The walk back from the Cathedral of the Eternal Sun was not a procession; it was an exodus.
As the Imperial carriage wound its way through the upper districts, the silence that followed them was absolute. The crowds that had previously whispered "succubus" and "witch" were now pressed against the stone walls, their heads bowed so low their foreheads touched the dirt. They weren't just afraid of the Red Tyrant anymore. They were afraid of the woman beside him—the woman who had reached into the holiest flame of their religion and extinguished it with a single, violet breath.
Inside the carriage, the air was suffocating.
