Prologue
Before The Scroll
In the icy southern expanse of the world, beneath the flickering light of Orion, lay a realm untouched by conflict. The glaciers gleamed, the air was crisp, and time itself seemed to waddle gently forward.
Here, in the United Federation of Antarctica, life was peaceful, orderly, and profoundly chilled. The animals of the South — penguins, puffins, walruses, and snow foxes alike — lived in harmony, trading fish with fairness, sharing ice with dignity, and sipping glacier-cold kelp fizz without fear or tariff.
At the helm stood Admiral Tuxworth, an experienced emperor penguin whose flippers had steadied many a storm. Wise, well-preened, and sharp behind his monocle, he governed not with force, but with impeccable slide technique and a deep respect for balance — both ecological and political.
The world, as far as they knew, was in balance.
But far to the north, in the gilded, fizzing heart of the Glorious Republic of Orangaria, something was stirring.
Behind the golden walls of the Orange Fortress, in the steamy halls of The Gilded Lagoon, a storm was beginning to bubble — not of snow, but of soda. At the very centre of this swelling absurdity stood Lord Orangewind, Supreme Ruler of Orangaria, Sovereign of the Sceptred Sip, and First Sipper of Sparkling Things.
And his patience-or perhaps his soda-had gone warm.
The scroll had not yet been sent. The tariffs have not yet been declared.
But doom—sticky, tepid doom was already on the rise.
And soon, it would come crashing down like a half-melted ice cube into the glass of history.