Chapter 26 — The Golden Age of Aragon
The fifteenth year of Emperor Leon I's reign dawned upon a world gilded in faith and order. From the silver mines of Mexico to the palm-lined ports of Manila, bells tolled in perfect unison — a symphony of empire stretching from one ocean to another.
In the capital, the Triumphal Jubilee was proclaimed: a celebration of fifteen years without war, of prosperity blessed by both Pope and Patriarch.
The Triumphal Jubilee
Manila was no longer a mere city. It was the Second Rome of the East — marble cathedrals, stone bridges, and plazas where Aragonese and native artisans carved angels into the pillars of eternity.
Golden banners fluttered from every tower, bearing the emblem of the Twin Suns. The harbor shone with galleons dressed in silk and garlands; choirs of children sang hymns as incense drifted above the crowds.
Leon stood upon the balcony of the Palacio del Sol, robed in white and crimson, a golden cross resting on his breast. At his side was Queen Isabella of Valencia, serene and radiant, her crown glimmering with eastern pearls — a symbol of the unity between Aragon and the isles.
"My children," Leon declared, his voice carrying over the vast sea of faces,
"God has granted us an empire not of conquest, but of harmony.
From Seville to Manila, from Mexico to Formosa — we stand as one faith, one realm, one people beneath His gaze."
The crowd knelt as church bells thundered. Cannons roared from the fortresses, their echoes rolling like divine applause.
Royal Marriages and Alliances
In the years that followed, diplomacy became the new battlefield of kings.
Leon's eldest son, Prince Ferdinand, wed Princess Marguerite of France, sealing an alliance that bound the Pyrenees in peace.
His daughter Infanta Maria was married by proxy to Shogun Nobuhide's heir in Nippon — the first union between East and West ever sanctified by the Vatican.
Even Portugal, long a rival in maritime power, joined in marriage pact, uniting its fleet under the Aragonese banner for global exploration.
From Europe to Asia, the Empire's bloodline became a living network of crowns — and its name, a prayer upon foreign lips.
The Bloom of Culture and Faith
The Golden Age was not only of steel and silk, but of spirit.
The Imperial University of Seville–Manila opened its doors — a grand academy where friars, scientists, and philosophers gathered under mosaics of saints and stars.
Here, the faith of Rome met the curiosity of the New World.
Aragonese scholars studied navigation and mechanics beside Mexican astronomers, Filipino architects, and Japanese theologians.
Printing presses thundered across the empire, spreading books on theology, medicine, and the new sciences.
Cathedrals rose in every capital — in Mexico City, a basilica of blue stone crowned by golden domes; in Formosa, a chapel whose steeple pointed toward the rising sun.
Music, too, blossomed — choirs in native languages sang the Canticles of the Two Suns, blending Gregorian chant with island melody.
A friar from Valencia wrote in awe:
"Where once the sword spread faith, now the quill perfects it.
The Aragonese Empire has baptized not only nations, but knowledge itself."
The Emperor's Reflection
In the twilight of that Jubilee year, Leon stood once again upon the same balcony where he had proclaimed the birth of the empire.
Below him, fireworks painted the night sky with gold and crimson; ships lit lanterns across the bay until it seemed the stars themselves had descended to the sea.
Queen Isabella joined him, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
"You have given them peace," she whispered. "Is it not what you always dreamed of?"
Leon's gaze drifted toward the horizon — where the Pacific met the sky like an endless cross of silver light.
"Peace is a fragile gift," he said softly.
"It must be guarded as fiercely as victory.
For men who forget the cost of faith… will soon pay it again."
A faint sadness passed through his eyes, though the music of celebration continued far below.
He felt it — a tremor beneath the beauty, a whisper of ambition and envy among distant governors, the growing hunger of nations that watched his empire with covetous awe.
But for now, he let the thought rest.
The bells rang again — slow, solemn, eternal — and the Emperor of Two Suns smiled, knowing that, for this brief golden age, heaven had touched the earth.