The morning sun crept over Marseille like a slow promise, painting smoke and ruin in gold. The city lay in smoldering silence, its great walls reduced, its pride shattered. But Regent Lancelot did not pause in triumph. He stood on the deck of Resolución, the surface of the Gulf of Lion glinting beneath warships and support vessels. Next to him stood Alicia, General Montiel, and Admiral Tormes. They watched as the first rays of dawn revealed the aftermath of their assault.
"We lost few men," Admiral Tormes reported, eyes scanning the docks. "No dreadnought took more than peripheral hits."
Montiel nodded toward the eastern hills. "The siege mortars have finished their sweep. Rebel pockets are scattering—no organized defense front yet."
Alicia refolded a map. "Intelligence suggests the Francois Army's southern command is in disarray. They've lost Marseille's ports, supply lines, even morale."