That detail is crucial. Max's regime thrives on transparency of public function and security, not the surveillance of private life. The cameras are thus an assurance of public order and safety, which will strengthen the citizens' love for their Pro-Consul. I will update the Scorpia section to reflect that the cameras are restricted to public spaces, government buildings, and the Grand Wall, confirming that privacy inside the home is guaranteed under the Charter of Rights.
The Everwinter Empire, which once sprawled across the continent like a vast, cold shadow, was gone, not with the cathartic thunder of a single battle, but with the slow, agonizing sound of crumbling stone and splintering sovereignty. The political unity Emperor Alaric's ancestors had enforced for centuries was shattered, cleaved into five distinct and brutally different realities, each reflecting a unique response to the new age of technology and power. The western portion, seized from the corrupt grip of Duke Alexander von Caligula, was now the State of Scorpia, governed by the Pro-Consul Maximilian, a nation of absolute order, guaranteed prosperity, and fierce national pride. To the south lay the Dunbar Kingdom, a stubborn, agrarian land led by King Dunbar who desperately clung to old titles while attempting to import modern technology. The east and northern reaches had devolved into a mosaic of minor territories, governed by various self-proclaimed Dukes and Counts who fought perpetually over ruined infrastructure and meagre tax revenue. But the deepest scar on the continent, the very heart where the Emperor's Golden Citadel once stood, was the Central Anarchy, a hollowed-out expanse of ruin where humanity struggled merely to draw breath.
In Scorpia, the atmosphere was one of disciplined, prosperous zeal. The air in the new workers' quarters at Sector Seven, a sprawling area of clean, newly built residential homes—a promise kept by the Pro-Consul—didn't smell of woodsmoke or wet earth, but of ozone, heated oil, and the constant, reassuring scent of mass-produced soap. The homes, built using Max's swift concrete methods and continuously lit by electrical power, were a stark contrast to the mud and wattle hovels of the past. The citizens were not oppressed; they were liberated from scarcity. They paid a minimal thirty percent tax—a fraction of the tithes demanded by the old Duke—and in exchange, they received free education, free healthcare, and even a small pocket money stipend for students. Food was cheap and abundant, a direct result of Scorpia's self-reliant industrial agriculture which produced vast quantities of grain, fruit, and various meats. The very concept of famine, a constant terror under Duke Alexander, was now a historical footnote.
Elara adjusted the cuff of her clean, grey uniform. She sat opposite Corvin in their small, two-room, electrically heated home. Corvin had just returned from a twelve-hour shift pouring concrete foundation deep into the frigid earth. His hands were scored and black, but his face was clean, and his ration tin was full.
"Another five hundred feet went up today," Corvin said, not with exhaustion, but national pride. "The whole nation is united behind the Wall. Nothing is getting through that. And the Charter of Rights guarantees our home remains private. Max said it himself: the State protects the citizen, but it does not live within his walls."
Elara nodded, her eyes shining with fervor. "And why shouldn't we be united? Max is our deliverer. Duke Alexander saw us as dirt—property to be taxed and abused. Max built us this home, he gave our children the Charter of Education, and he ended sickness with free state medicine. He destroyed the old slavery." She gestured toward the outside street camera visible through the window. "The cameras are for our protection, Corvin. They are restricted to the public streets, government buildings, and the Wall. They watch for saboteurs, for spies, and they ensure that no corruption or petty crime takes root in our neighborhoods. They guarantee the rule of law that protects our rights."
Corvin smiled, a genuine, content expression that would have been unimaginable just a year prior. "It is a cold promise, but it is a promise kept. When I was a boy, my family starved to pay Duke Alexander's war tax, while his son learned magic in a warm academy. Now, my son, Elias, attends the state school, learning mathematics and engineering, and receives his stipend to buy books. The Pro-Consul Max is not just a leader; he is the God of Order that saved us from the old world's darkness." He poured a small cup of hot, sweetened beverage. "They say a man was arrested today for theft at the Northern Factory. The crime was recorded by the public surveillance system. He was tried instantly by the new military court, found guilty, and assigned years of hard labor. No corruption, no bribery, just the swift, certain application of the law that protects my property and my family. That is the price of paradise, and it is a price I will gladly pay."
South of this technological paradise, in the Dunbar Kingdom, life was defined by the deep discomfort of a forced transition. King Dunbar was a pragmatist; he knew he could not fight Max, so he signed a trade agreement. This agreement, however, was blatantly one-sided. Scorpia, being entirely self-reliant and possessing advanced industrial capacity, purchased virtually nothing of value from Dunbar—only raw timber or specialized ores that required no processing. In return, Dunbar was permitted to purchase phased-out technology from Max's factories.
Mathis adjusted the harness on his oxen, pulling his cart past the royal warehouses in Thistlewick. The warehouse yard was now dominated by two large, grumbling steam engines—massive, smoke-belching relics that Max's state had long since replaced with silent electrical turbines and diesel motors. King Dunbar had purchased them at a staggering price.
"Look at that thing," Mathis muttered to Kaelen, gesturing at the engines. "The King spends the entire treasury on Max's scrap metal. It's madness."
Old Kaelen, whose makeshift stall was piled high with salvaged metals, shook his head, but his expression was conflicted. "It's not madness, Mathis, it's desperation. The King is trying to bring modernization here. We have no electricity and no cameras, but the King says these steam engines will power the new state mills, making us competitive. They are terribly expensive, and they break down every month, but Max won't sell us the new stuff. We are dependent on Scorpia for any hope of progress."
"And the tax increases every month to pay Max for these expensive tools!" Mathis complained. "I am paying Max's nation to get rid of their junk, just so the King can claim we are 'advancing.' My neighbor, Thomas, had his fields ruined last week when the King's new, cheap Scorpian iron ploughshare snapped. Max builds the best, but he sells us the worst."
"Yet, we have a future, perhaps," Kaelen insisted, polishing a brass fitting he had just acquired. "At least Max grants us the right to buy his technology, however poor, and King Dunbar is trying to lead us toward it. Look East—at the petty Dukes and the horrors of the Central. Our King may be a fool, and our contract with Max may be a form of economic servitude, but at least we have a chance to move beyond the dirt."
Lyra approached the stall, no longer asking for lamp oil, but for a piece of cheap Scorpian-made copper wire. "Master Kaelen, the King's new telegraph line is running past our farm. They say we can pay a small fee to send messages to the capital, if the wire is connected. They may be old lines, but they are faster than riding a horse for three days." This, too, was a sign of change—slow, costly, and dependent on Max's phased-out remnants, but progress nonetheless.
The situation only worsened travelling east, beyond the stable, if suffocating, authority of Dunbar. Here, in the shattered former Imperial East, the land was divided between dozens of minor warlords—the self-titled Dukes of the Eastern Reach and the Northern Marches. No Scorpian benefits reached here, only the constant fear of arbitrary violence.
In a small, poorly defended village near the Black River, Mara wept over her husband, who was grievously wounded after resisting the Duke of Alfonse's forced conscription. There was no free healthcare here.
Tomas, the elder, rested his aching muscles. "The contrast is sharp, Mara. In Scorpia, Max gives them free medicine and education. Here, the Duke takes our young for his wars and leaves our wounded to die. They trade security for loyalty; we trade our lives for nothing."
"We must flee to Scorpia," Mara whispered, terrified. "Let them watch us with their cameras, if they will just heal my husband and let Finn be educated. I will worship Max if he keeps my family alive! I only care that my rights—the right to life and safety—are honored."
"You will not go to Scorpia," a gruff voice cut in. It was a guard of the Duke of Alfonse, who had stopped to water his horse. "You will stay here and produce tax. The Pro-Consul's rights do not apply to chattel outside his Wall. Now, fetch me a bucket, or I'll use your water pitcher." The law here was not the guarantee of rights, but the immediate, unchallenged will of the man with a sword.
And finally, there was the Central Anarchy. Jorn, the scavenger, moved through the ruins, desperate for roots. He hadn't heard of Max's free education or the Dunbar King's steam engines. He knew only hunger. His life was the ultimate testament to the horrors Max's people had escaped—a total absence of any governing principle, where every right had evaporated, leaving only the brutal biological imperative to survive the next hour. He was beyond ideology, beyond hope, simply a human shaped by total collapse.
The world was now a map of fractured possibilities: Scorpia offered absolute security and prosperity in exchange for absolute public obedience; Dunbar offered the illusion of sovereignty and costly, slow modernization in exchange for economic bondage; the Dukes offered endless war and oppression in exchange for nothing; and the Central offered only the cold, terrifying freedom of total anarchy.