Just above the ridgeline, a golden-tinted sunrise reflects light off gleaming rooftops. Dwellings nestled in the hillside lie quiet, basking in the morning glow. A prevailing quiet has settled, and a hare emerges from the bush. The creature hesitantly investigates its surroundings and stops at the foot of a stone well. It is spring now. A gust of wind ruffles the new leaves of an oak tree. On the backs of a blue-green pond, a duck nest in the spring. A single pigeon flutters noisily from what looks like a pit covered by leaves and branches, burdened with a small folded parcel. A distant report and the bird seems to pause, momentarily suspended in midair, then falls to Earth.
The end of another beautiful day in Hell, mused Aster, as he gazed through the bars of his room's tiny window. He watched the startled hare dart for cover as a shrill whistle blew and crackling erupted simultaneously up and down the ridge. No doubt the end for him as well, he thought, wryly. How ironic it was to sit helpless in this bombed-out manor in some forsaken town while the mighty soldiers of the Empire fell back around him. .
And the town! Wasnt the New Order he had helped to create supposed to clean up dumps like this? Was this an example of the commoner's attainable dream? Well, it didnt matter now. Paradise or no, this village would be razed like all the rest. He heard shouts from the hallway as his guards prepared a last-ditch defense. He knew they had orders to kill him, might he fall into enemy hands. A cannon round came in with a shriek and slammed into the side of the building, knocking a gold-framed painting from the plaster wall. Aster bent over and examined the objet dart, an impressive rendering of the State Palace in Sebastopal. How could it come to this? An army of rebelsa confederation of farmers led by the Old Guard, the pariahs of their society, had dealt blow after blow to the mighty imperial army.