THE WELCOMING
Crownpoint awakened to a day woven with color, ceremony, and palpable anticipation. The skies were clear, the streets swept immaculate, and the citizens—draped in ribbons of silver, blue, and gold—lined the avenues leading to the provincial airport. Crownpoint had long been called the nation's jewel for its vast wealth of polymetallic minerals—silver, lead, zinc, copper, gold, and an ocean-borne reserve of crude oil. Today, however, it gleamed not from its mines, but from pride.
At the airfield, military battalions in polished ceremonial armor formed two perfect columns. A vast convoy of armored vehicles and royal escorts awaited the visitors: Princess Victoria Donna Novachronos, Prince Vincent Dane Novachronos, Noblemen Bayes Clarksburg and Arnold Sheffield, Earl Malcolm Brown, Lieutenant Walker Flinders, Captain Kane Warren, 2nd Lieutenant Thomas Fisherman, and a handful of royal servants.
As each member of the royal entourage descended the aircraft steps, the crowd erupted into cheers. Flags waved. Cameras flashed.
The Joint Task Force—comprising both Enforcers and Royal Police—managed the procession as the convoy eased toward Upper Crownpoint, one of the province's five districts: Upper Crownpoint, Hell's Kitchen, Goldhaven, Canopy, and Springfield.
Of them all, Upper Crownpoint gleamed brightest: the provincial heart of wealth, law, and governance.
Yet its nearest neighbor, Hell's Kitchen, simmered with tension and resentment. It was the unpolished mirror of the province—densely packed, impoverished, and rebellious.
Security for the visit had been unprecedented. Province Overseer Magnus Pompadour had ordered sweeping reconnaissance and round-the-clock patrols.
Hell's Kitchen, just across the strait, had birthed several grave incidents in recent years, each aimed at destabilizing Crownpoint's authority.
As the convoy reached the grand hotel prepared for the royals, the plaza erupted in jubilant noise. Crowds lined the streets, hurling confetti and waving hand-painted cards bearing messages of devotion. Media teams occupied every vantage point, feeding the spectacle to viewers across Luciana.
The honor guard displayed immaculate discipline as the guests disembarked one by one. Yet when Princess Victoria stepped into view, the atmosphere shifted. A roar unlike any before surged through the crowd. Fireworks burst prematurely. Confetti rained in dense spirals. Her reputation—five years as the king's regent, beloved for her reforms and sincerity—had made her the most cherished figure in the kingdom.
The guests passed through the colonnaded entrance as bellhops hurried to manage their luggage.
Inside the hotel, Province Overseer Magnus Pompadour oversaw the reception. Bellhops moved with anxious precision, lifting luggage as if handling sacred relics. Staff bowed repeatedly as the royals entered, and Magnus—with practiced dignity—reminded the visitors of the evening banquet planned in their honor.
THE BANQUET
By 7 p.m., the grand hall glowed beneath crystal chandeliers. Silk gowns brushed marble floors. Officers in polished uniforms stood guard at every entrance.
The banquet hall glowed with refined elegance by nightfall. Violin and piano harmonized in soft, dulcet tones, giving the gathering a serene, almost reverent charm. Leaders of Crownpoint's districts, nobles, and honored guests filled the hall with polite conversation.
Overseer Magnus finally rose, lifting a half-filled glass and striking it with a silver spoon.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
"May I have your attention?" he asked.
Conversation waned. The room fell quiet. All eyes turned toward him.
"How did the princess feel after a long day? Charmed, I'm sure."
Mild laughter rippled across the room.
Magnus continued warmly. "I do believe we have been dazzled and adorned with the benedictive presence of our royals. I am certain Her Grace, Princess Victoria, must have something to say or share with her people."
Princess Victoria stood with her signature gentle smile and made her way toward the stage. Her poise alone commanded silence.
She began, voice clear and eloquent:
"We gather not as strangers, but as one unified citizen of our beloved nation, Luciana. I, Victoria, your humble servant and princess, am grateful for your warm hospitality; in this gathering, your presence is a gift.
As you all know, my father, your king, is a busy man; even we don't know what's keeping him this busy. I know it definitely isn't me or my siblings."
The hall erupted in fond laughter.
"As the king's regent, a representative of the crown," she continued, "I will make sure our visit to Crownpoint is memorable and fruitful. The people of Crownpoint will be proud of this pact between the crown and its people of Crownpoint."
She lifted her glass.
"From the Royal Capital to you, cheers! Here's to a new beginning filled with love and prosperity. Heaven bless Crownpoint."
Applause thundered through the hall. Victoria stepped down from the podium, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
But the applause barely faded when a flicker of motion caught her eye.
An Enforcer—eyes glazed and movements jerky, as though possessed—lunged toward her like a predator. His hand shot out.
From above, another Enforcer dropped with sudden, unnerving speed, landing squarely on the back of the zombie-looking soldier. A ripple of fear surged through the crowd; no one had anticipated such a grotesque attack during a prestigious event.
In one fluid motion, the Enforcer forced the soldier to the ground, restraining him with cable lines that erupted from the floor through a summoning technique. At the same time, the remaining Enforcers moved swiftly into formation, conjuring a solid shield wall around Her Majesty to ensure her protection.
The possessed Enforcer snarled—Grrr!—as sand poured from his eyes and mouth.
SWOOSH—BOOM!
His body burst apart in a violent spray of sand.
Panic swept the room. Guests shrieked and scrambled. Doors sealed shut under sudden layers of sand reinforcement. Reinforcements attempted to break through from outside but were blocked at every turn. Enforcers tried breach after breach—every path blocked.
Yet amid the chaos, Princess Victoria remained unnervingly calm—still as moonlit water. While the Enforcers focused on evacuating her from the imminent danger.
From the dunes at the hall's center, a figure emerged from the swirling sand—a tall man masked and cloaked in sand. A shapeshifter.
He bowed theatrically.
"Greetings, my esteemed aristocratic citizens," he said, voice thick with mockery. "There seems to be some… discrimination among us."
Then, turning to Victoria, he asked, "Your Highness, aren't we all Crownpoint residents in the kingdom of Luciana?"
"Yes," Victoria replied evenly. "We are one unified state."
He stepped forward. An Enfobarked, "Stay put! Do not move any closer!"
The masked man chuckled. "If I wanted you dead, you would have been dead a few minutes ago."
Victoria interjected, "Why this commotion if all you wanted to do is talk?"
He spread his arms, gesturing to the terrified hall.
"A party held in your honor," he said, sweeping his gaze across the hall, "yet not a single resident of Hell's Kitchen invited. Hypocrisy of one kingdom, is it not? I thought your visit was to put an end to the tension between Crownpoint and Luciana."
Victoria frowned. "How do I tell who's from Hell's Kitchen or Upper Crownpoint since everyone is a resident of Crownpoint?" she asked. "Do you practice segregation among yourselves?"
He laughed sharply.
"Why don't you ask the one percent of Crownpoint living in Upper Crownpoint—or better yet, Mr. Overseer? Tell me, Overseer, do you practice segregation among yourselves? The princess is asking."
Magnus sneered. "A slimeball has no place in a king's gathering."
Meanwhile, Enforcers quietly surrounded the balconies and rear entrances, covertly preparing an assault.
Comm frequency chatter sparked:
Hiss! "Roadman, do you copy?"
Beep! Hiss! "Loud and clear, over."
"What's your 20?"
"Fifteen degrees northeast, adjacent to the target."
"Copy that."
Hiss! "Fishfinger, come in."
Beep! Hiss! "Go ahead."
"Ten–twenty?"
"East wing."
"Stand by for my command."
The masked sandman continued, amused.
"I find it hard to believe that Lucious is such a dimwit—"
"Watch your tongue!" Victoria rebuked sharply.
He smirked. "Feisty little girl. No need to defend Daddy's pride. You're the only competent one in government. Perhaps you should rule; maybe we'll see significant changes."
Victoria raised her chin.
"I will uphold my father's pride and Luciana," she declared. "And give people reason to trust in their king again."
Sensing higher-level pneuma approaching, he prepared to withdraw.
He sighed.
"Anyway, good job on the clean water project," he added. "First time someone delivered on their promise. We get to drink clean water because of your kind heart. I might start having faith again. I'm still waiting for the waste management system you promised."
"Are you leaving already?" Victoria asked.
"Aww, missing me already?" he teased.
And then—
Hiss! "Now! Engage! Go, go, go!"
From his shadow rose a swirling restraint—an Enforcer technique manifesting as swirling darkness. Icy colossal hands burst from the floor, trapping him in a frozen prison.
"Water Form Technique: Ice Prison Entrapment," an Enforcer whispered from afar.
The commando rushed forward. "It's all over now, everyone. We deeply apologize for the situation—"
But Magnus shoved him aside.
"You incompetent fools! If you are incapable of service, get a general discharge! Your inefficient actions nearly cost her life—"
"That's enough!" Victoria cut in sharply. "No more vilifying them.You've done well today."
Her praise had barely left her lips when—
CRACK—CRACK—CRACK!
The ice prison ruptured violently.
BOOOOM!
Guests dropped, screaming.
Blood-splattered marble. Shards of ice flew like razor hail, wounding dozens. People were hurled several feet across the floor. The Sandman had vanished—his prison nothing but melting rubble.
A chilling voice echoed everywhere and nowhere:
"People never knew the reason for my temperament. I grew up with a father who was a drunk and abuser. My mother was his punching bag. I was the spare.
He got what he deserved. I served him justice. Does that make me a psychopath?"
Two Enforcers suddenly dropped dead from the balcony, sand gouging from their eyes, ears, nostrils, mouths.
The masked sandman reappeared before the Enforcer who had threatened him earlier.
"I told you that if I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead. I am a man of my word."
He flicked his wrist.
Sand-javelins speared through the man's thorax. Perforating him. Victoria stood frozen, drenched in his blood.
In the next blink, he materialized beside Magnus.
"You should congratulate people for a job well done," he said calmly. "Insulting the commando was not nice. Perhaps you won't need your knees for now.
Maybe this should serve as a reminder…"
Two sandy spikes burst through Magnus's knees. The Overseer collapsed, screaming in agony.
The shapeshifter surveyed the trembling hall. Shaking the hall with his final proclamation, the masked sandman commanded, "Look down."
"Everyone, please look down at your feet."
They did—and realized they stood on sand and terror overtook them. They had been standing on sand the entire time. Some fainted instantly.
"This is the result when you lack trust in one another… Welcome to Hell's Kitchen, Crownpoint, your Highness. I hope you enjoy your stay. Sayonara."
He vanished with a loud poof.
The barricading and the sand sealing exit collapsed. Reinforcements stormed in to face a blood-drenched ruin.
Four dead. Many were injured. A banquet turned into a crime scene. Paramedics tended to the injured. Magnus was loaded into an ambulance. News spread across the nation.
THE AFTERMATH
By morning, Luciana had declared a state of emergency. Enforcers flooded Hell's Kitchen—its bright Front Marina district and its infamous Undercity labyrinth. The assumption was clear: the perpetrator hailed from there.
As Victoria recovered in the hospital, Royal Capital sent new orders. Overseer Magnus was incapacitated, and Interim Overseer Julius Lancaster was appointed. Victoria was to return home at once.
She refused.
This incident alone underscored the simmering hostility and heightened insecurity that plagued Crownpoint, despite its status as the kingdom's largest metropolitan hub and its rapidly expanding economy.
Three days later, Victoria had recovered swiftly—well enough to resume her duties with renewed composure. Upon returning to her hotel, however, she immediately sensed that something was different. Stationed at the entrance of her room were two men dressed in black, military-styled gear. Their attire was uniform: hooded jackets, half-knee combat boots, and utility belts positioned with precision. One wore fingerless black gloves, the other full tactical gloves.
Most striking were the twin blades each man carried, crossed horizontally at the waist behind them—silent declarations of their purpose.
Victoria approached without hesitation. The moment the guards noticed her advancing, both straightened sharply. In perfect synchrony, they extended their right arms forward, forearms tilted to the left, palms wide open and firmly placed against their chests in a formal salute, while their left hands rested at their sides.
"Why are there two kingsguards in front of my doorway?"
"The king's order, your Grace."
Infuriated, she demanded a direct call to the Royal Capital. The secret line rang.
Mabeline, the king's secretary, answered with the secret phrase:
"It has words but never speaks?"
"Books," Victoria replied.
After authentication, the king came on.
"What's the meaning of this?" Victoria demanded.
"Your safety is top priority over all matters."
"I do not intend to return to the capital without fulfilling my purpose of coming here."
"Do not be stubborn, child! He warned. You're the most valuable person in this kingdom…"
"I refuse such treatment."
His voice softened. "You and your siblings are all I have left. My heart cannot bear another loss."
Victoria pressed her advantage, voice steady and persuasive. Their argument escalated until a single question from Victoria broke his resolve:
"Do you trust my judgment, Father?"
"…Not at all, my dear."
"Then allow me to continue. If we withdraw now, it will only showcase us as weaklings and neighboring nations picturing us as a powerless and vulnerable nation."
"And at the cost of your life?"
"If not now, when? Control your destiny—or someone else will."
Lucious sighed. "You still have your way with words. Very well. Do what you must. Do not disappoint me, child."
"I will raise your banner proudly, Father. Thank you."
He hung up.
PREPARATIONS FOR HELL'S KITCHEN
With royal approval secured, Victoria requested immediate arrangements for her visit to Hell's Kitchen. Julius Lancaster was appointed interim overseer. To avoid provoking the public, Victoria chose only Kingsguards and a handful of S-Tier Enforcers as covert escorts.
With Julius being known as a man of character and high proficiency, he already mapped the route and designated locations for the rally. It's a 3-day event to tackle any potential challenges. With the starting point being in Hell's Kitchen's City Hall, all parameters around City Hall are accounted for.
But elsewhere in Crownpoint… a different plan unfolded.
THE INFILTRATION
Three groups of invaders mobilized quietly.
One targeted the Crownpoint Museum of Culture.
Another infiltrated the Operation Control Center, aided by an insider.
The third seized the Front Marina Bridge House Workstation.
At the museum, two security guards were on duty. A deep metallic clang echoed from the parking area.
"This is Sam. Someone check that sound."
"Roger," his partner replied.
He found a toppled disposal bin.
"Damn scavengers," he muttered into the radio.
"What do you mean, scavengers?" Sam asked.
"Trash pandas, you dimwit!"
Sam's deck partner laughed. "Better make sure it's not a bear."
The guard grumbled, bending to lift the bin—
A stranger wrapped legs around his neck from behind, choking him out. His unconscious body vanished into the shadows as the assassin shifted into his likeness.
Minutes later:
"Hey donkey, cat got your tongue?" Sam radioed.
"Nothin' to see here," the impersonator replied in perfect mimicry. "Just repositionin' the trash bin."
"When you're done romancing the bin, get back here," Sam teased.
The shapeshifter returned to the desk unnoticed.
Museum infiltration: complete.
Control Center infiltration: complete.
Bridge House capture: complete.
Their coordinated strike was set for two days—timed precisely with Princess Victoria's descent into Hell's Kitchen.
The storm was only beginning.
LET THE CHAMBER DECIDE.
The House of Public was a cacophony of discord, where members of the legislative assembly shouted and argued over one another, their voices layering into an impenetrable din. Politicians from every corner aired their opinions relentlessly, each one speaking but none truly listening. Then, the Speaker entered the chamber, took her seat, and with a small steel rod, gently struck the bell—Ting!—to call for order.
The sound, precise and penetrating, sliced through the chaos.
Recognition spread instantly. Conversations died mid-sentence. Members returned to their seats, straightened their posture, and the chamber settled into uneasy silence.
She rang the bell a second time. Ting!
Delegates rose from their seats in uneven waves that quickly resolved into perfect unison. As one, they extended their right arms forward, forearms angled to the left, palms flat and pressed firmly to their chests in the formal salute of the realm. Their left hands remained poised at their sides.
In one voice, steady and solemn, the assembly pledged its allegiance to the nation of Luciana:
"For the crown that binds us all, let the covenant of heaven never leave her side.
Luciana, stone to stone, blood to blood, I pledge my allegiance to you.
One nation, indivisible under the heavens.
Equality, freedom, peace, and justice for all."
Ting.The bell rang a third time.
The chamber officer stepped forward bearing the nation's Excalibur, while another officer presented its ornate scabbard. Together, they stood before the House.
The ceremonial officer's voice echoed in the now-silent hall. The ceremonial officer proclaimed,
"Let all voices be stilled. Let words be weapons, not blades; let truth forge the path."
With ritual care, he slid the gleaming sword into the scabbard held steady by his counterpart.
"To whom was the covenant promised?" the officer called.
The assembly responded as a single entity: "To us, the sons and daughters of Luciana. One kingdom, one nation under The One in All, Our Father."
The officers returned the ceremonial sword to its rightful place, and the clerk assumed control of the proceedings.
"By the covenant of the realm," the Clerk of the House announced, "and by the authority vested in this House, the Joint Committee Sitting of the Public Chamber is hereby called to order."
He paused, then added, "Quorum is present. None absent by choice. The Speaker now has the floor."
You may have your seats," Speaker Morales ordered.
The delegates complied, and the murmurs gradually faded, restoring order to the chamber.
She raised her gavel. "Let the laws restrain us," she declared. "May history forgive what necessity demands of us today." With that, she brought it down.
Crack.
The sharp crack echoed across the room.
FIRST CASE MATTER: HELL'S KITCHEN
"The first matter submitted to the Joint Committee," Morales continued, her gaze sweeping the room, "is the declared emergency in Hell's Kitchen. Councilman Malik?"
A man with sharp features and an intense gaze rose. "Thank you, Madame Speaker," Malik replied. "Hell's Kitchen is a pressure valve to our economy—or better yet, a ticking hazard bomb—if not properly addressed."
He gestured broadly toward the assembly.
"I believe we have all heard what happened to our beloved princess during her recent delegation to Hell's Kitchen, Crownpoint," he began, deliberately recounting the incident to sharpen the council's perception of Crownpoint itself.
He let the name hang in the air like an accusation, giving the councilors time to absorb the barb before continuing.
He pressed on, his tone growing heavier. "Our gracious princess descended into that treacherous and volatile province to discuss the national interests of Luciana—interests which, ironically, Crownpoint itself continually threatens." Turning fully toward the chamber, he asked, "My fellow councilors, would you care to guess how they welcomed her?"
A wave of malicious whispers and hissed speculations swept the room. Whispers turned to sharp hisses; several heads shook in rehearsed outrage. To listen to them, one might have thought Crownpoint was a hostile foreign power rather than a restive province of their own kingdom.
Malik seized the moment. He thundered, his voice echoing like a cathedral preacher's, "They attacked her! Viciously and without provocation, jeopardizing her safety and putting her very life at risk."
He paused, letting the horror settle. "A single, sand-borne domestic terrorist hijacked the banquet. Four able-bodied Enforcers were murdered in cold blood. The Overseer was left temporarily crippled."
At once, the chamber erupted. A brief but sharp commotion broke out as some members leaned toward one another, whispering furiously, while others muttered their outrage aloud.
Voices cut through the noise.
"Good Lord!"
"What audacity and arrogance!"
"The sheer temerity—to target a person of such prominence!"
A voice cut through the rest, sharp and demanding: "Someone must be held accountable for this insecurity! This is incompetence of the highest order!"
The Speaker raised her gavel. "Silence! Order in the House." She brought it down gently but firmly—crack—the sound slicing through the disorder. The sharp report of the Speaker's gavel restored a brittle order.
"Councilman, please continue," she instructed.
"Thank you, Madame Speaker." He smoothed his robes, the picture of somber deference. "The conclusion is inescapable," he continued, his tone now one of cold, analytical disdain. "An environment of such high hostility and profound instability is incompatible with civilized enterprise. Luxury cannot thrive where terror reigns. High-value commerce cannot survive in an unsatisfactory environment.
This is true…" he emphasized, "…regardless of the pretty facade of Upper Crownpoint's so-called 'high middle-class' suburbs.
He paused, letting the implication settle over the assembly like smoke.
The chamber remained silent now, but the silence was heavy, charged, waiting for the next carefully chosen phrase to ignite it once more.
He gestured broadly toward the assembly.
"Crownpoint reaps the benefits of being the nation's crown jewel. When visitors and tourists flock to Luciana, the first destination that springs to mind is Crownpoint. They enjoy more prosperity than any other province in the country."
From the benches, a few members interjected sharply.
"Mendacious—"
"Speculation—"
Malik fired back. "Reality! The data and information are available for the public to verify."
The chamber erupted into chaos.
"Quantophrenia mongrel—"
Crack. The gavel struck again.
"Order in the house," Morales commanded. "Language, Councilors; profanity will not be tolerated."
The uproar subsided, giving way to a tentative calm.
"Proceed, Malik," the Speaker said.
"Thank you. For my ratiocination, I propose we convene a special panel to draft a bill restructuring the economic policy and infrastructure of Crownpoint. Its current economic monopoly will crush the spirit of competition and, ultimately, the holistic growth of Luciana." With a slight bow, he yielded the floor.
"Hear, hear," echoed some members in support.
"Thank you, Councilor Malik," Morales acknowledged. She turned to the opposite side of the room. "Mrs. Whitewood."
JUSTICE FOR CROWNPOINT
A formidable woman with steely hair rose from the opposite side. "Thank you, Madame Speaker." She paused, letting her eyes meet those of her colleagues.
"In my years on this council, a question has haunted me: 'Is Crownpoint a province, or is it a colony?' I confess, I still cannot discern the answer nor wrap my head around it."
The chamber exploded once more, her words striking a raw nerve.
"Order in the House," Morales commanded. "You may proceed, Whitewood."
"Thank you," Whitewood said, coolly resuming.
"Councilor Malik, who sits, if I am not mistaken, in a rather lofty ivory tower, has likely never set foot in Crownpoint—"
"Objection," Malik interrupted.
The Speaker turned to him. "This is a joint convention, not a court hearing," she reminded him. "You may continue, Whitewood."
She thanked the Speaker again and proceeded with her speech.
"My point," Whitewood pressed on, "is that people are fed a media propaganda, a false narrative woven around Crownpoint's image.
Our total annual tax-generated income was 300 million betas." She gave a dry chuckle. "That is one-third of Luciana's entire tax income. And I have not even begun on the solid minerals and crude extracted daily—700,000 barrels per day, at last count, excluding minerals."
A member from the floor interjected. "We all know this information; we're not here to be lectured but to address matters of national interest."
"How interesting," Whitewood countered. "If you are aware, why do members who share Councillor Malik's… vacuous perspective, believe Crownpoint wallows in prosperity?"
"Language, Whitewood," the Speaker reminded, though a faint edge in her tone suggested more warning than reproof.
From across the aisle, Councilman Malik's voice cut through the murmurs, sharp and dismissive. Turning sharply toward Councilwoman Whitewood, his voice edged with accusation.
"You are not even a resident of Crownpoint by birth," he shot at her. "You're being driven by emotion because your husband happens to be a native of Hell's Kitchen."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. From the audience, someone jeered, "What does a privileged child from New Edensburgh know about the realities of Luciana and Crownpoint?"
Whitewood did not flinch. She turned her gaze slowly from Malik to the audience, her voice clear and carrying. "To the best of my knowledge, I am quite informed. As you so aptly put it, 'privileged child.' Such privilege often grants exposure to vast archives and means of information the public rarely sees."
She shifted her gaze back to Malik. "My husband's birthplace has nothing whatsoever to do with the facts I have already placed before this House and the Speaker."
Leaning forward, her tone intensified, painting a picture with words. Her voice sharpened.
Her voice sharpened. "You have yet to set foot in Crownpoint and witness the diabolical chain of poverty the present system has forged for its poorest citizens." She continued. "And yet you stand here to champion a bill that would further tighten that chain."
She paused, letting the accusation hang. Malik opened his mouth, but she raised a hand, forestalling him.
Ad hominem attacks will not serve you here, Councilman. I am not speaking from emotion; I state facts only."
She let the words settle, then continued more evenly.
HISTORY LESSON 101
She acknowledged a sliver of his point, but only to sharpen her own. "Councilman Malik is correct in one regard. Hell's Kitchen is unstable for luxurious living, even with Upper Crownpoint serving as a metropolitan haven for the elite." Her eyes swept the rows of seated council members, a challenge in her gaze.
Her next words carried a challenge.
"I am willing to wager my title and assets that one-quarter of this House does not truly know the history, the culture, or the long-standing conflicts between Luciana and Crownpoint."
A scoff came from the benches. A councilman scoffed, attempting ridicule disguised as humor.
"If you're such a high and mighty historian, Mrs. Whitewood, why don't you school us? Give us a little history class."
Whitewood smiled faintly. She met his mockery with calm composure.
"Of course I can," she replied without hesitation. "Especially since history is so often written—and altered—by the victors." A profound silence descended as she commanded the room.
She paused deliberately, allowing the room to settle, every eye now fixed on her.
When she spoke again, her voice carried the quiet authority of someone who had prepared for this moment.
"It has shifted so completely that most of you in this generation have never been told that 'Rosingshire' was the original name of Crownpoint. The name was changed by King Gateshead the Second following the unification of Luciana and what would become Crownpoint."
A ripple of surprise swept through the chamber. The Speaker, an advanced woman with a lined face, leaned forward, a spark of interest in her eyes.
"Impressive, Mrs. Whitewood. I thought your interests lay solely in contemporary politics. Not realizing your interest extended so deeply into history."
The compliment was genuine; the information, though old to a handful of scholars and elder statesmen, was news to many in the room.
This was knowledge known only to a handful—until now.
The crowd was visibly stunned, hearing this foundational truth for the first time.
Emboldened, Whitewood continued her lesson. "After the assassination of King Gateshead, he left behind a signed pact that codified the unification between Luciana and the newly named Crownpoint—"
A voice interrupted sharply from the crowd.
"What was the agreement?!"
"An excellent question," she replied without missing a beat.
"The first agreement stipulated that Luciana would recognize Crownpoint as an independent realm—sharing the same king as sovereign and head of state—operating as a separate and equal legal entity, not as a subordinate to Luciana."
She continued, scarcely pausing for breath.
"The second agreement required Crownpoint to provide annual aid to Luciana's welfare and campaigns, according to its capacity. In exchange, Luciana would render social, economic, and military assistance, as Crownpoint would now be part of a larger sovereign framework."
Her tone hardened slightly.
"However, Gateshead did not agree to full sovereignty. Instead, he proposed Crownpoint function as a constituent country with semi-autonomous powers over its borders and internal affairs. Crownpoint, after negotiation, accepted this compromise of partial sovereignty."
Her tone grew brisk. "There is more—far more—but I will not turn this chamber into a lecture hall, and time does not permit such a full history lesson."
She began to conclude.
The history was unfolding like a tragic scroll. "Gateshead honored the pact for ten years in good faith before he was assassinated—most likely due to political dissent. His successor, Oris, honored the agreement for only three years before violating it outright. Economic sanctions followed. Political bullying ensued. Luciana's military strength was weaponized to reshape Crownpoint for five years—until civil war finally erupted."
Whitewood turned toward the Speaker.
"The war," she said plainly, "was an armed insurrection against the state born from broken promises and strangled sovereignty."
A heavy silence followed. She let it linger, then spoke one final time, her voice low but carrying to every corner of the chamber.
"History repeats itself—regardless of the age, regardless of the civilization. Humans, it seems, learn nothing from their own past."
Whitewood produced a sheet detailing key issues facing Crownpoint and distributed copies to prominent members, including the Speaker.
"Here is a list of just a few of the many problems demanding urgent attention in Crownpoint." She highlighted one. "Take problem number seven: Sixty percent of the land and shoreline in Springfield is owned by private and government corporate giants, while the remaining forty percent burdens citizens with annual land taxes on their properties." She cast a pointed glance at Malik. "With this unlawful and oppressive system, someone claims they're living in prosperity."
Half the room erupted in subdued laughter.
"Due to time constraints, I'll quickly note another concern," she added. "Revenue allocation—for a province generating the highest income for the treasury, it certainly receives the lowest disbursements."
She gathered her documents and delivered her closing remark. "At our next meeting, I want this subject to be the center of discussion, with a bill proposed accordingly." She bowed and stepped down.
The session pressed on, with members from various districts and provinces voicing their constituency concerns. Malik's expression soured, like that of a politician who had just lost a primary election. Amid the debates, discussions turned to amending the laws, shifting from a pure monarchy to a constitutional one—empowering the public while preserving the monarch's role, all in pursuit of a government truly for the people.