October 25 arrived—the day of the election, following a debate held on the 15th. However, since the main issues remained unchanged, there was no need to delve further into the topics. Those over the age of 17 rose from their beds and lined up to cast their votes for the first time in their lives, choosing their president. Men, women, and young people stood before a ballot box and a slip. At that time, ballots were on separate tables; one simply had to select one and place it in an envelope. If two ballots were placed, the vote would be annulled. If none were placed, the vote would be considered blank. If there was even a single strip of color different from the ballot's, the vote would be voided. Similarly, if a ballot was submitted in poor condition but still readable, the vote would be counted.
The law was simple: any candidate who obtained 45% of the votes and a 10-point margin would be declared president. If a candidate achieved 45% and their opponent scored between 40% and 44%, a second round would be held. If a candidate had 45% and their opponent 35%, the candidate with 45% would become president. If a candidate exceeded the 45% margin, even by one point, the prior rule no longer applied. This meant that if one candidate received 45% and the opponent 46%, the presidency would go to the one with the most votes.
How was voting to be done? First, voters needed to be fully aware of their actions, as voting under the influence of substances was prohibited. Second, no one could, under any circumstances, discuss their vote inside or outside the polling station. Entering the voting booth with more than one person was also forbidden, unless there were difficulties preventing the voter from exercising their right independently. In that case, only a relative or a table officer was permitted to assist. A table officer could help, but if they refused to provide assistance, chose the vote instead of respecting the voter's wishes, or threatened the voter, they would be removed from the table and sentenced to a year and six months in prison: one year in jail and the remainder under house arrest, plus a fine ranging from 500 to 1,000 lunars, depending on the severity of the offense.
The table officer was chosen randomly a year before the elections and was notified by a certified letter or contacted via email. If the letter didn't arrive within thirty days, a new one would be sent, with a maximum of five attempts. The postal service was required to prioritize this type of correspondence. Refusal or misuse of this responsibility would be considered an attack on democratic values, punishable by five years in prison. If the letter reached the recipient but they were unable to attend for health reasons, there would be no consequences, provided the appropriate documentation was submitted. Ignoring this summons would be considered an offense against democratic values, punishable by two years in prison—one in prison, and the other under house arrest.
The table officer represented the state and ensured the election was conducted fairly. This meant that no member of public order, civilian or military, could interfere with, threaten, or harm the table officer. Any judicial, military, state, or civilian representative who attacked the table officer would face a sentence of six to ten years in prison.
A few anecdotes can be salvaged from these elections. Fausto was accompanied by his wife as he voted and queued like everyone else. Given the electoral silence, he couldn’t discuss politics but could talk about everyday topics. He couldn’t predict who would win but could share what a president’s life is like. Curiously, someone asked him about his personal life: if he was going to be a father. Fausto couldn’t respond, not because he didn’t know what to say, but because Karen didn’t give him a chance. She simply replied, “We’re working on it,” which caused an awkward laugh from the president.
Across the city in San Isaak, Harrington cast his vote. He appeared calm, wearing his unmistakable top hat and emerald-tipped cane. He was accompanied by his two daughters and granddaughter. Known for his strong character, he let an elderly man with mobility difficulties go ahead of him. Harrington's family interactions were also observed: he held his granddaughter, who tugged at his elegant coat and swung from side to side like a pendulum as they waited. Many didn’t know Harrington was a widower; his wife, Vanessa Harrington, had died in a yellow fever epidemic.
Gerald Reccson voted at the military academy, where he too waited in line, as in the army everyone is equal when it comes to choosing their representative. It was known that he had a considerable age difference with his wife—he was 138 years old (Lapsus Longus), while she was only 21 (Lapsus Brevis), and she was pregnant. Although little was known about his personal life, a testimony revealed that, during the construction of the walls, Reccson saw a woman with other survivors running toward his camp. They sought help, but Reccson received orders to “discourage” future survivors. Though there was suspicion he had forged data to allow them entry to the city, there was no conclusive evidence.
Finally, Ana Uribe voted with her parents, former senator Rogelio Uribe and Maribel Uribe, a nurse. A tender moment occurred when Ana emerged from the voting booth and hugged her parents, proud to have voted for the first time.
Although it was the first time voting took place, there were no major problems—only a few isolated incidents.
At 10:00 p.m., the first results were broadcast over the radio, in order of highest to lowest percentage: Karen Samanta Freeman, with 82.1% of the vote; Anibal Harrington, with 14.3%; Gerald Reccson, with 4.2%; and Ana Uribe, with 1.2%. There was also 0.2% of blank and void votes. The overwhelming victory belonged to the RIU party.
Out of a population of 3,100,000, only 2,150,000 citizens voted.
Karen celebrated in the party’s bunker, surrounded by supporters. Even Hidalgo was present, though he shook hands with the president more out of courtesy than affinity. He spent some time chatting with her and Victorino before leaving early; as he said, he didn’t feel he had much to do there.
Meanwhile, Anibal Harrington delivered a speech in his own bunker, alongside his supporters. They accepted defeat, regretting not meeting expectations. “Democracy has spoken,” he said, urging his followers to respect that value, though he admitted they didn’t share the winning party's ideas. He also congratulated Karen.
Reccson, for his part, refrained from making statements. He merely muttered, “The nation is lost” when the first results were known. Gerald, whom he had hoped might take second place, was brutally defeated in the election.
Ana, however, thanked her voters for their support. She congratulated Karen and stated that if she presented proposals to improve society, she would be willing to support them. However, she warned that she would oppose any initiatives she considered harmful to the people.
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Fausto also spoke about the elections, satisfied with the result. In his words, “The Seven Republics are in good hands.”
It was on November 7 that Fausto delivered his final speech as president. In San Isaak Square, where eight years prior he had addressed a dozen people in his first speech, nearly a million had now gathered. The crowd waved flags and chanted his name, expressing gratitude for his leadership.
With a smile, feeling the support of two figures behind him—Victorino and Karen—Fausto stepped up to the podium, raising his arms as if wanting to embrace his people. Then he began:
“Eight years ago, I stood here to share with you a dream, an ideal: the nation I envisioned for you. I am aware I couldn’t accomplish everything; much still remains to be done. But I am proud to know I have done much for this beautiful nation.”
He smiled and continued, “All I can say is thank you. Thank you for trusting this inexperienced young man, for listening to this arrogant one, for supporting me. You don’t know how grateful I am. Before... there was no one. Many times, I felt I was speaking to myself. Today, I am moved that you listened to me.”
Fausto looked to the sky, holding back emotion.
“Obrigado… very grateful,” his voice faltered, and his eyes began to well up. “Oh, Lord, I didn’t want this to happen. Look at me, I look ridiculous.”
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as Fausto continued:
“Together, we built a future to be proud of. We overcame the anxiety of external uncertainty. We proved that The Seven Republics are a dignified and strong nation. You, citizens, are part of this.”
With a sigh, he ended his speech:
“You accompanied me through these eight years. We made history—a history you can be proud of. When you grow old, with your children and grandchildren, you’ll be able to say with pride, ‘I was there, I witnessed the rebirth of humanity, of democracy, and I played my part in making it possible.’ You will look into your descendants’ eyes and say you are proud to have founded this great nation. Glory to the wall! Glory to the people! Glory to democracy! Glory to the Seven Republics! With grace and audacity!”
At the end, the crowd chanted in unison:
“Long live President Gabriel!”
They applauded and chanted his name, waving flags and proclaiming his legacy across the land. And so, a new moniker was born: “The Firstborn.”
Fausto stepped down from the podium and moved toward the crowd. Security grew tense; Victorino, his wife, and the guards tried to follow, but he went into the crowd, trusting his people. Thousands of hands reached out to touch and embrace him. His bodyguards formed a circle around him, though it didn’t stop the president from returning each embrace with equal warmth.
According to one of the government aides, that night Karen scolded him harshly for risking his safety, and, jokingly, mentioned that Fausto spent the night on the couch.
Time passed, and Fausto spent his last month touring the republics, giving speeches of gratitude. Even in Bélua, where he spoke in Portuguese, he was welcomed with love and tears of joy. The emotion of knowing he had given them a future overwhelmed him, as it did his people.
Finally, the day of his farewell arrived. Fausto rose early, dressed in his uniform, and left the Red House. The roads had been cleared for his passage, and the crowd watched him with respect and admiration as he headed toward the Congress.
Upon arrival, he ascended the stairs to the ceremonial hall, where statues of the seven heroes of the republics stood: Claudio Argentum, Felipe Artigas, Oscar Neptune, Maria Nova Terra, Elena Inca, Sager Cárdenas, and Wanda Bélua. These statues, erected by him, symbolized the transfer of power.
Ahead of him waited Karen, his Vice President Amanda Ventura, and Victorino. Fausto took the presidential sash and placed it on Karen, along with the staff of office, followed by a warm embrace. Victorino repeated the gesture with his successor as Vice President, though, being less affectionate, he settled for a firm handshake.
The congress members applauded, and Karen raised the staff in acceptance.
Fausto approached Victorino and whispered:
“Quite an audience, isn’t it, Erick?”
“A tough crowd, yes, I remember it well,” Victorino replied with a rare smile.
Fausto nodded.
“Thank you, Erick, for everything.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for, son. It was my job and my responsibility.”
Still, Fausto insisted, “Even so... thank you.”
With a slight smile, Victorino said, “I’m proud of you. Despite your youth and inexperience, you proved to be a capable, pragmatic leader. I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong.”
He then lit his pipe and walked out amid the celebrations.
“Where are you going, Erick?” Fausto asked.
“I’m going home, Joaquin. I’ve earned a rest.”
Fausto watched him depart, his figure fading away amidst the jubilant senators and representatives. That man had been with him always, helping and guiding him all the way. With a final smile and a whispered “thank you,” he bid him farewell. Then he moved forward to watch his wife’s inaugural address. Unlike his own, her speech was long… very long.
Truly, very long.
“Honorable members of the Grand Congress of the Republics, distinguished citizens of the Seven Republics, friends, and all those who join us today:
Today is a day of profound significance for me, for my family, and for our great nation. I assume the responsibility of leading this country with a heart full of humility, commitment, and, above all, with the firm determination to move forward, with the same work ethic that has accompanied me throughout my life.
To my fellow citizens, to you who have placed your trust in me, I want to express my deepest gratitude. This is an honor I do not take lightly, and it is a duty I accept with the certainty that together, as a people, as brothers and sisters, we will continue to build the great nation we dream of and deserve.
It is impossible not to acknowledge the immense impact of my husband, Joaquin Gabriel Fernández Fausto, who, with his visionary leadership, tireless commitment, and absolute dedication to our people’s well-being, has transformed this beautiful country. His success is not only reflected in the policies he implemented but in the love and loyalty he sowed in every corner of these republics. Fausto has left a legacy that fills us with pride and, at the same time, inspires us to continue working tirelessly so that flame of hope never goes out.
But let me be clear: my administration will not be a blind continuation of his but rather a step forward, an evolution that will take the best of the past, the lessons we’ve learned, and the hopes for the future. We will continue to build upon the solid foundation he left but also confront new challenges with the assurance that together, as a nation, we will face them.
My first commitment is to you, the people of the Seven Republics, whom I will serve with integrity, transparency, and a firm resolve to make this country a place where every voice is heard, every need addressed, and every dream, no matter how big or small, can become a reality.
There is no greater task than ensuring the well-being and justice for all, without distinction. From the most humble to the most powerful, all deserve to be treated with respect, dignity, and justice. My administration will be one of unity, dialogue, and, above all, action. We will not allow the divisions of the past to hold us back. We are one nation, and as such, we must be more united than ever.
I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to my family, who have been my rock and unconditional support. To my husband, Fausto, for his love and the confidence he has always placed in me. You know we will walk this path together, even when our destinies diverge. But above all, I want to thank all of you, the citizens of the Seven Republics, for giving me the opportunity to serve you.
Today, as I assume the presidency, I do so with the conviction that this is only the beginning of a new era, where justice, peace, and prosperity will be the pillars of our coexistence. Let us move forward with courage, hope, and love for our country.
Long live the Seven Republics! Long live all who make this nation worthy of hope! A nation of equals, a nation of opportunity!
Thank you very much.”
And with these words, a new chapter began for the Seven Republics.