The morning after the coronation didn’t bring the peace Astra had imagined. Instead of the quiet hum of a stabilized empire, the Sterling Tower buzzed with a frantic, high-frequency tension. In the master suite, the floor-to-ceiling glass didn’t overlook a divided city anymore, but a construction site. Massive cranes were already dismantling the "Grey Wall," the physical barrier that had separated the elite from the "nothings" for a generation.
Astra stood at the edge of the balcony, dressed in a sleek, charcoal-grey combat suit. Her hair, now permanently streaked with shimmering lunar silver, whipped around her face. She looked at her palm; the crescent was no longer just a mark, it felt like a compass, pulling her gaze toward the northern horizon.
"They're early," Dante’s voice rumbled
