The fires had begun to die.
Not because there was nothing left to burn.
Because even flames grew tired.
The compound that had once stood like a monument against the end of the world was little more than a black skeleton now. Roofs had collapsed inward. Watchtowers leaned at impossible angles. Smoke drifted lazily through the frozen air, carrying with it the bitter smell of charred timber, gunpowder, and cooked flesh.
Snow continued to fall.
Soft.
Patient.
As if the world intended to bury every trace of what had happened here.
Miriam sat alone atop the cracked stone steps leading to what had once been the administration hall.
Her hands rested quietly in her lap.
Her white coat was stained with soot.
One sleeve had burned away near the wrist.
She hadn't noticed.
Or perhaps she had.
It simply wasn't important enough to care.
Around her, members of the empire moved like ghosts.
Some carried bodies.
Some searched the ruins.
