Mickarn.

It meant hope in the language of the Ancient Empire.

When the twenty-four western provinces of the Kingdom of Patria finally gained independence after nearly twenty years of civil war, there was a long argument about which of their cities should become the capital of the new nation.

In the end, to make everyone happy, it was decided to build one from scratch.

After much discussion, the choice of location for the new city fell on a marshy area in the central part of the country, a short distance from the point where the Jesi flows into the Gulf of Lynton, creating a large delta.

Its completion had taken almost ten years of work, during which everyone had contributed with great passion; after all, that city was in a certain sense the symbol of a new era of stability and peace for all of Western Erthea, but above all of what men could achieve by fighting together.

However, that was just a beautiful illusion, and it didn't take long for human nature to take over.

First, the five provinces that had started the revolt – Elordia, Welles, Osborne, Riverdale and Colby – had claimed to decide on behalf of the entire nation, only later submitting to the creation of the House of Lords but managing to maintain a predominant position.

Then, the same educated and wealthy middle class that had first spoken of secession had claimed to have a strong and authoritarian voice in politics, obtaining the creation of a Congress in which there were more brawls than votes, and where the most powerful families fought to place as many members as possible.

Years of stagnation had been the immediate result of this separation of powers, with two chambers composed of people who hated each other to death – but as mentioned, the bourgeoisie even hated between themselves – and after less than five decades, the country was already on the verge of crumbling.

In an attempt to restore some order, the two chambers, on one of the few occasions in which they had managed to deliberate together, had agreed to find someone who embodied national unity, but whose power was not so great as to make him capable of deciding autonomously.

Here too, of course, compromises had to be found, as in everything else within the Union. The President could be elected only from among the twenty-four sovereigns of the House of Lords, and although his office was for life he could be removed, arrested, and even executed at any time, if the two houses together voted by an absolute majority for this.

Michael Medici had always dreamed of entering Congress, the highest that a member of a provincial gentry house like his could theoretically aspire to. At twenty, he had been elected to represent his district in the Provincial Council, despite the bad company he kept and the thoughts that ran through his head, which some would have euphemistically called subversive.

Everyone knew that during his university studies at Mickarn he had been exposed to the academic circle that included professors Snow, Hinkel, Decker, and all those progressives and reformists who for decades had been clamoring for deep changes in the politics of the Union. He certainly had a great power of persuasion, enough to push even the most skeptical people to consider some of his opinions sensible.

Two years after entering politics, he was already Riverdale's Secretary of Commerce, and running for Congress in three years.

Then fate intervened, sending him down a path he himself would never have expected.

Less than six months after Michael was appointed minister, his uncle the Prince of Riverdale suffered a stroke that took his life, and in the absence of an heir, the title passed to him.

Michael had barely taken up his seat in the House of Lords, and old President Bonder was gone all of a sudden; he too had been murdered, like two of the three Presidents who had preceded him.

Six hours later, with Bonder's body still in the morgue, the House of Lords and Congress elected Michael Medici as the fifth President of the Patria Union.

To ordinary people it was a sign of change, a step away from years of political immobility.

To those who knew even a little about the politics and power games of the Union it was instead a clear and obvious attempt by the most influential members of the government to make their lives even easier.

After all, the President had the right to veto decisions of both houses, appointed both the Prime Minister of the Lords and the Chancellor of the Congress, and his political alignment still had some influence on government decisions.

Putting a Northern progressive, and one so young at that, in the nation's highest seat after four conservative presidents from the Southern landed elite would have offered the most idealistic of people the illusion of change.

But it was just a facade, because the idea behind this decision was that a kid with no high-level political experience would be the perfect straw man, too weak and cowardly to be able to fully exploit his office or have any influence.

And Michael was the first to know it.

For a moment, he had considered the idea of backing out, but in the end he had decided to accept the appointment, seeing it not as a burden but as a completely unexpected way to put into practice what he had always dreamed of.

Four years had passed since that day.

And reality had long since replaced dreams and hopes.

The ambition that had driven Michael to enter politics had always been to put an end to the innumerable social inequalities of his country, of which slavery was only the most glaring problem.

From the relationships between the northern and southern provinces to the noble privileges that after more than a hundred years had not yet been scaled down despite the promises, up to the relationships with other nations.

Not to mention the system of balance between powers complicated to the point that at times it was difficult to understand who to turn to in order to obtain something.

Michael had entered Micklarn and its halls of power with the idea of changing things, but in the end, it was he who had changed. The hopeful and willing young man, who dreamed of a better world, was still there, buried however under the weight of an office that day after day seemed more and more unmanageable.

It was like playing at building a tower of stones.

Every time he managed to convince some prince or deputy to go over to his side, someone else he thought he could count on would start throwing up roadblocks or go over to the enemy camp.

With patience and perseverance, but also by submitting to the network of favors and promises that were the basis of the Union's policy, he had managed to bring home some conquests, such as the increase in wages for workers and the possibility of emancipating slaves by providing them with certain rights once they had obtained freedom.

But these were small matters, just to quiet his conscience.

Then out of nowhere came this latest problem, the most serious one imaginable.

The Union had spent decades of war to gain independence and some semblance of government; Daemon Haselworth had achieved the same result in a few months.

And anyone who used the small size of the Free State or the obvious difficulties the Empire was in as an excuse, Michael thought, was clearly forgetting or pretending not to remember that the rebellion of the Five Provinces had also begun under similar circumstances.

Michael felt conflicted; on the one hand he couldn't help but admire what Daemon Haselworth had built, on the other hand seeing the way he had annihilated another nation scared him to death.

The mere thought of what could happen if he stepped on the toes of a guy like that kept him awake at night, distracting him even more from those intentions that now seemed like a distant mirage.

And yet despite this, the government's will was clear, and Michael knew that it was no longer possible to hope to change it.

Looking for a foothold, or perhaps just someone to vent to, he thought of turning to the only person he felt he could talk to with a little sincerity.

As usual, he waited until there was no one around his study in the presidential palace, then, once again making sure there was no spell or magical instrument to spy on him, he took the Eye of Gaia that the President had from a drawer.

Just a few seconds passed, and the jewel generated the image of a respectable gentleman in his thirties, tall and thin, with a pointed chin, a thick dark mustache and small black eyes in the center of the room.

"Good morning, boy," he said, taking off his glasses and giving a slight bow. "If I may say so, you seem even more dejected than usual today."

Some might have considered it unwise for a Union President to have the Prime Minister of another nation as his confessor.

But since there was nothing in Erthea that the Count of Marton did not know, there was no problem in speaking honestly and appealing to his wisdom. Besides, Connelly was the only nation with which the Union had always gotten along, and with which a treaty of cooperation had been in force for many years.

"Has the situation gotten even worse?"

"The next Council meeting is in two hours, and I'm not fooling myself anymore. The interventionists are almost in the majority."

"For what it's worth, I want to reiterate what I said last time. The Union is our friend, but Connelly is not getting involved in this conflict."

"They know that, but they don't care."

"I didn't think the southern landowners would be so stubborn about this. They've profited the most from the backroom deals with the Free State. I suppose the prospect of finally getting their hands on the mines of Western Eirinn is even more tempting."

"The way they talk so lightly about victory and conquest makes one's skin crawl."

"However, this truly seems the best moment to strike. The army the Empire has assembled is truly immense. Even in the unlikely event that even this is not enough to defeat Haselworth, there is no doubt that this war will leave both sides exhausted and without the strength to repel another attack. If it weren't for the fact that we can't afford a new war right now, perhaps Connelly might think about it too."

Michael leaned back in his chair, taking in the sight of Mickarn Harbor in full swing outside the window for a few seconds.

"At this point, the only thing I can do is try to make the most of this."

"Did you manage to get any more backers?"

"I am now certain that I have a majority in Congress. If I can persuade just two Princes to second my motion, I may finally succeed in passing my slavery bill."

The Old Fox of Connelly smiled.

"That is a most unusual way of doing politics for you."

"I understand that compromises must be made. And if a mining concession or a naval contract can help me put an end to this barbaric practice, that is a price I must pay."

"Are you sure that will be enough to gain their support?"

"They are not tied to the landowners or the black market, so theoretically they should have no interest in keeping slavery afloat. But I have kept some of the letters we exchanged, just to be on the safe side."

This time the Count looked surprised, twisting his cigar between his fingers.

"Mickarn succeeded in changing you in the end. But always be careful who you make enemies of. Your predecessor took a stab in the stomach for trying so hard to get the armistice with the Empire approved."

"I am not proud of what I am doing. My conscience gives me no peace, but I try to think that I am doing it for a higher purpose."

At that moment there was a knock on the office door.

"Michael—I mean, Mr. President. The session is about to begin."

"Thank you, Tom. I will be right there. I must go, Mr. Count. Pay my respects to Lady Connelly."

"Good luck, boy. I'm afraid you'll need it."



Both the House of Lords and the Congress had their own meeting rooms; but there were decisions, especially those concerning foreign policy or the election of the President, which required the vote of both houses, which had to meet in joint session in the Council Chamber of the Union, in the West Wing of the Presidential Palace.

For two weeks, ever since confirmation had arrived that an Imperial army of ten entire legions was preparing to enter the Free State, the Council had been practically constantly in session, always with the same topic on the agenda: the approval of a military expedition to annex Western Eirinn.

The proposal had already been rejected twice, but there was no law that prevented two different Princes from presenting the same motion at different times; one of the many ways available to the Lords to paralyze or steer the decisions of the Council in the long run.

As the days went by, however, the interventionists led by Prince Benwood of Elordia had gained support, and the outcome of the vote expected for that day was absolutely uncertain.

The debate was raging fiercely, with supporters and detractors of the President of both houses exchanging shouts, insults and even various stationery from both sides of the room.

The non-aligned, whose vote would once again be decisive, sat in the center, silent and almost frightened. By now they were almost all members of the Congress, since the vast majority of the Princes had chosen their side long ago.

From his seat, behind the bench where the members of his government sat, Michael silently observed this grotesque show, almost as if he didn't want to believe that those one hundred and fifty men who seemed on the verge of laying hands on each other like street children were the ones who held the destiny of a nation in their hands.

Benwood's voice rose above all the others: "How much longer does the illustrious President intend to ignore the will of this Council?"

Viscount Lawrence Fontaine, General and representative of the Army in Congress, responded in kind: "And how much longer will the Illustrious Prince of Elordia intend to mask his ambition behind a presumed will which has already been proven twice not to be what he wants us to believe?"

"Circumstances have never been so favorable. We have the opportunity to put an end to the chronic shortage of raw materials that plagues our country once and for all. The deposits of Khoral are within our reach."

"The Empire has mobilized an army never seen before to retake Western Eirinn. What do you think they will do if we try to take what they are doing everything they can to regain?"

"This war will obviously leave both sides in ruins. But if we wait too long, others will take it all. Once we have annexed the Free State territories, we will have more than enough means to defend them from anyone who tries to threaten us. Even Saedonia, if necessary."

"What else must happen to make you realize that Daemon Haselworth is a dangerous opponent? He wiped out Eirinn in less than three months, and from the reports we hear his army may now be more than capable of repelling this invasion as well."

"Should I think that the famous Viscount Fontaine, the hero of Durrat, is afraid to compete with a boy five years younger than him?"

"Why don't you go and fight this war, since you're in such a hurry? You Southern Princes have become obscenely rich by trading with the Free State! What you have isn't enough for you, now you're even asking us to go and die so you can become richer!?"

A colleague of his who represented the money changers' guild echoed: "Well said! Go to war yourselves, if you care so much!"

"Shut up, you schemers and monopolists!" the dyers' representative scolded him. "The only thing you care about is saving the agreements you made under the table with those rebels!"

The lenders had been the last to go over to the interventionists, and their representative did not fail to explain why: "That damned franc is spreading like syphilis in a brothel, and it is your fault! Either we stop the Free State and its economic policies, or soon our money will be good only as ballast for ships!"

The problem of the economic backlash that the new currency introduced by the Free State was causing was only the latest of the many arguments of those who were pushing to have the invasion approved, but it was also the one that had convinced most of the undecided.

Customs officers, the tax collectors, and even some productive categories.

Perhaps not even Daemon expected that his new currency would be so successful for him, but at the same time so devastating for other nations.

After secession and independence, the Union had needed almost ten years to timidly bring out its new currency, the scudo; Daemon with his franc had taken less than one.

All thanks to his reforms and the trade agreements that his two ministers Borg and Wallace had made with many influential people, including many of those present in that room, but above all to the trust that investors had in him, and that not even the war could undermine.

But for a nation like the Union, which imported practically everything except food products and some raw materials, there was nothing worse than having to deal with a currency whose value continually increased at the price of its own.

However, what ended up definitively upsetting the balance of the Council was the news that a messenger whispered in the ear of Prince Benwood in the middle of the session.

"Daemon Haselworth has mobilized his army."

"Obviously, given what is about to come upon him," an opponent tried to say.

"That's not the problem. Apparently, nothing suggests that he intends to return to the Free State. On the contrary, there are rumors that he is preparing to organize two fronts, one of which is directly inside Eirinn."

The Prince's fist thumped in the sudden silence of the room.

"If you haven't figured it out yet, I'll say it plainly! Daemon Haselworth has conquered Eirinn, and he intends to keep it! Who will be next if we don't stop him?"

Nothing terrified the Union and its people more than the idea of having to go to war with someone again.

The Durrat War had been a proxy war, and the long years of tension with the Empire, even during the Flor War, had never resulted in anything more than a few skirmishes and minor battles along the border.

But now it was a different story.

Daemon Haselworth seemed unstoppable; a raging river capable of sweeping away anyone who got in his way.

All the promises he had made in that proclamation in the aftermath of the Revolution suddenly seemed meaningless, in light of his desire to maintain control of what he had conquered.

Who or what could have stopped him If he had managed to defeat the Empire as well?

In the eyes of many, even some die-hard pacifists, it was no longer a matter of conquering the Free State and its mines, but of eliminating a threat before it could be unleashed against them.



Author's Notes

Hi everyone.

With this chapter, we've officially entered into the "Union Saga".

Thanks again for your wonderful support to this project, I'm really happy to work for you and I hope you'll keep on enjoying it.

See you soon!^_^