The ocean of the eastern shoreline was colder than its western sister, the frigid waters that swirled violently at the peak of the planet caught an outcropping of islands known as ‘The Heralds’ to force a torrent of the cold lifeblood along a channel beside the continental drop-off. As the channel warmed on its long journey down the continent it reached the other vortex around the southern pole which reversed its direction conveniently along the western coast. By the time its dull current reached the Empire at the top of the long snaking continent, it was often twice the temperature of the opposite shore.

Logically, comparing frigid waters to the near tropical western waves, it would be a no brainer as to where industry would flourish. But the empire didn’t survive by looking at the face value, the rocky eastern cliffs were amassed with long slanted docks that ebbed and shifted with the rushing current.

And venturing endlessly from the ends of the docks were hundreds of small enclosed boats fitting no more than three or four per vessel. The logistics of such small boats and crews were two-fold, fewer crew meant more payload could be gathered in faster vessels; and second the violent waters were dangerous and even the best building techniques couldn’t make a ship completely impenetrable to waves.

Fewer crew per ship meant fewer missing at sea on a given day.

And this wasn’t just assumed or encultured, in Empress Sarataq’s reign she released a proclamation to the eastern fishing villages asking a simple question.

“Which of your three great boats is best. The Yut with its brave crew’s and vast storerooms? The Taq with its terrifying speed and unique appearance? Or the lowly Gib with its sparse nature but sense of familiarity?”

It was written as-if a random query, but the words were deeper to those closely familiar. While she was pointing out their benefits, she also was pointing out their vital flaws. It made them wonder themselves which was best. It made some wonder if it were even possible to quantify the comparison.

While many were wondering many things, it only took one to try.

The nameless mathematician who answered her proclamation based his answer on two qualities. Safety of the crew, and number of fish captured per crewmember per hour.

If you look only at number of fish captured, the answer would be the Yut, with its vast storerooms. However, one out of every hundred and twenty Yut’s launched never returns.

A single loss of a Yut takes with it up-to eighty crewmembers. That loss isn’t insignificant statistically, and compared to the Gib, with its crew of three and enclosed hull, its massive.

‘To put the calculations simply, a fisherman is ninety percent more likely to die at sea on a Yut than on a Gib.’

This published response was all it took to make a rapid change across the eastern shore.

Now on the cliff-edges all across the empires eastern coast as the morning sun began to rise, small crews were tending to the bottoms of their miniature, enclosed canoe-shaped boats. While younger crew-members were waxing the pale sides, the old-timers were carefully wrapping-up baited hooks with extremely delicate motions.

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Each chunk of bait would be carefully prepared before-hand with a small incision dosed with a powerful toxin capable of instantly killing their catch once it took bite. From there the frigid waters would do the rest, when the boats returned in the early afternoon their lines would be stacked with near-frozen fish dangling beneath the water.

Before the switch to Gib’s entirely, large ships would stay out much longer and often rebait their hooks at-sea but now many operated on a two-shift system. A crew would set-out in the morning, return to the cliffs five or six hours later with their haul and then swap with an awaiting crew.

The system worked well after the kinks were worked out. And all it took was a simple question from the Empress.

And now that a new head sat on the throne, many wondered what shift her first proclamation might cause.

“Bout’ you old-timer?” A barkeep tucked between a pair of bait shops asked as he recognized an entering face.

“Ha?” The surly man griped as he pulled his thick salt-caked canvas hood from around his neck.

“Empress proclamation. Y’seen’it right?” The bartender repeated toward the old-man before having his attention dragged to another conversation. “I don’t mind about the mid-continent folks part. I just think the whole thing is pointless.”

“We don’t know what it’s like down there.” Another patron added with a wagging finger. “I heard they don’t use steel much so maybe they have a lot more trouble taking the darts down.”

“What’s all this now?” The crusty old-timer asked, catching pieces but losing the connecting thread.

“Empress Yuzui’s proclamation was about the mid-continental’s fleet. They want to use Chiport as a launching point for their expedition to find a continent to the west. Here, take a look.”

“Harness the northern flow we’re guessing.”

“Sounds dangerous…” The old-timer started before halting his words as he read over the thick parchment proclamation. He couldn’t understand why the Empress would make such a statement. Typically, things like imperial relations were handled privately and considered carefully before ever being announced. Yet in her first writing, she was stating things so plainly.

“I’d never get to Chiport in a thousand lifetimes,” Another of the drunks passively shrugged, having to search his memory even for a glimpse of the city’s location on a map. “I’m not sure I’d be too concerned even if the proclamation said a fleet of demons themselves were coming.”

“Heh, outta sight outta mind?” The bartender mockingly jeered.

“Am I wrong?” The passive drunk asked, glancing between a few of his mates. “If they act like barbarians and burn the whole port down, that doesn’t do a lick of damage to us.”

“Empress wouldn’t even suggest it if that were possible.” The bartender again shook his head. “I think she’s asking what we think about potential war.”

“We’ve been at war.” The old-timer pointed out with a scowl. “Sure, we might be lucky here, none of you have seen a dart fly in your lifetime. But some people round the empire aren’t as lucky.”

“I’m not saying-” The bartender waves his hands to reject the interpretation of his words. “We don’t know that we aren’t kicking a hornet’s nest. Better to be stung few times a year than thousands at once.”

A variety of responses came, but the old man stayed silent as he considered both sides of the argument.

A spark ignited somewhere along the line and before any of the other patrons noticed, the man had finished his drink and left to write his response to the Empress’ first proclamation.

Thousands of these responses would be posted on specific walls in villages and communities around the empire, once posted a period of peer-review would commence before they were eventually collected for the Empress to see.

What had once been a way to placate the silent voices of the empire and grant them a platform to speak on, was now a grand idea-threshing board, making arguments about the fundamental nature of their homeland.

They had thrived by ignoring the wars and violence in the mid-continent, would accepting this fleet not go against that very nature? Would something so simple be enough to topple the peace and security they cherish?

Thousands of questions filled the heads of the empire’s citizens as they fell to sleep after reading Yuzui’s first proclamation. None had been the one she asked, but that was never the point in an Imperial proclamation.