The Grand Southern Church stood at the center of the city beside a glinting golden statue of the Iron Father. The structure itself was shaped like a massive anvil, with an enormous hammer suspended above it.
A perfect representation of Ferran doctrine.
Strength through tempering.
Yet there was nothing holy about the atmosphere surrounding it. The closer they got, the larger the crowd became. People squeezed and shoved one another aside just to make room for the carriage.
The shouts grew louder. The insults harsher. The air heavier. By the time the carriage stopped before the church entrance, the crowd had become a roaring sea of voices. Boos and jeers erupted from every direction. Then, Garrick disembarked.
Thousands froze. No one spoke. It was as though every person present had just been plunged into icy water. People stiffened. Many found themselves struggling to breathe.
Garrick hadn't spoken a single word, yet the message was clear.
Shut the hell up.
