He unwrapped one of the clay vessels, revealing a device packed with blasting powder, packed tightly, with a crude timing mechanism attached.
"You're planning to bomb the festival," I said, not a question but a statement of horrified understanding.
"Not the festival itself," Kalen corrected quickly. "Strategic targets around the square. Government buildings. Symbols of imperial oppression."
"There will be civilians everywhere," I protested, the coldness in my heart warring with ingrained caution. "Families. Children."
"And there will be warnings," Kalen assured me. "Enough time for evacuation before the buildings come down. This isn't about killing innocents, Tarshi. It's about showing the Empire we can strike at the heart of their power."
He paused, studying my face, then continued more softly, "Think of all they've taken from us. The villages burned. Thefamilies separated. The children orphaned. Don't they deserve to know, just for a moment, what that feels like? The fear, the uncertainty, the knowledge that nowhere is truly safe?"
I thought of Septimus's face, twisted with hatred and disgust. Of the Empire that had taught him that hatred. Of the collared dragons, of enslaved Talfen, of all the suffering I had witnessed and endured.
"They do," I agreed, something hard and cold settling in my chest. "They deserve to know exactly what they've done."
Kalen had nodded, satisfaction in his eyes. "Then you'll help us?"
"I'll help you," I confirmed, sealing my fate with three simple words.
Now, as dawn broke over the Imperial city, I shouldered the bag of explosives and followed Kalen up the cellar stairs. Four other resistance members waited above—two I recognized from previous meetings, two I didn't. All wore the plain clothes of festival workers, carrying tools or baskets that would grant them access to the buildings around the square.
"Remember," Kalen said to all of us, his voice steady and calm, "today we strike the first real blow against imperial tyranny. After today, they will know we are not to be ignored."
The others nodded, determination in their eyes. I found myself nodding too, though the knot in my stomach had grown to a leaden weight.
We separated once we reached the street, each taking different routes to the festival square. I kept my head down, the canvas bag slung over my shoulder like labourer's tools. The city was already stirring, shop owners setting out their wares, food vendors stoking fires beneath massive cooking pots. The air smelled of baking bread and excitement, of spices and anticipation.
And beneath it all, the acrid tang of my own fear.
The festival square was transformed from its usual austere grandeur. Colourful banners hung from every available surface, fluttering in the morning breeze. Wooden stalls lined the perimeter, selling everything from spiced wine to carved trinkets. Workers scurried about, making final preparations for the day's events.
And everywhere, there were imperial guards—but fewer than I had expected, given the scale of the festival. They stood at major intersections, their crimson uniforms bright against the stone buildings, but they seemed... relaxed. Unconcerned. Several were chatting with vendors, laughing at some shared joke. One was helping an old woman set up her flower stall.
Something about their casual demeanour sent a shiver of unease down my spine. I had expected heightened security, vigilant patrols. Instead, they looked like they were preparing for a holiday, not guarding against potential threats.
I forced the thought aside and focused on my task. The first target was the guard barracks on the north side of the square—a squat stone building with narrow windows and a red-tiled roof. I approached it from the side, where deliveries were made, and found the service entrance as Kalen had described.
No guards. No check of my credentials. Just an unlocked door that swung open at my touch.
Wrong. This was wrong. Every instinct I possessed screamed a warning, but I pushed it down. I had come too far to falter now.
Inside, the barracks were eerily quiet. A few guards lounged in what appeared to be a common room, playing dice and paying me no attention as I passed. I found the storage room Kalen had marked on his map, slipped inside, and quickly positioned the first device behind a stack of crates. Twist the cap, count thirty breaths, and leave.
I was halfway to the second target when I saw them—a family, mother and father and three small children, setting up a blanketin the centre of the square. The youngest, a girl no more than four, clutched a wooden doll to her chest, her eyes wide with excitement as she took in the colourful banners.
Something twisted in my chest. A memory surfaced—my mother's face, lined with fear as she hid me in a root cellar while Imperial troops burned our village. The screams. The smoke. The knowledge that nothing would ever be the same.
Is this what I had become? A man who would make other children hide in cellars, who would bring that same terror to innocents?
No. Kalen had promised the buildings would be empty. That warnings would be given. That this was about property, not lives.
I pushed the doubt away and continued to my second target—the tax collector's office. Again, the lack of security struck me as odd. A single guard stood at the main entrance, but he merely nodded as I approached, assuming I was there on some festival-related business.
Inside, I planted the second device in a storeroom filled with ledgers and tax records. As I set the timer, my eye caught a notice pinned to the wall—a special announcement encouraging families to attend the festival, promising extra sweets for children and reduced prices at food stalls.
The Empire, actively drawing civilians to the square today of all days?
The third target was the imperial records hall, a grand building with columns flanking its entrance. Here, at least, I encountered some security—a guard who checked my forged work order before waving me through. I planted the device in a back office, my movements mechanical now, my mind increasingly troubled.
