The Aragonese flag, once just a national emblem, now fluttered over distant horizons. In Nueva Cadiz, the lamps never flickered anymore. The generators hummed in rhythm with the pulse of progress, and every child born under their light would grow up never knowing a night without electricity. But Prince Lancelot was already looking far beyond.
Inside the steel-and-glass command pavilion at the edge of the Civic frontier, Lancelot stood before a new map. It was no longer just a chart of Sierra Leone or the surrounding regions—it was a wide, unbroken sweep of West Africa, dotted with red pins, silver glyphs, and bold blue lines stretching like veins across unfamiliar terrain.
Juliette entered with dust on her boots and a datasheet in hand.
"The ore deposits inland are better than we thought. Zinc, bauxite, and traces of gold. Enough to double the foundry output once rail reaches the river junction."
Lancelot didn't look away from the map. "We'll need more than rail."
