The smoke of the Winter Moon Coup had not yet fully dispersed, yet the prosperity of Thunder City seemed largely untouched.
The shops on Queen Street still opened their doors to customers, exquisitely decorated carriages wove endlessly across the cobbled road, and the passersby, dressed to the nines, did their utmost to maintain the decorum befitting this great metropolis.
However, this was only the surface.
An invisible oppression hung in the air.
Fully armed soldiers could be seen at every street corner, the number of patrolling guards was twice what it used to be, and all of them had rifles slung over their shoulders.
Their expressions were stern as they swept wary gazes over every passerby; in the teahouses and cafés tucked into corners and alleys, the relaxed chatter and hearty laughter of the past could no longer be heard.
