The first images hit the morning broadcasts like a shockwave. Screens flickered in kitchens, offices, buses, and living rooms, news alerts flashing across every digital device, social media platforms erupting with chaos as the raw, unedited footage of the revolutionary army’s demise poured in. It wasn’t filtered. It wasn’t sanitized. Names, faces, moments of brutal clarity, the executions, the fallen captains, the shattered soldiers, all of it laid bare in front of the nation.In one cramped apartment on the fifth floor of a gray, aging building, Marissa pressed her hands to the cold glass of her window, phone in the other hand vibrating constantly with notifications. “No… no… this can’t be real,” she muttered, voice trembling, eyes wide. She watched clips of armored units being torn apart, elite captains falling, the fear etched on faces she had only ever seen in propaganda. Outside, the street began to stir as neighbors poured out of their apartments, staring at screens in the windo

POV: President’s AideThe limousine rolled to a stop at the reinforced gates of the forward command center, black paint glinting under the harsh sunlight. Inside, the President’s aide leaned back in his seat, fists tightening against the leather, jaw set in rigid frustration. Every second that had passed since the footage went public had gnawed at him, a political firestorm building faster than any disaster drill had ever prepared him for.By the time he stepped onto the concrete tarmac, his shoes crunching against gravel, the aides lining the entrance gave him wide berth, sensing the storm radiating from him. He did not pause to acknowledge them, eyes scanning immediately for Seth, for anyone who could explain how an entire revolutionary army had been wiped out, exposed, and broadcasted before the government had a chance to even speak.Seth was waiting. Calm, unflinching, almost casual in the chaos, the man who had shattered months of planning, protocol, and hierarchy. The aide’s pul

POV: SethThe room was thick with polished decorum, applause fading like echoes into the gilded walls, the ceremonial claps still lingering awkwardly in the air, like everyone present wasn’t quite sure whether they were allowed to stop. Seth stood before the President’s aide, medals heavy against his chest, ribbons gleaming in the artificial lights, eyes steady, unfazed, and completely focused on the man in front of him. The aide, who had spent the entire ceremony balancing fury, powerlessness, and the need to maintain governmental image, now cleared his throat and spoke with careful precision, the words sounding rehearsed even to him.“You have done… extraordinary work,” the aide began, voice smooth but tight, measured, each word a trap for his own frustration. “The government, the military, the nation, recognizes the… sacrifices you have made. In light of this… your contribution requires… recompense. You have honor, recognition, medals—but I ask you now, personally… what do you wan

POV: CassandraThe sun was low, casting long shadows across the ruined remnants of the revolutionary army’s base, its crumbling walls a stark reminder of everything that had transpired. Cassandra walked slowly among the debris, boots crunching against splintered concrete, scattered weapons, and the shattered pieces of barricades that had once been the backbone of a fanatical regime. Smoke still curled faintly from fires that had burned themselves out hours ago, carrying a bitter scent that lingered in the air, clinging to her clothes, to her hair, and even, somehow, to her own skin. She took a deep breath, the taste of ash and blood sharp against her tongue, and allowed herself a moment to simply observe.Seth had done what no one else could, what no one else would dare. He had walked into the teeth of a revolutionary army, alone or nearly so, wielding the full measure of his power, and walked out unscathed. The captains lay dead, the leadership shattered, and the country was now awa

POV: SethThe Red House loomed ahead, its white columns gleaming faintly in the late afternoon sun, the sprawling gardens whispering of centuries of power, of politics, of history shaped and reshaped in corridors no one outside could ever truly see. Seth approached slowly, boots crunching against the gravel path, a measured pace that betrayed none of the weight he carried, the weight of battles, of decisions, of lives taken, and lives saved. The air was crisp, but beneath it ran a tension, a quiet hum of expectation, of protocol, of people who had spent their lives orchestrating appearances, and now found themselves confronted with someone who could not be contained, could not be managed, and could not be undone.He passed under the grand portico, the heavy doors opening with a muted click, revealing the vast interior where polished marble met gold trim and crystal chandeliers reflected the light with almost sarcastic brilliance. Seth’s presence drew attention immediately. Generals,