In the bustling lower markets, the chaotic shouting of merchants and buyers vanished instantly. Drop-forged iron tools clattered against stone, baskets of grain spilled onto the dirt, and horses whinnied in panic. Every single face turned toward the hill overlooking the city.
Through the rising dust, the silhouette of the grand mansion—a historic symbol of absolute authority—was wrong. A jagged, perfectly straight line of daylight now separated the left wing from the right. It looked less like a building and more like a broken toy.
At the district gates, the local watchmen stood frozen, their halberds shaking. They were trained to deal with riots, thieves, and rowdy mercenaries. They were not trained to deal with whatever force could bisect a reinforced stone fortress in a single strike.
"Is it an air raid?" one guard stammered, his helmet slipping down his brow.
