Pronoia, Elysium
February 26th, 1754
As the wind was blowing outside in the chilly February evening, Aurelius Galantinus sat comfortably in front of the fire inside his palace. He was now 38 years old, still a young man. But a young man who had seen a lot. Civil war. Indian wars. But, thankfully, no real danger had come to his family. Not even back when Elysium was small, vulnerable and he was recently married and had no heir.
He felt lucky. His people loved him. His family even more. Flavia was knitting beside him, while Pavlos, now a teenager with all that entailed, was at a ball held for him and his friends by the Senate. Yes, Pavlos was shaping up to become a nice lad. A good future king. The soothsayer seemed to have been wrong. Nothing could please Aurelian more.
Elysium was much, much bigger than it once had been too, now. The frontier tribes, steadily pushed back in the name of progress, was the Anilco, Osage, Sakowin and – he had no way of not mispronouncing this one – Niswa-mishkodewinpan. Elysium was also growing in population size, now she was closing in on four million inhabitants.
But his good neighbors in Vinland was in trouble. Or, had been. A civil war had raged there for a few months now, but the rebels were all but defeated. His ambassador up there had adviced him no intervention was needed, as the loyalists and their overlord in Europe were more than strong enough to deal with the rebels. The ambassador had been right. Aurelian had made sure to signal his support for the loyalists with the means at his disposal, save interference. He knew it had been appreciated.
For him, the larger problem was the Elysian economy. It was growing and growing fast. But growth was costly and the risk of going into default was always present. To balance investment into the industry and keeping the economy afloat was taking much of his time and energy. He dreamed of a day when his coffers were a little less empty.