Time moved with cruel indifference through the ruins of what had once been the greatest city in human civilization.
Two years had passed since the night Avalon City burned, since thirty million souls had faced annihilation at the hands of the Order of Fallen Flame. Two years since the darkness was held back by sacrifices so profound they had reshaped the very foundations of the Empire. Yet time, uncaring of heroism or tragedy, continued its relentless march toward an uncertain future.
The wind carried autumn's chill through the Memorial Gardens, a vast expanse of pristine white marble that had been carved from the ruins of the old noble district. Hundreds of thousands of names were etched into stone—Imperial Knights who had held the line, Nighthawks who had died in shadow, civilians who had perished protecting their families. Each marker told a story of courage in the face of impossible odds.
