Adrian
The chamber of New Albion's council was built to impress. Its vaulted ceilings and carved oak panels gave the impression of permanence, as though the nation's laws had been inscribed in stone rather than born from the messy quarrels of men. But on that afternoon, permanence seemed a fragile illusion.
Adrian Vale stood before the council table, his words ringing out with the same force that had once carried him from a poor island upbringing to the capital itself.
"We speak of a nation forged in fire," he declared, his hand resting on a sheaf of papers he had drafted the night before. "But if we do not place power in the hands of the people, then what have we built? A palace of mirrors, reflecting only ourselves. Let the council publish its proceedings. Let the people see the work of their representatives."
A ripple of unease moved across the chamber. Transparency was a dangerous notion in a city still ruled by quiet deals in back rooms.
Crowne
From the far end of the table, Sebastian Crowne leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his lips curled in a faint smile. When Adrian finished, Crowne rose slowly, the air in the room tightening as though everyone anticipated a duel with words as sharp as blades.
"My learned colleague," Crowne began, his voice smooth and measured, "is eloquent, as always. But eloquence cannot replace wisdom. To publish every discussion, every disagreement, every compromise, would not strengthen this council — it would fracture it. The people look to us for stability, not for discord paraded in headlines."
A low murmur of approval came from several older members, men whose fortunes were tied to discretion.
Crowne pressed on, his eyes never leaving Adrian. "And as for this call to virtue — let us not forget that those who cry loudest for purity often carry shadows of their own. Private letters, for instance. Correspondence meant for other eyes. Words are powerful, Mr. Vale, but they can also betray."
The chamber stirred with recognition. Crowne's allusion to Adrian's near-scandal with Emily Hartwell was unmistakable. Adrian's jaw tightened, though he did not flinch.
"You mistake personal matters for principles," Adrian shot back. "I will not pretend to be without flaws. But this is not about me. This is about the soul of New Albion. Do we govern as a closed circle of elites — or do we govern as servants of the people?"
The words landed with force. Several younger councilors nodded, while others shifted uncomfortably. Crowne's smile faded, replaced with a cold calculation.
Outside the council chamber, the duel continued — in print, in rumor, in public opinion.
Adrian's speeches were reprinted in radical newspapers, his fiery words carried to factory floors and street corners. "Vale speaks for us!" the headlines cried. Crowds gathered to hear him, their cheers echoing through the avenues.
But Crowne was no less skilled in shaping narrative. Where Adrian courted the common man, Crowne cultivated the city's financiers, its generals, its editors. Anonymous columns began to appear in respectable journals: Vale was reckless, untested, a man of passion but not prudence.
Could such a man be trusted to shape the destiny of a fragile nation?
Evelyn & Emily
Evelyn watched with growing concern as her husband-to-be became the face of reform, while Crowne sharpened every blade he could find to cut him down.
Emily played the role of supporter and confidante, though her eyes lingered on Adrian too often, her jests too sharp when Crowne's name was mentioned.
Gray
Lord Gray observed the storm with the patience of a man who had survived many before. From the gallery of the council chamber, he had watched Adrian's words ignite younger members, while Crowne's retorts cemented the loyalty of the old guard. He had once believed the two men might balance one another, that their rivalry could temper extremity into progress.
But now he saw something darker: pride unchecked, ambition sharpened into enmity.
"They are two flames burning toward each other," Gray remarked to a colleague as they left the chamber. "And when they meet, the blaze will consume more than either expects."
In the weeks that followed, the rivalry became the city's obsession.
Caricatures of Adrian and Crowne appeared in satirical papers: Vale with his hair ablaze, shouting atop a stack of pamphlets; Crowne in silken gloves, pulling strings like a puppeteer. Crowds gathered outside the council after debates, sometimes cheering, sometimes jeering, always divided.
Adrian
Yet in quieter moments, Adrian admitted to Evelyn that he felt the strain. "Every word I speak, Crowne twists. Every reform I propose, he paints as folly. I cannot stand still — if I pause, he will define me before I define myself."
Evelyn took his hand, her gaze steady. "Then do not pause. But remember, Adrian — your fight is not only with him. It is with yourself. You burn so brightly, you forget how quickly fire consumes."
He kissed her hand, but her words lingered long after.
Crowne
Crowne, too, felt the pressure. Behind closed doors, he raged at his allies. "Does no one see? He is a child with matches, and you would hand him the city's storehouse of powder. Mark me — he will bring us all to ruin."
But even as he spoke, a quieter voice in his mind whispered what he would never admit aloud: that Adrian's fire drew people in a way Crowne's precision never could. And it terrified him.
Gray
By the end of the season, the rivalry had ceased to be about policy alone. Every debate, every article, every rumor carried the weight of personal grudges and private wounds. The city was dividing itself into two camps: those who believed in Adrian Vale's vision of a transparent, people-driven nation, and those who rallied behind Sebastian Crowne's promise of stability, order, and tradition.
And somewhere between them, Lord Gray feared, lay the fate of New Albion itself.