All was well in the streets of Gyokoru... Or, at least, as close to "well" as a city could get when it was embroiled in an empire-wide civil war. As the citizens went about their daily lives, carefully avoiding the gaze of the military, and ostensibly showing disgust and horror at the various propaganda posters depicting, almost absurdly, slander against a girl of about fourteen, dressed in white robes.
One little girl, wearing the robes of just another student of the magical arts. In a crowd, she would be almost impossible to find. And yet... Here she was, in caricature form, appearing on each and every street corner of the New Xanacorian Empire.
One little girl. And yet, everybody knew of her, and, as was their civic duty, hated her. After all, it was through her arrogance that the empire was now in civil war. It was through her idiocy, foolishness, greed, gluttony, immorality, lack of punctuality, and whatever other crime they could pin on her, that the entire universe was now doomed to failure, because of the collapse of the Xanacorian Empire.
The might of half of one of the old empires. Ancient magical power. An arm that could reach across galaxies... And yet a single little girl was outside of their grasp. It was maddening.
The streets of Gyokoru were dreary, carefully watched, and filled with propaganda posters. All was well.
All was well. Several heads turned as three figures darted out into the streets, the slowest one being instantly tackled by one of the ever-vigilant troopers. The remaining two, however, did not appear to notice the fall of their comrade.
Stopping in the middle of the streets, the taller of the two, the one that appeared to be the leader, opened up his jacket, revealing an assortment of devices beneath, all ominously blinking. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he let out a final scream of, "GLORY TO THE IMPERIAL DOMAIN OF MISTRAL!" His partner did the same, and, for a moment, time in that particular portion of the city ground to a halt, as a small click echoed through the air.
The very next instant, there were no longer two figures standing in the streets of Gyokoru. There was only one very large crater, filled with ash, rubble, and corpses, and surrounded by a ring of charred shops and cowering bystanders. It had been, of course, yet another terrorist attack by the Mistral fanatics in the city. Or, perhaps, it had been an elaborate suicide attempt by several teens driven to the breaking point by the stress of living under the current situation. Perhaps the pair had simply been insane. All three were likely possible, with ample precedent.
Either way, any citizen not caught in the blast radius merely gave the wreckage a cursory glance, mentally recalculated their plans for the day, and went about their way.
After so long, such events were no longer news, no longer anything to bat an eye at. They simply served as an occasional reminder that the country was at war.
