Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World

"Mom Hurry up!" Mila whined, hopping from one foot to the other, barely able to contain her excitement. She tugged at her mother, eyes shining. "The fireworks will start soon!"

Elise chuckled as she adjusted her shawl. "Mila, we don't even know what fireworks are. You're acting as if we'll miss something very important."

"But brother Thomas said if we don't go early, we won't see anything!" Mila insisted.

Thomas, her older brother, leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed. "It's true. People say the king has made some kind of… fire in the sky. Like a festival of stars." He glanced at their father. "Is that even possible, Papa?"

Grey, the father, finished tying his boots and grabbed his coat. "Who knows?" he said with a thoughtful hum. "The things King Arthur has done are stranger than fiction. I've heard people say these 'fireworks' will be like a thousand torches burning in the sky, or maybe like shooting stars that never fall."

Mila gasped. "Shooting stars? Really?"

"Rumors, little one," Grey said, patting her head. "No one has actually seen them yet. But if the king says it will happen, then maybe it will."

With that, the family stepped outside, joining the steady stream of townsfolk making their way toward the Eldoria riverside. The streets were alive with excitement—street vendors who knew there would be many people coming to the Eldoria riverside had set up stalls, selling skewered meats, sweet roasted nuts, and hot cider. The scent of freshly baked pastries filled the crisp night air, mingling with the sound of laughter and chatter.

Children ran ahead, their faces flushed with anticipation, while elders murmured among themselves, debating whether this spectacle would truly be as grand as the rumors claimed.

"I heard the fireworks will be brighter than the sun," one man told his companion.

"Nonsense," another scoffed. "Nothing is brighter than the sun. But I heard it will be as loud as a thunderstorm."

"A thunderstorm?" Elise murmured as she held Mila's hand tighter. "I hope it's not frightening."

"They say it's a controlled fire," Grey said, his voice laced with wonder. "Fire that doesn't burn the ground. Fire that dances in the sky."

Thomas frowned. "That sounds impossible."

Grey chuckled. "It might be, but that's why we're here—to see if it's true with our own eyes."

As they arrived at the riverbank, a hush settled over the crowd. Lanterns hung from wooden posts, their golden glow flickering in the breeze and casting soft light over the rippling waters. Families spread out blankets on the grassy shore, while others stood in clusters, their breath visible in the cold night air. Excitement and curiosity buzzed between them as they fixed their gazes on the vast, untouched sky above.

Yet, even in a moment meant for unity, division remained.

Though the festival welcomed all, the riverside told a different story—one of quiet, unspoken separation.

On one side, the nobles sat in arranged rows, their seats brought from their estates, cushioned and draped in fine fabric to ward off the chill. Servants moved between them with practiced grace, balancing trays of mulled wine and delicate confections, ensuring not a single hand went empty for long. The nobles spoke in measured, refined tones, their laughter subdued, their expressions composed. To them, this was merely another evening of entertainment—an event to be observed, not experienced.

On the other side, the common folk gathered in dense, eager crowds. There were no cushions, no servants tending to their comfort—only the raw excitement of the unknown. Children clung to their parents, whispering their guesses about what the fireworks might be. Merchants and laborers, dressed in their best clothes for the occasion, stood shoulder to shoulder with farmers and blacksmiths, all united by a shared anticipation.

Mila, perched on Grey's shoulders, tugged at his hair. "Papa… why are they over there and we're over here?"

Grey hesitated before answering. "Because that's how things have always been, little one."

"But the king said the fireworks were for everyone," she said with a small pout. "So why are we apart?"

Grey sighed, exchanging a glance with Elise. "The king is trying to change things, Mila. But some changes take time."

Thomas folded his arms. "It doesn't seem fair."

"It isn't," Grey admitted. "But tonight, we're all looking at the same sky."

Before Mila could ask another question, a sudden ripple went through the crowd. The murmurs of conversation shifted, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

Then Grey saw him.

Arthur.

The young king strode through the festival grounds, his fur-lined cloak trailing behind him, heavy with winter's bite. Pale wisps of breath curled from his lips, vanishing into the crisp evening air. Though only a handful of guards shadowed him, they were little more than an afterthought—the weight of his presence alone commanded attention.

The nobles gathered in their section went rigid. Some exchanged hurried whispers behind gloved hands, their eyes tracking his every step. Others merely watched in silence, their expressions unreadable. But it was the common folk who reacted most viscerally. The crowd parted instinctively, a ripple of uncertainty and awe passing through them. Some clutched their children closer; others hesitated, as if unsure whether to bow or flee.

Yet Arthur did not turn toward the nobles with their silk-draped seats. He did not even glance their way. Instead, he moved with quiet certainty toward the heart of the festival—the section where the commoners gathered, where the air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, damp straw, and woodsmoke.

Grey's fingers tightened around his daughter's shoulder as the king passed close. His steps were measured, unhurried, his sharp gaze sweeping over the sea of faces before him. He was not here for spectacle or pretense. He was here for something else.

The murmurs died. A hush spread over the riverbank as all eyes fixed on Arthur. Some bowed deeply, others remained frozen in place, their gazes wide with a mixture of reverence and disbelief. Arthur, however, merely inclined his head in acknowledgment—an unspoken assurance that no elaborate displays of fealty were needed.

And then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, he did something none had expected.

He took a seat on an empty wooden bench among the common folk.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A nobleman—no, the king—sitting among them, with no ceremony, no grandeur. Just a man watching the night sky.

The nobles exchanged startled glances. Some seemed displeased. Others are intrigued.

Mila clutched Grey's coat. "Papa… does this mean the king is one of us?"

Grey swallowed, his throat tight. "No, little one." He exhaled softly, watching Arthur sit in the cold just as they did, without complaint. "It means he wants to be."

Then, a sharp whistle cut through the crisp winter air.

All conversation stopped. A hush fell over the festival.

A single streak of golden light cut through the night, soaring higher and higher until it seemed to vanish among the stars. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then—

BOOM!

The sky erupted in a dazzling explosion of gold and silver, raining down like molten stars against the crisp winter air. Gasps rippled through the crowd—some sharp with awe, others drawn out in sheer, breathless wonder.

A second firework followed, this one spiraling upward before bursting into a brilliant cascade of deep blue and crimson. The frozen river mirrored the spectacle, its icy surface transforming into a rippling masterpiece of color, as if the sky itself had spilled into the earth.

Mila shrieked in delight, nearly yanking her father's hair from excitement. "It's like magic!"

Elise exhaled sharply, her eyes wide as the colors danced in reflection on her awestruck face. "It's… beautiful," she whispered, almost afraid to break the moment.

Even the nobles, ever composed and reserved, found their restraint slipping. A murmur of astonishment swept through their section as another firework rocketed skyward, detonating into a triad of shimmering violet, emerald, and sapphire. Some clapped politely, others simply stared, expressions softened by genuine admiration.

The wind carried the faint, smoky scent of burning powder, mingling with the rich aromas of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider wafting from the vendors' stalls. It smelled of warmth, of wonder—of something never before seen in Eldoria.

Thomas, who had scoffed at the idea of fireworks all evening, stood rooted in place, his breath forgotten. "I… I didn't think this was possible."

Grey chuckled, ruffling his son's hair with a knowing grin. "Seems the king has a habit of making the impossible real."

More fireworks shot into the sky, bursting in rapid succession—each grander, each more breathtaking than the last. A torrent of crimson comets exploded into spirals of gold, followed by a massive bloom of sapphire that lingered for seconds before fading into the night. The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices rising alongside the sparks.

And for the first time that evening, the lines that divided noble and commoner blurred. Laughter mingled with gasps of awe, hands pointed skyward, strangers turned to one another to share the moment. Titles and stations didn't matter—not here, not now.

From his place on the simple wooden bench, Arthur watched it all unfold. His gaze swept over the faces around him—children with eyes alight, merchants laughing with noblemen, elders smiling as if they had seen a piece of history being made.

A smile played on his lips.

For tonight, at least, Eldoria was not a kingdom of ranks and rules.

It was one people, united beneath a sky ablaze with fire and wonder.