various sources and gathered no small amount of news. I’ve done a round of collating some of it — if some of these leads are accurate, then this business in Jiangning won’t end well.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Captain Ding, take a look.” The scholar opened the small cloth pouch and pulled out several stacks of papers filled with intelligence. “These are things I’ve bought over the past few days through various channels — all leaked out from the most reliable information sources of the Fairness Party’s five factions. Among the most credible batch, there are a few items concerning He Wen’s movements that are quite unusual, and I’ve since found several other pieces of information that corroborate them…”
As he spoke, Chen Ting spread the reports out on the table beside them, and Ding Songnan brought over an oil lamp to watch as the other man laid them out one by one.
“…The five factions of the Fairness Party look tangled and complicated on the surface, but broadly speaking there are still a few major directions of development. Since taking Jiangning, Zhou Shang and Gao Chang have been pushing south with everything they have, trying to swallow the little court at Lin’an. Xu Zhaonan and Shi Baofeng — one is consolidating his inner ranks, using the banner of the Great Brightness Cult to eat away at the Fairness Party from within, the other is expanding trade routes westward, hoping to link up with men like Liu Guangshi. As for He Wen, aside from putting out word about holding this conference, what he’s mainly been doing is pushing north, trying to open up Xuzhou, hoping to fight a major decisive battle there. But among all this, a few pieces of news are quite strange…”
Chen Ting picked out a few reports as he spoke. “…Captain Ding, look here. Between the seventh and eighth months, ‘Sea Sage’ He Miao has still been shifting his fleet toward Lake Tai. On the surface the fleet looks like it’s simply resting and refitting, but before it set out, grain prices north of the river showed an unusual fluctuation. Publicly, this is said to be preparation for the Xuzhou campaign, but in fact, the man in charge of their logistics, Ji Luan, happened to turn up in Suzhou at just this time, carrying out a purge of local officials…”
This scholar named Chen Ting had originally been a Confucian student of the classics, but after two years of tutelage under Zou Xu and Ding Songnan, he had already grown quite sharp at analyzing intelligence.
“…There could be several explanations for this. For instance, if the campaign on Xuzhou is imminent, Lake Tai as the main rear base would be of the utmost importance, so Ji Luan was sent there to stabilize things. But among these reports, we’ve also found two more suspicious items…”
“…Where the Fairness Party rose up in the south of the river, it’s precisely around Lake Tai that the five factions’ interests are most tangled together. We can now be fairly certain that Dragon Sage’s fifty thousand direct troops, despite appearing to push north, have in fact remained south of the Yangtze and north of Lake Tai without moving. The campaign on Xuzhou, which looks like such a great commotion, is very likely cover for the southward movement of six armies under He Wen’s command…”
“…Based on the current assessment, Dragon Sage Fu Pingbo’s direct forces sit at Lake Tai, facing Xu Zhaonan’s lifeline — his largest granary, Changzhou. Zhao Jingci’s Reclamation Army is currently lingering around Yangzhou, facing Gao Chang’s main force at Zhenjiang. He Miao’s navy has, for the past two months, kept close watch on Shi Baofeng’s fleet. As for Military Sage Lin Jiaojiu — the largest of his forces appears to have gone to Xuzhou, but his most capable eight thousand direct troops are currently north of Jiangning, guarding He Wen. And in fact, over the past eight months, Shen Linglian’s new army under He Wen has drawn a large number of elite troops from Lin Jiaojiu’s forces. No one now knows where they’ve gone — by common reasoning one would guess Xuzhou, but in truth there have been very unusual movements around Jingjiang and Jiangyin. Captain Ding, look at these two reports…”
Chen Ting laid out these key pieces of information. Ding Songnan looked them over expressionlessly, and when he set them down, he nodded.
Chen Ting’s expression carried some excitement. He was quick-witted, and after learning the Southwest’s methods of handling intelligence from men like Zou Xu and Ding Songnan, he had done a great deal of practice and simulation. This was the first time he was finally putting his own abilities to use on something of such importance.
“This intelligence varies in reliability. In the short term, we have no more reliable source of information than this…” he said carefully. “But if these key pieces are accurate, I’m highly confident in judging that, two to four months ago, He Wen had already been scheming and preparing for the showdown at this conference. In the matter of the study society, when he pushed back against Shi Baofeng’s provocation, others thought he’d handled it somewhat clumsily, suspecting he might be playing some kind of political maneuver to confuse the other four kings and throw them into disorder. But… he may truly have left himself no room to retreat. He means to take on all four at once.”
Chen Ting fell silent after finishing. Ding Songnan picked up his teacup and took a sip. The room stayed quiet for a good while.
“Back in the Southwest, He Wen was just an idealistic scholar.” After a moment, Ding Songnan spoke slowly. “It seems that after his family was destroyed and everything fell apart, he really did learn something.”
“…The study society has been active these past few days too,” Chen Ting said in a low voice. “According to the intelligence that’s come in recently, ever since He Wen began sending orders to every region forbidding persecution of study society members, the other four kings have started openly opposing him. In their territories they’ve sealed off the roads and begun arresting Fairness Party members found hiding the Southwest’s pamphlets. But the whole affair hasn’t gone nearly as smoothly as expected…”
“…In the past, the four factions’ arrests of study society members mainly targeted those with radical ideas who were secretly trying to align with the Southwest. But this time, it’s been expanded so that simply possessing Southwest texts is considered a crime. Each faction arrested tens of thousands of people almost immediately, only to find, soon after, a flood of false accusations and frame-ups. After all, the standard of ‘guilty for possessing pamphlets’ is far too broad. Some study society members have thrown pamphlets directly into the homes of their rivals or of innocent people, and there have been many cases of people using similar methods to eliminate political enemies…”
“…From the reports that have reached Jiangning over the past two days, we’ve bought up quite a few, and found that most of them are documents from mid-level officials reporting this kind of chaos. Some cases of frame-ups are extremely obvious — local authorities have made arrests but don’t dare act on them immediately, which is actually the more rational response. But over just a few days, we’ve been able to trace at least a dozen or so towns, or mid-to-low-level factions within them, where the primary official and his deputy seized the opportunity to attack one another, leading to armed clashes.”
Chen Ting handed over a report. “Look here. In Ganhua Township, Changshu, a deputy in the mid-level ‘Avici Primal Butcher’ faction turned on his own leader, killing him, and thousands of men fought each other in the chaos that followed. But this morning’s report came in saying the turmoil may have been triggered by the study society affair. The two officials had long held a grudge against each other, and the moment the order came down, each rushed to frame the other first. Now it’s impossible to say who’s who anymore. After killing his leader, this deputy carried out his own purge locally, and then declared he’d defect to Xu Zhaonan, insisting he himself was no rebel of the study society…”
“This kind of clash between officials and their deputies is one problem, framing and false accusations are another, and at the same time, secret assassinations have already begun to appear. Some study society members, the moment they heard the news, tried to flee toward He Wen’s territory, but the roads were already sealed. Among these reports, there are some people who had, in ordinary times, shown clear sympathies toward the study society — fond of discussing Southwest ideas with others — who, upon realizing they had no way to escape, took the desperate gamble of assassinating officials, or even killing indiscriminately. There have been dozens of similar cases, if not more, and all of them claim to have acted for the future of the Fairness Party…”
Ding Songnan held up the oil lamp and looked over the reports laid out before him one by one. Only after setting them down did he speak.
“Looking at all this — this may well be the real reason He Wen wants reform.”
“Captain, do you mean…”
“Organizational discipline.” Ding Songnan sighed. “Back in the Southwest, Mr. Ning used to say more than once that an individual’s strength is limited — it’s when people are joined together into a mass that they gain real power, and the single most important measure of a group’s strength is its organizational discipline. Lofty ideals exist for the sake of organizational discipline. Strict rules exist for the sake of organizational discipline. Layer upon layer of oversight exists for the sake of organizational discipline. And the greatest obstacle to organizational discipline is the weakness inherent in human nature.”
“Everyone has weaknesses — the wish to enjoy oneself, to be lazy, to gain without effort. Foolish people can’t see the benefits that lie ahead; as long as there’s food in front of them right now, any further struggle seems pointless to them. So there has to be persuasion, there has to be education — the reasoning has to be broken down and explained in plain terms so people can see the necessity of working toward the medium and long term. At the same time, it’s best if there’s also some genuine benefit in the short term, so that short, medium, and long-term interests reach the best possible balance with human nature. You can’t sacrifice people’s basic ability to eat today for the sake of long-term gain. Only by finding that balance can an organization achieve the best possible discipline… Mr. Ning himself admitted he didn’t know exactly where that ideal balance point lay.”
“But look at the Fairness Party — its organizational discipline is a complete mess. Two years, and for all its enormous size, it’s really just loose sand. The five kings have no checks on one another, and beneath the five kings? Whatever these so-called Eight Enforcers, Three Talents, Four Garrisons, Seven Killers are — can the five kings really command them like their own limbs? No. These leaders each have their own turf and their own agendas. And beneath them, this mid-level leader in Ganhua Township — even the primary official and his deputy have their own separate factions. To put it plainly, this Fairness Party of tens of millions is really more like thousands upon thousands of bandit camps that happened to gather under a few banners…”
Ding Songnan paused. “This conference the Fairness Party is holding, with He Wen making such a great commotion about it — his real aim… probably isn’t about the other four kings at all. It’s more like he’s drawing everyone’s attention first, and then holding a second gathering — an induction ceremony?”
His words came out low, with a hint of hesitation. In these recent days, all eyes under heaven had turned toward Jiangning, and whatever schemes and guesses people made naturally assumed it would be about how the Fairness Party’s five factions might come together in some fashion. Even if there were a complicated political struggle in between, at most it would mean one or two factions being pushed out, with outsiders placing their bets accordingly for future gain.
But if He Wen’s true intention, from the very start, wasn’t alliance at all, then the whole direction of events would run completely counter to what everyone expected.
Of course, the scattered pieces of information gathered so far weren’t yet enough to form solid proof of this, and Ding Songnan himself held some reservations about the idea.
Chen Ting hesitated for a moment too. “This matter… honestly, it’s hard for me to imagine as well. It may sound grand, but relying only on the lofty phrases and platitudes in the study society’s pamphlets — could that really persuade men who built their careers on burning, killing, and plunder to reform themselves and follow discipline?”
“…Ten years ago, there wouldn’t have been the slightest chance of it.”
Ding Songnan sighed. “But now… the Huaxia Army defeated the Jurchens, and Mr. Ning keeps peddling his little pamphlets everywhere — the four classes of people, freedom, the limitations of peasant uprisings, the corruption of feudal bureaucrats. All of that can, of course, be banned outright in the territories of men like Dai Mengwei, Wu Qimei, or Liu Guangshi. But in the Fairness Party, they rose up under the very banner of the Southwest.”
“…In the past year or two, even when they secretly arrested study society members, it was only ever on the assumption that these people wanted to help the Southwest seize power. But among the real mid-to-upper ranks of the Fairness Party, who hasn’t read a few things sent over from the Southwest? Even the illiterate ones have long since had their clerks read it aloud to them. People dislike the Southwest because they don’t want it seizing power from them — but how many of them actually think Mr. Ning is lying?”
“The trouble with ideas is that they’re only dangerous once people stop discussing them — the moment people start discussing them, there’s always a chance they take root. And besides… there are those who don’t even care about the ideas themselves, but who’d still want to place a bet on the Southwest…”
Ding Songnan shook his head slightly as he went on. “He Wen knows his Fairness Party has a serious problem. He’s not satisfied with the kind of compromise-based alliance the Jiangning talks would produce — he wants to raise the true quality of the organization further, and so he’s taking a desperate gamble. From here, there are two possibilities. First, and most likely, good slogans will ultimately lose out to the evil in men’s hearts, and the other four kings will band together and swallow him whole… Honestly, that outcome would actually suit us best. At that point the Fairness Party really would fall apart into loose sand, and once we’ve won the battle for Bianliang, we could then set our sights on Jiangnan.”
“But if He Wen really does manage, under these circumstances, to gather together a group of like-minded ‘comrades,’ and forces through an increase in organizational discipline at great cost — then the Fairness Party’s future might really get set on the right track. It would mean chaos in the short term, but in the long run, it would be a great deal of trouble for us…”
Chen Ting thought it over. “He Wen has been saying, out there, that men from the Huaxia Army have come and are already standing on his side.”
“A few days ago when I saw He Wen, that was exactly when he warned me that the Southwest had sent Old Qian the Eighth’s team here — that’s why we moved locations.” Ding Songnan gave a faint, mocking smile. “If that’s true, it means he’s trying to use the Southwest’s strength on one hand while also trying to get tangled up with us on the other. If it’s false, it means barely a word out of his mouth can be trusted. Either way, at the very least, it tells us that on the political stage, He Wen is not an honest man. He’s capable of doing anything.”
Ding Songnan paused again. “Still, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. A man like that will always follow whoever feeds him — as long as we still have some use to him, he’ll be willing to work with us. No need to bother currying any real friendship with him at all.”
“…So which side should we place our bets on going forward?”
“We’re in no difficult position at all. The outcome of the war in the Central Plains hasn’t been decided yet, so naturally, like Dai Mengwei, we just place bets on all sides. If we defeat Liu Guangshi, we open our doors and do business freely. If we lose, then every agreement we’ve made simply comes to nothing… As things stand, no one is put in a difficult spot. It’s a fine arrangement.”
He finished speaking with a smile and reached out to pat Chen Ting on the arm. “Keep this intelligence here. Go get some rest — you’ve worked hard. There’s still some business to settle over the next couple of days, and once it’s roughly sorted out, we’ll head out of the city.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chen Ting left the room. Ding Songnan gathered the reports together, trimmed the oil lamp brighter, and went through every piece of information once more, carefully. By the time the work was done, the tea had gone cold. He didn’t bother reheating it — just took a couple of sips and walked out the door. Outside, the night had grown even deeper, and from somewhere far off in the city came occasional bursts of noise, fierce and strange all at once.
He walked a while beneath the eaves, went to the edge of the courtyard, and out of habit checked on the sentries around him again. The city was far from peaceful these days; the ordinary houses had all put up defensive frameworks, and the sentries hid within a darkness as thick as city walls. Ding Songnan lingered a while in a high, dark spot, thinking back on the days he’d once spent at Jishan.
In their conversation earlier, it had been clear that Chen Ting was deeply interested in the subject of the Southwest — but in truth, for those of them who had come out of the Southwest themselves, any word of that place still carried a strange sense of taboo.
At Funiu Mountain, in Bianliang, and elsewhere, Zou Xu would speak frankly with him about the flaws of the Southwest, about its excessive suppression of human nature, and in front of students like Chen Ting he always spoke just as candidly, as if doing so alone could help him escape the fear in his own heart. But in today’s conversation, in truth, both of them had kept avoiding the most important possibility of all.
If the Huaxia Army really came, and they ran into them — what then? As a power in its own right, how exactly did the Huaxia Army currently regard people like them?
As enemies — did they even have the standing to face them? He tried to skirt around these questions himself, and it was fear in his heart that drove him to do so — he analyzed himself using the very methods of self-examination he had learned in the Southwest, trying hard to draw conclusions.
And yet, there was still hope after all… Under rules as strict and laws as rigid as the Southwest’s, one could never truly reach the future. By Mr. Ning’s own reasoning, in the struggle between the weaknesses of human nature and long-term interests, he had chosen neither the radical approach of Old Ox Head, nor the Fairness Party’s method of seizing land from the wealthy on a massive scale outright — though he had long since had that weapon at his disposal. Instead, he had chosen a degree of control that the Huaxia Army could currently manage. But might even that degree still prove too severe for this age?
Perhaps, in the end, his vision would collapse, while Zou Xu’s side — inferior as it was — would endure and survive? Might it be that he could tolerate Old Ox Head’s radicalism, tolerate He Wen’s extremism, even tolerate Dai Mengwei’s conservatism — and in the end, tolerate the path Zou Xu’s side had taken as well?
The city stirred restlessly in the darkness. Ding Songnan stood within that darkness, his thoughts unsettled, gazing off into the distance.
…Where would this age of chaos ultimately lead?
Beneath that same pitch-black sky, at the northern end of the city, He Wen too stood deep in thought atop a high tower, gazing into the distance.
To the northeast, Gao Chang had turned down an invitation from a group of his brothers to celebrate, drinking only a little wine, sitting quietly alone in an empty hall. In the darkness, his eyes had grown ever clearer.
At the New Tiger Palace, Xu Zhaonan, having paid a visit to Lin Zongwu, began a fresh round of secret audiences.
Shi Baofeng, having checked on the injuries of his second son Shi Weiyang, rode in his carriage along the road to his next visit.
Zhou Shang sat reading in an old ancestral hall, with people occasionally bringing him this or that piece of news.
Lin Zongwu practiced his boxing forms in the night, his steps and strikes slow, his sleeves sweeping through the air as though moving through water of tremendous weight.
Meng Zhutao, as he did every day, went to check on his paralyzed junior martial brother, who had still not woken — the physician said he might never wake at all. His junior sister and the others watched him from beneath the courtyard eaves with hatred in their eyes; lanterns hung in the courtyard, and the rockeries and low shrubs blurred in the light, reminding him of ten thousand lit windows of home.
Monkey King Li Yanfeng, wounds and all, practiced his boxing with as much vigor as ever.
And many more, out in the chaotic darkness, were locked in slaughter…
…
At the little square on the street outside Juxian Hall in Zhong’an Ward, Yan Tiehe staggered forward to the corner ahead. When he saw what lay in the dim light before him, he leaned his body against the wall at the corner, as though he had lost all strength to stand.
Yan Yunzhi came up from behind, trying to support him, but he shoved her away hard.
“Get away.”
He said it weakly.
On the platform of the little square ahead lay corpse after corpse.
A few days earlier, in order to draw Yan Yunzhi out, Jin Yongsheng had secretly arranged for Yan Tiehe to be injured, setting a trap with him as bait. After Shi Weiyang’s arm was severed, Hei Niu and the others, seizing the opportunity, had rescued Yan Yunzhi and Yan Tiehe, trying to get to the bottom of the gossip between this young girl and Ning Ji.
Shi Baofeng had then rounded up every attendant who had come from the Yan family stronghold, and by today, all of them had been put to death here, at this execution ground outside Zhong’an Ward.
The situation within Jiangning had grown ever more complicated. He had used the study society affair to force the issue, originally hoping it would deepen the progress of cooperation within the city, but the situation on the Fairness King’s side had already spiraled out of control, and his second son, on whom he had pinned such high hopes, had lost an arm and been gravely wounded. What little regard Shi Baofeng had left for the Yan family’s dignity, he no longer cared to preserve.
“You…” In the dim light, Yan Tiehe’s eyes were bloodshot as he pointed at Yan Yunzhi. “It’s all because of you — you got them killed—”
Yan Yunzhi clenched both fists tight, her lips pressed into a line, her gaze trembling faintly. She stood dissolved in the darkness, saying nothing for a long while.
Not far off, Hei Niu and the other two watched all of this in silence. Yuwen Feidu spat on the ground.
“What a damned wretched place…”
…
At the other end of the city, Qu Longjun, looking every bit like a beggar, made her way back under cover of night to the ruined courtyard where the “White Rakshasa” had been based. Wei Xuwen’s decimation order had already run its course once through the city, and she had slipped back quietly, wanting to see how things stood here.
Firelight glowed from the ruined courtyard.
She drew closer through the darkness, and not far down the road, she saw Madam Huo’s body strung up in the street. The courtyard had been broken into — some of the women had been killed, lying in pools of blood, while others still alive had been bound by the neck with rope, kneeling in a row on the street outside the courtyard. Their bodies had been doused with filth, and in the cold autumn wind these gaunt, wasted women shivered or wept quietly, looking like skeletons on the verge of death.
Those who had broken into the courtyard flew, faintly visible, the banner of “Heavenly King Gao.”
Ever since the Jurchens’ fourth southern invasion, these women had endured every kind of horror, and in the time since, having joined the “White Rakshasa,” they too had inflicted horrors of their own. But what had arrived now was not retribution — what Qu Longjun saw before her eyes was like hungry ghosts of hell devouring one another. Her body trembled, and she curled up in a corner of the street.
After regaining her freedom in the Southwest, bound by her father’s unavenged death, the only place she could think to go had been back to Jiangnan.
…There was no Jiangnan left anymore.
…
The night grew ever deeper.
At midnight, He Wen finished a secret conversation with someone who had come quietly to see him. After the night visitor left, he sat in his room for a while, then summoned the advisor from the next room.
“Send out the word… I will attend the next conference. Whatever it is everyone is concerned about, I will give everyone… a complete and thorough answer.”
The advisor acknowledged the order and left. The darkness settled once more into stillness, and He Wen sat deep in the night, gazing far into the distance.
The city’s dark hues merged with the sky, occasional ripples stirring, as though looking upward from the depths of some vast, sunken sea…
The possibility of destruction loomed over him from somewhere out there, but no matter how many times he turned it over in his mind, the people he cared most about had already long since returned to darkness.
To hell with it…
he murmured quietly.