Year 11 of the SuaChie Calendar, Fourth Month.
Dawn City, The Stone Manor
The dawn filtered with a different intensity into Dawn City—a cleaner, more vibrant sun than the one I remembered from my former life. Here, on the upper terrace of the Stone Manor, overlooking the ever-bustling harbor, I could feel the ordered, potent pulse of the FRIRS. The rising sun dyed the main hall's marble in amber and gold hues, cutting through the air as if wishing to check, for itself, the rhythm of the Kingdom.
It had been two months since my last direct conversation with Zasaba, the leader of the Shadows, and the apparent calm of that interlude felt deceptive. One might believe that the waiting for news—whether the delayed reports from our agents in Europa Quyca or the measured developments of the Aztec conflict—marked a truce.
But I had learned, in my eleven years and a former life that already felt distant, that silence in politics was the most elegant disguise of movement. What was not being heard, was what was being plotted.
The air on the terrace was a cultural symphony: the crackle of wood in the shipyards, the rhythmic chant of the Muisca and Taino builders, and the scent of exotic incense mingled with sea salt.
The chants of the priests from the nearby temple blended with the metallic tolling of hammers. It was a beautiful, ordered sound, the product of years of direction, yet I knew that every order conceals its own imbalance. My family, safe within this manor, enjoyed a life I had fought to build, but I had scant time for such pleasures.
My mind was consumed by the scrolls and maps, specifically the fruit of one of my first decisions upon arriving in this world: mineral exploration.
I recalled instructing my earliest explorers, barely a year after the Muisca unification in Year 2 of the SuaChie Calendar, with simple guides on colors and textures, to secure the mineral resources necessary for the kingdom's development. Thanks to that foresight, we found iron long before any civilization on this continent should have.
Now, that need had multiplied a hundredfold across the new territories, and the demand for resources was insatiable. Dawn City, located in what would one day be Cuba, and the other isles of the Sea of Floating Islands, had blessed us with unexpected wealth: Gold, Silver, Copper, Marble, Limestone, and that magical-colored gem, Blue Amber.
The reports from Foza, the Governor of the FRIRS, confirmed that this wealth was not merely a discovery; it was the foundation of our power. Foza had promoted diversified local economies. We had transitioned from huts to solid stone constructions for the palaces and, most crucially, for the Temples, where the spirits and gods would be worshipped.
The communities had adapted to the Kingdom's rhythm out of necessity and convenience, maintaining their traditions and adhering to a communal logic of sharing, balance, and reciprocity.
Foza summarized it thus: "They seek to understand how to fit into something greater without losing who they are."
And that was all I desired.
The logistical consequence was obvious: the need for maritime transport had skyrocketed to move increasing volumes of ore and construction materials between the islands and the continent. This need, in turn, had incentivized population mobility, drawing in thousands of new migrants.
"My objective was never the gold, but the stability it brings," I mused, running a finger along the rough edge of the map.
Mineral wealth does not merely fuel our foundries; it fuels migration, the construction of schools and workshops, and dissolves ancient rivalries in the shared necessity for labor.
It is the metal forging a nation.
While the kingdom grew from within, I observed how Mexica aggression performed the geopolitical work for us. The coded reports from Menasuca, swift and detailed thanks to his key position in Tenochtitlan and his relationship with Nezahualpilli, arrived regularly to Zasaba, who summarized them for me.
Menasuca had confirmed that the renewed hostility of the Mexica, driven by the paranoia of Ahuízotl and Moctezuma, was indirectly benefiting us. Their iron-fisted policy had compelled the other great powers of the Great Quyca to seek commercial and strategic alternatives.
But the engine of their fear was deeper, as Menasuca had written: "The Mexica fear our ideas more than our weapons."
They do not fear our ships, nor even the bronze and iron they covet. They fear what we represent: a different form of power, a religion that demands not sacrifice but unity, a structure that relies not on fear but on reason. And the fear of ideas is more dangerous than the fear of war.
The Maya case was the most gratifying.
They had requested large quantities of bronze tools and weapons. However, the currency we demanded in exchange was not gold, but peace. We required them to immediately cease hostilities with the peoples south of their territory, who had formalized their union with the Suaza Kingdom only months prior. Suaza trade thus became an instrument of simultaneous pacification and territorial expansion, which the Maya accepted.
The Purépechas, or Tarascos, were shrewder; they opted to acquire key bronze-foundry technologies, seeking productive independence. We gave them what they wanted, knowing their own smelting already had a solid base, but we were certain that the refined bronze from our central workshops would not be comparable to theirs, at least not soon.
One form of payment was large quantities of slaves. And for this the kingdom had two purposes: if the slaves were not criminals, they would be freed and made citizens in other territories of the Kingdom, and if they were criminals, they would be used for heavy labor, freeing up our men for specialized work.
Another strategic price paid by the Purépechas was a territorial concession in the northern zone that served as a buffer against less friendly tribes, and firm treaties of friendship guaranteeing peace and access to crucial overland trade routes. They had gained technology and a powerful ally; we, territory and controlled labor.
And then there were the Tlaxcaltecas.
Choked by the Alliance, they had actively traded with us. Menasuca had informed me of their desperation, which was confirmed by the FISTC merchants. They sought weapons and support, but the Aztec pressure was working in our favor.
The Tlaxcalteca leaders were discussing the idea of becoming part of the Suaza Kingdom to obtain our formal protection. The decentralization of their confederation made the process difficult, but the mere fact that an annexation was being considered in the heart of Anáhuac was a monumental victory for our policy of peaceful expansion.
The Tlatoani Ahuízotl strives to expand his empire with blood, and I consolidate mine with logistics, commerce, and the very fear he instills. Menasuca was the spearhead of the Shadows, and thanks to him, every Mexica blow was inadvertently converted into a diplomatic and commercial benefit for the Suaza Kingdom.
"Phew... I need a break," I muttered after a deep sigh.
I rose from my seat and walked to the panoramic window. Dawn City stretched out before me: a vibrant tapestry of cultures, languages, and dreams. In the streets, Taíno apprentices laughed, Suaza merchants murmured, and Aztec artisans who had 'abandoned' their homeland worked with discipline. It was the first truly mestizo city of the Kingdom, or at least the one with the greatest number of cultures living in one place.
"This is incredible," I thought, gazing at the scene, but then the change in mood struck me suddenly. "I thought my first problems would come from the Europeans."
The primary issue I had anticipated was not coming from the sea, but from the continent. Menasuca had warned me of a secret meeting among Mexica nobles to "reform the alliance" before our trade rendered them dependent. That word could mean reorganize... or conquer. And Nezahualpilli, a recent ally, could be harmed.
I could not allow myself to repeat the errors of the history I knew in my other life. I had seen how progress without balance devoured entire civilizations, how avarice disguised itself as faith. The notion weighed on me like a slab of stone, not from fear, but from responsibility.
I returned to the desk. Resting upon the polished wood were several seals: that of the Kingdom's Treasury, the Command Office, the Simte Academy. All awaited my signature to authorize projects that would move thousands of people, resources, dreams. Every signature was a decision. Every decision, a risk.
I closed my eyes for an instant.
In my mind, I saw the routes of the Great Quyca, the lines connecting the coasts of the Sea of Floating Islands with the mainland, and the Shadows extending westward, where the Mexica wrestled between their pride and their fear. The calm would shatter; the Kingdom would be tested. But there was still time. And time—that silent enemy—was the one thing I could not manufacture.
I heard footsteps in the corridor. Soft, precise. I recognized the rhythm immediately.
Zasaba.
"So, the silence is broken," I murmured to myself.
The sound halted before the door. A shadow fell upon the floor, sharp and certain. The door opened slowly.
Zasaba entered my office. He did so with the same precision as if executing a military maneuver: he tapped twice on the door frame, awaited my nod, and then moved with a formality so rigid it pulled me from my reflections on the design of a new kind of loom.
"Greetings, Young Chuta," Zasaba said, his expression eternally neutral.
"Zasaba," I countered in my usual tone, though I knew it was futile, "if we are to pretend that the title grants me any importance outside of logistical necessity, you could at least leave the solemnity at the door. Do come in. I know you haven't come to discuss the weather."
Zasaba ignored my comment with the efficiency of a seasoned soldier. He took the indicated seat, waiting. I knew he disliked trivial conversations, so I went straight to the heart of the matter, as he preferred.
"Proceed, Zasaba. Let us begin with the Great Quyca. Give me the reports from the Shadows in order of priority."
Zasaba unfurled a series of coded scrolls, the fruit of months of silent work by the Shadows' network of agents.
"First, Tlaxcala and the Aztec conflict, with information confirmed by Menasuca," Zasaba began his report. "The Tlaxcalteca withdrawal to the East has solidified. Their purchases of Suaza weaponry continue, and they are still requesting support. Most concerning is the movement of troops towards the minor lordships on the coasts. It appears they seek to seize that territory to secure a maritime connection with us, confirming previous intelligence."
He paused to emphasize the next point. "Our merchants confirm that the confederation's leaders are working to procure firm construction materials—cement and mortar—for ports and walls in the cities closest to the Alliance."
I leaned back in my seat, tapping the wood rhythmically with my fingertips.
Taking the coast would give them direct access to trade and place us in a position of formal support, but it also weakens them by stretching their already scarce supply lines. Furthermore, seizing that territory will cost them many warriors.
Ahuízotl's total war was forcing Tlaxcala into desperate decisions.
"Zasaba, I doubt Tlaxcala can hold those territories without bleeding themselves dry. The Alliance will slowly devour them if they divide their forces."
I took a deep breath and continued: "Speak with the members of the FISTC. Suggest we establish special trade routes for the coastal lordships of the alliance, offering commercial and cultural support. The goal is not war between them and the Tlaxcaltecas. The objective is for those lordships to voluntarily join Tlaxcala and abandon the Alliance without bloodshed. Gold is more persuasive than obsidian."
Zasaba nodded, his impassive face registering the command. "It shall be executed... We continue with the Maya and Tarascos."
"The Shadows' reports from Maya territory indicate an increase in internal martial movements... There appears to be an ambition for unification, a centralization of power unseen for centuries, according to what they learned of each lordship's history."
"Regarding the Tarascos, the widespread adoption of our paper is impressive," Zasaba continued. "The nobles have even begun to request the alphabet that our priests and merchants teach them, seeking a way to record their own history and technology with greater efficiency."
In my mind, Maya unification was an impossible dream. Their cultural and linguistic fragmentation was too profound. A forced unification would only lead to a decade of civil war and the collapse of their trade routes with us.
"With the Maya, true unification is an illusion," I commented with a hint of pessimism. "A long and bloody civil war only harms us. It limits the weapons sold by our merchants to the disputing factions. Let them buy tools, fabrics, and food, not arms. We must maintain controlled, not incentivized, instability."
Next, my attention turned to the Purépechas.
The Tarascos are an admirable people.
Their desire for progress, their pragmatism in accepting our foundry technology and perhaps also our alphabet, was a sign of remarkable political intelligence. They were not bending; they were adapting. I knew this necessity for progress was driven by constant Mexica pressure, but that made their response even more valuable.
"Zasaba, the Tarascos are our most promising allies on the continent. We do not want them to feel pressured, but connected," I remarked with appreciation. "Suggest holding connection events in our city north of their territory. Not just trade fairs... I want celebrations that blend religious rituals from both cultures, sporting events, and, crucially, talks on Suaza technical knowledge—agriculture, city design, mining. Let them see the Suaza Kingdom not as a provider, but as an elder sibling."
"Understood," he replied. "I will coordinate the events with the city's mayor and the corresponding ministers."
Zasaba proceeded with a report that took me completely by surprise. His tone gained a slightly graver nuance, though his face remained expressionless.
"Agents in the Inca Kingdom, in the South, have notified us of significant movements... Commercial flow with us has increased, but in turn, we have seen large contingents of warriors moving toward the settlements near their northern borders, hundreds of kilometers from our territory. They believe their expansionist desires are sharpening."
I felt a stab of irony.
The more the Suaza Kingdom grows, the more our potential problems grow.
The Inca Empire was a monolithic continental power, capable of mobilizing massive armies and constructing impressive infrastructure. Their advance worried me somewhat, but I knew that every such movement would take years to materialize.
"Maintain vigilance on them, Zasaba," I told him, suggesting no concrete measures, for caution was the only sensible policy with such a great power. "Let the Shadows track those warriors. I need to know if it is a border consolidation or a genuine conquest campaign."
Finally, Zasaba produced from his bundle a document written on a paper distinctly different from our kingdom's—it was rough, thin, and bore the unmistakable texture of European paper, similar to that which Sogeking had brought from the Trans-Saharan merchants.
He handed it to me. The letter was written in formal, archaic Castilian Spanish. I, who had dedicated time to deciphering the language after my encounter with Columbus, read with increasing attention.
It was a formal request for a meeting from the House of Castile.
The letter, wrapped in pomp and rhetoric about the achievements of the Catholic kingdoms and their legitimacy before the Pope, announced the sending of an emissary to establish a direct and exclusive trade treaty with the Kingdom of Castile and Aragon. It requested, indirectly but firmly, that Suaza ships not impede the passage of their own vessels into the Great Quyca. But the final blow came in the subtle notification that closed the document: the emissary would discuss the taxes that, much to their regret, we were expected to pay for not being Christian.
I felt my brow furrow, a visceral reaction that stemmed from my twenty-first-century soul.
Taxes for not being Christian?
It was monumental arrogance. But within seconds, the fifteenth-century political logic I remembered superseded the former. I realized I was thinking like a modern king, when I was only a rising leader in a world governed by faith and conquest. It was an expected measure, part of the European domination policy of the era.
I exhaled, letting the air escape in an inaudible exclamation.
"Zasaba," I inquired, striving to sound calm as I folded the paper. "Do you have further information regarding this emissary or the House of Castile?"
Zasaba, with his usual calculated slowness, took a moment that felt eternal to me before responding, his black eyes fixed on mine, as if to maximize the anticipation before delivering the final piece of the puzzle.
"Yes, Young Chuta. The Shadow in Seville sent a second report. The emissary will not travel alone. He will be accompanied by two priests. Furthermore,…"
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
We're back with Chuta, but it won't be for long, as we have to continue with Europe later.
By the way, I tried to make the reports more dynamic and not just monotonous conversations. I mixed some memories with current reports.
On another note, I want to remind you that we'll see more of a presence of the Church in decisions, and as mentioned at the end, priests will begin to come to the Kingdom.
What will Chuta do?
UFD: In 1487, Spain managed to seize part of the territory of the Sultanate of Fez. This is a city called Melilla, which functions as an independent city, and to this day, it remains a disputed territory.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future. (Chapter 87)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis. (Chapter 33) (INTERMITTENT)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 12) (INTERMITTENT)
You can find them on my profile.]