The morning didn't wake gently.
It crashed into the capital like a brass band with too much confidence and not enough manners. Vendors shouted themselves hoarse before the sun had properly stretched. Horses clopped, carts rattled, shutters flew open, and somewhere, someone was already arguing about prices as if the fate of the Empire depended on a loaf of bread.
"Gazette! Imperial Gazette! Fresh ink, fresh scandal, get it while it's hot!"
The boy on the corner had lost his voice halfway through the second street. Didn't matter. He waved the papers like victory flags anyway, elbows sharp, grin crooked, the headline doing most of the shouting for him.
People slowed.
Brows lifted.
Whispers bloomed like mold in damp cellars.
Printed in stiff black letters, boxed with formal borders and the imperial crest stamped twice for good measure, was a declaration so dry, so official, it almost dared readers to miss how outrageous it was.
