The Palace of Tuileries, Paris — November.
The fire crackled in the ornate hearth, but the room felt colder than the frost outside. Heavy curtains muffled the sounds of the street protests below, where students and merchants shouted slogans against "Aragonese expansion masked as charity." Inside, a summit of European dignitaries had gathered in the grand salon under the watchful gaze of oil-painted emperors.
A man with a grey goatee and hawk-like features slammed a folder onto the table.
"This is no coincidence," barked Minister Delacroix of the Francois Republic. "A medical school in Samar. Polytechnics in Panay. Naval weather posts in Zamboanga. They're not building allies—they're building dependencies!"
Across from him, the Dutch ambassador—a ruddy-faced man with spectacles too small for his face—adjusted his collar nervously. "Aragon hasn't fired a shot. The locals welcome them. What would you have us do, Monsieur Minister? Sanction chalkboards? Burn textbooks?"
