"Duke Lawrence!" exclaimed Hart, an officer from the Capital.

  He hurried down from a carriage, breathless, his military uniform stained with blood and mud.

  Ethan looked at him at once; he was seated on a wooden bench beside a tree at the entrance of the central village — where the houses stood. Right beside him, several paramedics nervously treated Theo.

  Farther away, where the sheds had exploded, dozens of carriages were parked, and dozens of doctors rushed to tend the injured. A line of bodies stretched across the ground, covered with white and black sheets.

  "Officer Hart…" Ethan said, returning to full awareness.

  "Forgive our delay, Your Grace!" Hart lamented, still catching his breath. "All the Capital's machines also collapsed. It's absolute chaos. We had to deal with the situation there first…"

  Ethan squared his shoulders, then sighed in disappointment.

  "Ah… So that's it…"

  "Forgive me, Your Grace? What do you mean?"

  Distant and contemplative, the Duke's eyes slowly scanned the surroundings. He took in the state of the place — the wounded, the dead, the smoke still dissolving into the clouds…

  He let the air leave his mouth in protest.

  "I felt an external resonance in the sheds, something that only happens because of Deviants. But when I arrived, there was no one; only a vehicle with its energy core collapsing…"

  As he listened to Ethan's account, Officer Hart clasped his hands behind his back and stood attentively.

  "It couldn't withstand its own energy. It exploded as soon as I arrived, and afterward, other explosions began throughout the plantation."

  Hart recoiled with widened eyes.

  Ethan, however, rubbed his solar plexus and bit his lips in agony. A hellish pain pierced his energy core, just below his heart, like needles stabbing from within.

  "Do you…" Hart said in disbelief, "believe this was a terrorist attack?"

  Without looking at him, Ethan nodded.

  "Organize the Capital's troops and send reinforcements to the Lawrence districts that had this technology. Do not send them to the other districts — we do not want to cause panic right now. Prevent the local newspapers from obtaining information about the event. I will make a statement when everything has settled…"

  "Is this really the time to worry about newspapers, Duke?" another soldier said, having just arrived to hear the orders.

  Hart corrected him at once.

  "Newspapers can fabricate lies and turn the people against the Duke, even if it's difficult. Right now, the ideal course is to prevent panic and restructure — as well as deal with our consequences."

  The soldier suddenly hesitated.

  "Your orders are absolute, Your Grace!" Hart declared in salute. "Men! Send a squad to each district with access to vehicles powered by energy cores. Dispatch troops to recover the bodies in the plantation; I also want carriages prepared to transport the injured to the Capital Hospital."

  Hart moved among the soldiers issuing commands, and they scattered in all directions to comply.

  Rising and carrying the bench closer to the stretcher where Theo lay, Ethan sat down beside his youngest son. The Young Master breathed heavily, small spasms twitching through his fingers.

  Worried and burdened with guilt, Ethan held his son's small hand while grieving in silence.

  He felt like a failure. He had abandoned the golden palaces of Zethian, the highest court, to live as a frontier agent; at eighteen, he had claimed the territory of Lawrence and assumed the position of Duke.

  He had left behind golden walls for muddy ground; false noble smiles for the blood he witnessed in his adventures. For that same blood, Ethan had offered protection.

  But he had failed to protect.

  The only person he managed to protect suffered fractures. And that person was his own son.

  Ethan brushed Theo's forehead as the boy remained unconscious.

  "I'm sorry, my son…" he whispered in lament. "Your father is not as strong as you believed…"

  He kissed Theo's forehead, and a tear ran down the Duke's face.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Ethan's theory was confirmed in the following weeks.

  The same event, named The Black Cataclysm, occurred across the known continent. It was also labeled a catastrophe of the industrial revolution — a failure of the most esteemed class.

  Four thousand deaths were confirmed in the State of Nethuns and its Independent Duchies in the first week alone; alongside those numbers, it was revealed that more than seven hundred people were missing.

  Five duchies of Nethuns were permanently evacuated due to the primary consequence of the core collapses: the Anti-Life Zones. A black substance had leaked from the cores before they exploded, rendering entire regions unfit for life; vegetation withered; insects fossilized within the first hours; people entered states of decomposition while still alive.

  These zones were isolated by the State, confirming an extreme remote perimeter to the far east — where the attacks had been most severe.

  "We lost an entire region because of these attacks," informed Duke Resglan of the Duchy of Magestrad, tension stiff in his fingers.

  "Furthermore, our currencies have completely devalued… The only one remaining is Lawrence's currency, and even that is plummeting…" Minister Montier said anxiously.

  The Duchies of Nethuns gathered in the State's capital, one of the southernmost islands, Despinian, to debate housing the thirteen affected territories. The State decreed that the remaining Duchies should shelter those impacted by the Cataclysm until restructuring was complete.

  Of the sixteen Southern Duchies, only two had not suffered attacks.

  "This was clearly planned… Do you have information from the other States, Governor?"

  At the end of the rectangular table sat Governor Galamer, one of the Three Great Kings of Romerian and the ruler responsible for the lands of Nethuns. His face was pale and drawn, utterly dehydrated.

  "There was a general infection in the cores. Specialists believe it to be a form of planned obsolescence…" he said slowly and calmly, though he was visibly nervous and desperate.

  Duke Rornet slammed his hands against the table, unable to contain his frustration and outrage.

  "So the machines were tampered with at the manufacturing industry?! Have the factory owners been arrested?!" Rornet shouted, the only one standing.

  "This is a delicate situation, Rornet… But the Imperial Unit is already seeking the necessary evidence to detain the manufacturers. Minister, the Duchies will be indemnified by the Empire — do not worry about that…"

  "Indemnified? I doubt it…" argued Duke Pitrovict of the outer islands of Malko. "Our Duchies were evacuated. We are bankrupt, Governor. The Empire will not waste money on those who cannot return the investment… It's insanity!"

  "Calm yourselves…" Galamer ordered, coughing dryly.

  "What will happen to our lands in the long term? Can this infection spread elsewhere?"

  "It would be wise if we relocated to the Gran-Empire, wouldn't it?" Rornet suggested thoughtfully.

  "And leave our people in poverty and misery because of our decision?" Pitrovict retorted.

  "The Gran-Empire was also attacked… But not on this scale," the Governor informed them.

  "Excellent. We have no safe place on this continent! What are we to do? Sail into the high seas and pray for new lands?"

  "Assume our place as leaders and remain until death."

  An external voice emerged from the central doors, which slowly opened to reveal Duke Ethan — the only leader visibly wounded, his left arm entirely bandaged.

  Upon recognizing the voice, all the Dukes fell silent at once.

  "I am late because I was in a meeting with Emperor Caesar's messenger last night and was only just released. The news and statistics are not good…" Ethan informed them as he approached the table.

  When a guard moved to pull out the chair reserved for Lawrence's leader, Ethan stopped him.

  "That won't be necessary. I will not stay long."

  Sliding three envelopes across the meeting table, Ethan looked toward the Governor.

  "Your Majesty has been in governmental meetings, correct? I have just received authorization for a private audience with the Titans and Emperor Caesar in the capital of Zethian. I must depart immediately, so I will leave this with you…" he said, depressed, nearly hesitant.

  "And what is this?" Pitrovict asked, pulling one of the envelopes.

  "Each envelope contains the current situation of the Three States. The information is private — the people cannot know of this… But… The eastern region of Nethuns has confirmed six thousand deaths and more than two thousand missing this week."

  "The numbers have multiplied…" murmured the Duke of Malko as he examined images of his lands.

  "And they will worsen…" Ethan said before placing both hands on the wooden table, forcing the coldest expression he could manage. "You may concern yourselves with money and your golden castles, but I concern myself with the blood of one thousand two hundred people now wandering the streets of Lawrence. With the one thousand two hundred families who have lost a presence at their tables…"

  The Dukes avoided eye contact — not out of shame, for they had none — but because they knew they were neglecting countless deaths.

  "I also concern myself with the two hundred missing in my territory, who are somewhere beneath the rubble. So once I leave, please return to your monotonous and incompetent discussions."

  Taking a deep breath as he straightened, Ethan turned to Pitrovict and Resglan.

  "The Duchies of Malko and Magestrad may settle in the cities closest to Lawrence's territory. My troops are aware. You will be received by civilians…"

  "Thank you," they said, embarrassed.

  Ethan silently turned and exited through the front doors. Yet as he walked toward the corridor, his mind drifted.

  "So I'm just a nobody to you?"

  "No… You're a strong man… The strongest my inferior eyes have ever seen. But at the same time, you're the man who puts money in my pocket. So your strength is useless here."

  Michel's voice flooded Ethan's mind, along with the gleam in the former leader of Midian's eyes beneath the sun.

  "When you need my strength, and I save you… Won't I be your hero?"

  "You needed me…" Ethan thought as he opened the door in melancholy.

  Outside, he glanced down the corridor and forced his tears back. Seeing only two soldiers guarding the door, he…

  Collapsed to the floor. Sitting with his back against the wooden door, he covered his mouth.

  "Don't misunderstand me. I will be eternally grateful… But you won't be my hero…"

  The soldiers looked at him in alarm. One crouched down and, without touching him, asked carefully,

  "My lord? Your Grace, are you well?"

  "Yes…" he replied in a trembling voice. "Soldiers… I believe there is some confusion outside… Would you mind checking…?" he said, holding back silent, broken sobs.

  Understanding the situation, both soldiers decided to comply with the Duke's request.

  "Do you need anything? Water…"

  "Bring me a drink… The strongest you can find, please."

  "Yes, sir."

  When the two guards hurried away, Ethan drew his legs in and wrapped his arms tightly around them. Praying no one would open the door, he hid his face as his mind resisted remembering Michel.

  "I couldn't even earn your gratitude…" he murmured in a trembling voice, interrupted by a heavy sob. "Forgive me… I hope you can forgive me…"