"The city alarms are blaring as temperatures plummet and the citizens begin to panic in the freezing, unlit streets outside."
Richter stood motionless in the center of the drawing room, his ears attuned to the discordant symphony of Aethelgard’s descent. The sirens were not merely warnings; they were the funeral dirge of the status quo. His wives were huddled together on the velvet settee, their faces illuminated by the frantic, intermittent flashes of emergency flares soaring into the black sky outside. They looked at him with eyes wide with terror, but Richter felt only a hollow, cold satisfaction. The darkness he had unleashed was finally absolute.
"We must find a way to the cellar," his wife whispered, her voice trembling as she gripped the armrest. "The rioters will be at the gat
