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Freedom, in the form of a far-off bomb.
But now he knew, and he couldn't keep a small smile off his face, watching the ruddy-glowing smog to the west, a low fire burning beneath the layers of pollutant. The explosion itself had been hours ago, and the glistering fireworks it had sent up had been such a Markish flare that Zach had laughed, watching them fade into the clouds with dull fizzles. It was a beautiful bomb.
Of course, later on he would have to bring back the son of Eos, duck his head in sadness over the death of the nighttime guards, nod in agreeance as his father spoke of the evil terrorists and their reign of horrors. Still, this was-- this was /good/, watching the false western dawn as the murky sky lightened, fraction by fraction, from the daybreak glow behind him.