The rain that had battered Harbor Gate for three weeks had finally cleared, leaving the granite plaza damp and reflective under a crisp autumn sky.
Through the tall arched windows of the Sovereign Assembly Hall, the blue-grey waters of the harbor gleamed like polished steel. Dozens of heavy merchant ships—their decks loaded high with wheat, copper, refined oil, and structural steel—moved in disciplined formation through the deep-water channels, their steam whistles echoing off the stone quays.
Inside the vaulted hall, three thousand delegates sat in tightly packed rows of dark oak benches.
They were not politicians or titled aristocrats. They were rail conductors from Paris, grain elevator operators from New Canton, mine engineers from the Rhine, and sea captains from the Pacific routes. They wore plain broadcloth coats and wool suits, their hands calloused, their faces carrying the quiet exhaustion of a war fought against financial paper.
