Because they weren't just watching history.
They were watching the last breath of a hero.
The recording resumed.
Chaos had erupted.
Screams tore through the hall.
Nobles backed away in horror, some collapsing to their knees, others clutching at each other as if the floor might collapse beneath them.
"NO!!"
A royal attendant's shriek cracked the air.
"The King! The King—he's—!"
Soldiers still standing let out guttural, instinctive cries, battle hardened men reduced to helplessness in a single moment.
The assassins, cloaked in shadows, froze.
Even they, ruthless, inhumanly fast, detached from emotion, looked momentarily shaken. Their masks turned toward one another. Their feet stilled.
One of them even took a half step back, as if this was not the outcome they'd intended. Not like this.
But in the center of it all
Nnenna didn't move.
She was frozen. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.
She didn't blink. Didn't cry.
Just stood there, shattered.
