The Bombing of Kysra

Disaster / Destruction

The Capital City Burns

The War of the Night is over. Stolisia is in the preparation stages for its first democratic elections, with General Kaisa serving as intermediary President. She is guaranteed this position officially due to her role in Stolisian independence, but she insist elections be held anyway. We are not like Divinice, she says. The city of Kysra, nestled at the feet of the vast mountain range that cuts the Peninsula off from the continent, is to serve at Stolisia's capital. The city positively crackles with excitement, as builders work on creating the first Houses of Parliament. Kaisa and her intermediary committee sit in the old Town Hall, pondering the official map of Stolisia and their rudimentary findings on population density and culture clusters. Pins are stuck all throughout the map, and many members of her council rub their temples in frustration. How precise must they be? As precise as possible, she insists. Her elections must be fair and just. We are not like Divinice, she says. Outside, in the bustling city, there is a faint rumble. A few ears prick up, and some turn to face the door, but there is no clear sign of what caused it. Maybe a cart dropped a heavy load, a minister suggests. The group murmurs in agreement and returns to their map. But then there is a second rumble. And a third. The ground starts to shake. The shadows cast by the light of the window seem to grow longer and darker. Get down! The committee panics, diving under their chairs and lunging for the far wall. A minister clutches at Kaisa and drags her to the floor, struggling to position herself between the door and the general. The city erupts, not in chatter and activity, but in fire and light. Buildings buckle under the weight and collapse, folding over and spreading stone across the hills. When sight returns, little remains of the great city but ruined buildings and battered, twisted bodies. Dark shapes stain the ground, slowly oozing forth. But this will not be seen, until perhaps it is too late to remedy. The Town Hall is a shambles. Little remains of its once elegant structure, or of the noble people who were in it moments before. The President lies dead, and the Republic erupts into chaos.