Dong.

The first bell toll hung in the air, heavy as wet wool.

Dong.

People paused in the streets of Arkhos, conversations trailing into silence.

Dong.

Three bells. The Imperial Announcement pattern.

Adom stood in the crowd forming near the Hall of Justice, his recently broken arm still stiff despite the academy's nurse, Miss Thornheart's treatment. Just an hour ago, he'd been half-drowned in the ocean, locked in combat with a homunculus. Now he was here, academy uniform hastily donned, watching as the city transformed around him.

I maintain this is inadvisable, came Zuni's voice in his mind. The quillick adjusted his position on Adom's shoulder, careful to maintain his balance. You should be resting.

And miss whatever this is? Adom replied quietly. Not a chance.

Your constitution may be exceptional, but even you have limits.

Noted.

A vegetable seller nearby hastily packed her cart. "Last time those bells rang like that," she muttered to no one in particular, "they raised the harbor tax to twenty percent."

"Doubt it's taxes this time," replied a man with a weather-beaten face. "Not with what happened at the trial."

The bells continued their monotonous call as Adom pushed deeper into the growing crowd. His right arm, though no longer bent at that sickening angle, still ached dully. The academy's nurse– Miss Thornheart –had set and treated it, her expression growing increasingly puzzled as the bone began knitting itself together faster than normal healing should allow.

"There you are!" Sam called, emerging from the shadow of a baker's awning. "Thought you might have drowned."

"Nearly did," Adom replied, accepting Sam's firm handshake with his good arm.

Sam's eyes flickered to Adom's injured arm, then to his face, searching. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him. A subtle nod, a slight relaxation of his shoulders. "Glad you made it back."

"I'm exceptionally durable," Adom said with a half-smile.

"So it seems." Sam replied. He glanced at Zuni, who returned an almost imperceptible squeak of greeting.

The crowd thickened as more citizens arrived, responding to the persistent bells. City guards in polished breastplates directed the flow of people, their expressions tense beneath their helmets. More guards appeared at the edges of the square, subtle but unmistakable in their vigilance.

"Something's happening," Sam said, nodding toward the Hall's grand entrance where imperial guards—distinguished from city guards by their crimson cloaks—had begun to form ranks on the steps.

"I'm guessing that's why we're all here," Adom replied dryly.

A merchant shuffled past, his arms laden with scrolls. "War with Farmus," he declared with absolute certainty. "My cousin's boy works in the harbor. Says they turned back a whole fleet this morning."

By 'turned back,' he likely means 'utterly destroyed,' Zuni observed privately to Adom. If what you told me was accurate.

Let's not spread that around, Adom replied.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Adom. "That true? About the fleet?"

Adom looked at Sam and nodded.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The bells continued their relentless rhythm as the crowd grew denser. People pressed forward from all sides. The mood was mixed—tension in some faces, excitement in others, resignation in many.

A woman nearby clutched her shawl tighter. "It's bad luck, that's what it is. First that unnatural storm out at sea, now this. The gods are angry."

"The gods have nothing to do with it," her companion scoffed. "It's politics, plain and simple."

"The storm weren't politics. My brother saw it from the harbor wall. Said it was like the ocean itself was at war."

Adom shifted his weight, conscious of how his hair still smelled faintly of saltwater despite his hasty attempts to rinse it. The broken arm was already feeling better—another hour and he'd barely notice it. One of the benefits of his unique physiology.

The crowd's murmuring intensified as figures began to emerge from the Hall. First the military commanders in their dress uniforms, then the heads of the great merchant houses, followed by the representatives of allied nations in their traditional garb. They arranged themselves on the wide steps in a precise formation, each group in its designated place.

Your heart rate has increased, Zuni noted. Are you in pain?

Just curious, Adom replied mentally. Like everyone else.

I doubt everyone else was personally involved in today's events.

Fair point.

The bells grew louder, though whether they actually increased in volume or the crowd's hushed anticipation just made them seem that way, Adom couldn't tell. The square was packed now, citizens pressed shoulder to shoulder from the Hall's steps all the way back to the fountain at the district boundary.

"It's almost certainly about the prince," Sam murmured, keeping his voice low. "Given what happened at the trial."

"We'll know soon enough," Adom replied.

The crowd's murmuring intensified as the last council members took their positions. Only then did the mages appear, nine figures in elaborate robes representing the Magisterium. Gaius was among them, looking as composed as he had when he'd plucked Adom from the ocean. Their eyes met briefly across the distance, the old mage giving no sign of recognition.

The bells reached a crescendo, then held a single, sustained note that seemed to vibrate the very stones beneath their feet.

"Here it comes," Sam whispered.

The great doors of the Hall opened wider, and the crowd collectively held its breath. The Emperor emerged into the sunlight, his simple gold circlet gleaming against his gray-streaked hair. Though not physically imposing, his presence commanded attention, shoulders straight beneath robes of imperial purple.

The Emperor moved to the edge of the top step and raised his hand.

The bells stopped.

The sudden silence was deafening.