<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">January 1st, 1946<br/><br/>Presidential Palace, Ahta-matoi</span></div><br/><br/><br/>The crowd gathered at the small plaza was cramped and tired of the sweat sliding down their foreheads as the sun lowered its gaze upon them. Yet they endured such discomfort happily, taking into consideration there would be an announcement by the Dictator, celebrating the new year to come and giving blessings to the seafarers and farmers present. The celebration of the New Year had left only a handful of overly loyal subjects to work and the fact that one Fortuna's main products was hard liquor literally halted production on the first week of the year. The Dictator, dressed in his clear white military uniform as he always was for public speeches, stepped outside from the shade of the building into the balcony overlooking the gathered subjects. In the manner of a gesture that has been rehearsed countless times he took off his admiral's hat and waved it gently at the crowds, who responded in kind with a roar of admiration. Most of the crowd was composed by peasants holding to the idealistic image of the Dictator leading them through the developement of the country, of him leading them through the ages ensuring the safety of their families and not fearing another war of agression against them. The Dictator raised his hand and the roar decreased in volume to a point of complete silence. The heat was unbearable, to the point where the only thing heard was the mosquitoes swarming upon the immobile prey. The Dictator started speaking, or shouting gravely, because of the appearent lack of installed loudspeakers in the plaza...<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">''It is with great joy that I welcome a new era of prosperity and wealth for our land. We have recieved information from our border guards of an oncoming trade ship coming from a distant land to engage in trade with our people; they too will recognize that the Fortunan people are working towards prosperity, they too will see the quality of our ancient craftmanship. They say that they come from a Sultanate far in the northern lands and they plea to us for products they do not have in such a different enviroment. We will ensure no man will change our identity but sure enough, they will see the might that we have so bravely kept and defended like a pearl buried in the depths of the sea! The great God Brothers have granted us this land to make it flourish and we will not give up until it is recognized as it so rightly deserves! Now, the blessing that will ensure that our endeavours find their success, that our people perish not in hunger on the throes of its fatherland but that they are granted the gifts as the Sons of the God Brothers!''</span><br/><br/>The crowd drowned out the sound of the last few sentences the Dictator had pronounced. They had barely listened to the underlying ideas of an eventual opening of the islands and just saw a hero in a glistening white suit, like a guiding light in the middle of a rough storm. The dictator gazed far between the mountains that, like a window frame or a painting, gave an excellent view of the bay of Ahta-matoi from the Presidential Palace. A grind was drawn on his lips and his finger pointed towards the alien great ship, followed by a smaller one. Although both models were unknown to him and he had only been informed of one vessel, he quickly exclaimed toe the exhalted crowd in a grandiose manner.<span style="font-style: italic">''Look, the wealth that awaits our nation has come to us! The God Brothers have no let us down this time, let us not disappoint them because of the wasted opportunities they have so generously granted us in the form of a few curious that have set sail into a territory destined to greatness!''</span>A man touched the leader on the shoulder and beckoned him back into the shade of the Presidential Palace. The dictator quickly assesed that the crowd had changed from admiration of his presence to mild curiosity and, to a certain degree, fear of the ships he had so joyously announced arriving.<span style="font-style: italic">''I hope this is important.''</span>The man meekly handed a piece of paper to the Dictator and backed off out of the office, like a dog fleeing with its between its legs. The content of the document very quickly made the face of the Dictator lose color.<br/><br/>This wasn't a trade ship.<br/><br/>It was a treaty, not too different from the one the Illaryan had previously presented upon their arrival only this time it was a messenger of the people that called themselves Emperors of Karlsland. The Dictator had heard of the Empire, a great military machine, a power unmatched in the north that had quickly expanded to the east of their territories, a power to be reckoned with. But these were only mere rumours of a far away land that would probably not be seen very soon by the eyes of the Fortunan people. The Dictator quickly stood up from his chair, drawing several battleplans to retake the capital if the need arised; they also needed to repel a possible, almost sure, assault from the north. As quickly as he opened the doors, he ordered the two men standing in the hallway, whose faces he quickly recognized as old veterans from the independence war, to have the ships of Kolae-nou aim their main batteries at the ship on Ahta-matoi's shores yet not to fire until they have initiated hostilties. A war against a war machine had to be avoided at all costs. He then told the second man to inform the air force, scout the area, sweep it, scout it again and keep constant patrols of bombers flying on the northern border. He himself took a car down the bumpy, damaged roads of the capital towards the bay, followed by a garrison of soldiers. The people previously crowded at the plaza now formed a procession toward the large ship stranded dangerously close to the seat of government.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">''COULD SOMEONE FUCKING TELL ME HOW THEY GOT PAST THE BORDER PATROL AND NAVAL BASES?! OR ARE YOU ALL TOO HUNGOVER?!''</span></span><br/><br/>Silence responded.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">Ahta-matoi's bay</span></div><br/><br/>The Dictator swiftly drove through the capital and into the ship, making sure to get ahead of the shambling citizens on their way to the bay. He defiantly stood in front of the massive monster of a warship, it resembled a human staring down a building. The sweat on his palms increased, not due to fear, but to heat. He boarded the ship, with two guards by his side, he igored the pleasantries that come with a normal diplomatic exchange, signaling to the guards who couldn't understand his words, to take him to their superior. And so they did. The Admiral in front of him was taller than most of the men he had seen in his life, either as friends or enemies, to any man, the signs of power he displayed would be an intimidating thing to gaze upon but the medals were not ones that the Dictator admired, for he knew that he held the home advantage on the ship of the enemy. The dictator wordlessly recieved from the hands of one of his soldiers a book titled ''History of Fortuna-Anoiwan'' and set it on the table in front of the Admiral, open on page 61, approximately the half of the book that was mainly used as a propaganda to inspire patriotism, was a copy of the treaty that the Illaryan had signed with the natives and that served as the basis for the subsequent genocide of the Fortunan people. The words after the treaty well represented what speech could not.<span style="font-weight: bold">''The foolish men who with hopes of increasing their own status shook hands with the Illaryan opressors recieved the punishment that their own Fortunan bretheren could not deliver. The loss of life and independence with the excuse of the law was aberrant and it later sparked a righteous revolution. We as Fortunan people, who defiantly stood up to foreign agressor will learn from our naviete. Our destiny is ours to decide.''</span><span style="font-style: italic">''This encapsulates what we have gone through, Admiral. I am willing to negotiate and escort you out of what should be an independent territory. Trade is not out of the question, even now at this very moment I am opening new lines of cargo ships but these terms are not appropriate. You and I both know military presence in the archipielago compromises Fortunan sovereignty and the government has a right to retaliate if unauthorized troops move intro their territory. I am giving you temporary authorization right now, Admiral. You are surrounded.''</span>The Dictator took off his hat; to the artificial light inside the ship, the bright white uniform now looked tattered and stained, the proof of the struggles that it had passed through and the resistance to bend without a fight it represented; but also the decay of the Dictator's endurance and the status of the nation as a whole.<br/><br/>The soldier behind him tapped his shoulder and passed him a paper once again. The Dictator sighed and once again, the contents of the paper did not hold good news. Yet the color didn't drain from his face, for in front of the adversary, fear must not be shown. In bright red letters, the message sent and signed by the leader of the Fortuna-Anoiwan People's Army, Poluke Amanha said:<br/><br/><span style="color: #BF0000">''The foreign ship that you have so praised has been seized in the name of the proletariat and the breaking of the chains held by your bourgeois dogs.''</span><br/><br/>Of course.<br/><br/>The Dictator looked behind him and whispered to the soldier:<span style="font-style: italic">''Contact Poluke, find a way to free a hostage, no matter what. After that, name an emissary and send him and the freed hostage as a guide to the Sultanate. We need to assure them this wasn't the nation's fault.'' </span>He held his breath for a second.<span style="font-style: italic">''And if this isn't done within an hour, you'll be executed.''</span>The soldier ran off before the Dictator could turn his head back to the Admiral. It was done so. And the day's trip to the Sultanate would mean a tense standstill for the hostages inside the ship until urgent diplomatic relations could be set.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">''For a great year to come.''</span>The Dictator thought to himself.