Chapter 1099: Black Dragon, Annihilation (1).
The council chamber smelled of polished stone and old paper. It wasn’t the rot of the markets or the cold oil reek of the spire’s elevators. It was older, preserved, like something meant to remind anyone who entered that the city had survived long before they did and would continue long after.
Cain’s boots clicked on the mosaic floor as he entered, the sound carrying far too loudly in the silence. Roselle moved at his side, her eyes sharp, catching the faces lined up at the long table ahead. Susan leaned heavy on the rail, favoring her ribs, but her smirk hadn’t faded; she wore defiance like a coat. Steve trailed with his satchel slung low, muttering under his breath as though cursing at an invisible interface only he could see.
The councilors waited. Eight of them. Old power, young heirs, the mix that made governance look like something other than possession. Their leader—or at least the one who enjoyed pretending—was a woman in her forties with a voice like iron laid flat.
"You’ve made noise," she said. "Noise that shook ships out of the sea and left the Grid crippled. Do you know what happens to men who make that kind of noise?"
Cain didn’t sit. He let his silence weigh. The others fidgeted, each according to their nature—Susan’s smirk widening, Roselle’s hand brushing near her weapon, Steve’s muttering intensifying.
Finally Cain spoke. "It depends on who listens."
The councilwoman’s jaw flexed. "We all listened. The Daelmonts listened. You drew eyes."
Roselle leaned forward, her words cutting. "Then maybe you should be asking what those eyes saw, not what we made them hear."
Another councilor, younger, tried to seize the moment. "Your actions destabilize the city. Every deal we’ve made hangs by a thread. You’ve forced—"
"Deals?" Susan cut in, coughing once before finding her breath again. "What’s left of your deals when the sea decides it doesn’t want to hold up your ships anymore? You think safety is something you can bargain into existence?"
The woman at the head raised her hand. Silence reclaimed the chamber. She studied Cain. "You did this without permission. Without mandate. And yet the result has... merit. We’ve had fewer reports of drone sweeps in the southern wards since your strike. Still, consequence demands answer."
Cain felt the cool weight of the room pressing. He spoke level, measured. "Consequences fall on the guilty. If you think us guilty, say it. If you think us useful, say that instead. But stop pretending you can call us both."
Steve finally stopped muttering long enough to snap his head up. "The uplink collapse bought us hours—days maybe—but the Daelmonts are re-routing. I’ve seen the signals crawling back like worms. This isn’t over. It’s barely the opening act."
The councilors exchanged glances. Some worried, some calculating. None eager to speak first.
Roselle folded her arms. "You called us here to scold? Or to offer us a leash?"
The iron-voiced woman’s lips curved thin. "Neither. To measure you. To know whether what you did was accident, rebellion, or intention."
Cain let the silence ride again, then cut it with words that felt like steel dragged across stone. "It was war."
The word landed like a verdict. The council chamber seemed smaller for it.
For the first time, the woman at the head leaned back, expression unreadable. "Then we will have to decide if we’re already part of it, or if we can remain apart."
Susan laughed, low and sharp. "You’ve already chosen. You just don’t want to say it out loud."
Cain turned. He had no interest in waiting for their decision. "We move," he said to his people.
They left the chamber, footsteps echoing on the old mosaic, leaving behind the weight of politics for the weight of streets.
---
The air outside was no softer. Dawn had grown teeth, cutting through the mist over the river. The city’s towers looked both fragile and invincible, glass and steel that had outlasted a hundred storms but still carried cracks hidden beneath their skins.
Hunter was waiting near the steps. His face was unreadable as ever, but his stance told Cain enough. "How did they take it?"
"Like rulers always do," Roselle answered before Cain could. "They think listening is the same as deciding."
Hunter gave her a glance, then shifted his gaze to Cain. "And you?"
Cain felt the slow fire beneath his skin, the same one that had carried him across decks and through steel storms. "I don’t wait for others to decide. We move."
Steve tugged his satchel higher. "Then let’s move fast. I traced Daelmont’s fallback lines. They’re setting up in the eastern grid towers. If they anchor there, they’ll rebuild faster than we can cut."
Susan lit a cigarette with hands that shook, inhaled like it was the only medicine she could trust. Smoke curled out of her mouth as she said, "Then we burn the anchors before they set."
Hunter hesitated. His eyes told of calculations, of bargains half-formed. Cain saw it but didn’t name it. Not yet.
They moved down the steps, into the roar of streets that didn’t care who governed, only who survived. Markets bustled, children shouted, soldiers patrolled with eyes too sharp. The city didn’t stop because of war; it simply learned to wear it.
Cain’s blade stayed sheathed at his side, but every step told him it wouldn’t stay there for long.
They moved through the city like ghosts with purpose, each step sharpened by the knowledge that choice stretched consequences into flesh. Markets smelled of oil and smoke; children still chased broken kites through alleys where soldiers had once marched. Cain felt the ledger under his thumb like a slow, heavy promise. He tasted the salt of the river and the iron of looming decisions. Roselle shadowed his flank; Susan kept pace, breath ragged but steady. Hunter mapped corridors in his head. Above, the towers blinked, unaware that their foundations were being reargued on wet stone and willing hands and resolve.