The Empire of New Antioch

The Empire of New Antioch stands as the bastion of discipline and the fortress of order. It is a nation without inheritance, a state without nobles, a people bound not by blood but by service. Its heart is the Sacred Flame, the symbol drawn from Matra Hearthborn, the Kindly Flame, who in other lands is revered in kitchens and poorhouses. Antioch raised her hearth into empire, declaring that endurance preserves, light reveals, and fire consumes what is unworthy. These truths form the covenant of the state, binding citizen, soldier, priest, and magistrate alike.

Antioch is a meritocracy in the purest form. Citizenship cannot be inherited, purchased, or claimed by privilege. It is earned only through service, and service must carry risk and demand sacrifice for the common good. Some take up the sword, others the ledger, the spade, the torch, or the scalpel. The measure is not glory but burden: danger to life or spirit, and labor beyond self. When service is complete, the citizen receives torch from the Oathfire, their name inscribed in the civic rolls, their voice admitted into the council. This is the sole difference between citizen and resident: both are equal under law, but only the citizen holds the franchise, the lawful share of political power.

In Antioch, that franchise is not spoken of lightly. The empire teaches that politics itself is violence, and that the ballot is its weapon. Only those who have carried the empire on their shoulders may wield it with legitimacy. This principle is taught from childhood as truth as self-evident as fire’s heat or water’s flow. It is the maxim repeated in every council, the creed recited at every oathfire, the bedrock upon which Antioch rests.

The Triumvirate

The empire is governed by the Triumvirate, three pillars in tension yet bound together by oath. The Citizen Council is composed only of those who have completed service, each seated in the vaulted hall where flame alone provides light, so that no oath may be spoken in darkness. The council drafts law, levies tribute, and appoints magistrates. Its members are watched closely, for corruption is judged as treason, a betrayal of flame and covenant alike, punished without hesitation.

The High Command directs the legions, whose soldiers march in knightly armor yet wield rifles and shotguns, drilled in formations of unyielding precision. To serve in the legions is the most honored path to citizenship, and veterans return with scars worn as crowns. The legions are the empire’s shield and sword, its presence in every province, its banner upon every border. Generals sit in council, not as warlords, but as citizens entrusted with the defense of the whole.

The Priesthood of the Flame sustains the covenant at its core. Elsewhere Matra is a hearth goddess of kindness and meal-fire. In Antioch, her Sacred Flame is the state itself, the living symbol that binds devotion and law into one. The priesthood tends the great fires of temples and civic squares, carries flame into homes, seals oaths in its light, and speaks the creed that service is sanctity. They wear crimson and white marked with ash, reminders that their task is not splendor but vigilance.

None of these three pillars may act unchecked. Each restrains the others, and in their balance Antioch has endured intrigue, famine, and war without collapse.

The Covenant of Service

In New Antioch, citizenship is not inherited, purchased, or granted by favor. It is earned through service, and service is defined by two conditions: risk to life or spirit, and sacrifice for the common good. Every child is raised knowing that their place in the empire will one day be measured by this covenant.

Service may take many forms. Some bear arms in the legions. Others labor in plague wards, quarry stone, record archives, or carry the flame into the frontier. The task matters less than the burden. What counts is the surrender of self to the survival of the whole.

Completion of service is marked at the Oathfire. Before the gathered, the citizen takes a torch from the sacred flame, speaks their vow, and is inscribed into the civic rolls. From that moment, their voice is admitted to the council, and their honors are displayed upon their body: tags, cords, cloaks, or brands, each a mark of sacrifice recognized across the empire.

Those who die in service are inscribed likewise, their names read at festivals so that no sacrifice is forgotten. To serve and to fall is not to be lost, but to be preserved in Antioch’s memory, enduring as stone.

The Flame in Civic Life

The Sacred Flame is not an ornament but a presence. Every home keeps a hearth. Every village holds a brazier whose fire is drawn from the nearest temple. In cities, great flames burn in public courts and military garrisons alike, steady and unadorned. These fires are not extravagance but continuity: a visible reminder that Antioch lives so long as the flame is tended.

Life is measured by these fires. At funerals, names are spoken into flame as bodies are given to ash. At weddings, torches are crossed to bind covenant. At trials, braziers burn so that verdicts may be delivered in light. Festivals turn the empire outward in unity. The Festival of Remembrance fills the squares with lamps, each lit for one who has completed service, while their names are read aloud by council fire. The Festival of the Oathfire welcomes new citizens, their torches lit, their vows declared, their honors bestowed.

These moments are solemn rather than extravagant, yet they are the soul of Antioch. In such nights the empire glows like a constellation of steady fire.

Law and Punishment

Antioch’s law is exact and uncompromising. Trials are conducted in public halls, presided by magistrates who swear their office before flame. Sentences are delivered without delay, for hesitation breeds rot. Exile, branding, and death are the punishments for the gravest crimes. Corruption is not error but betrayal, judged as treason against both state and deity.

The law binds all equally. Citizens and residents stand alike before judgment, for the covenant is not privilege but order. The difference lies only in voice: all may live under Antioch’s law, but only the citizen may shape it.

Architecture and Memory

The empire’s architecture reflects the same clarity. Temples are built in colonnaded stone, fortress walls command the horizon, civic squares are arranged with fires set in measured balance. Ornament is restrained, weight is deliberate, endurance is prized above beauty.

Art does not exalt kings or generals. It honors service. Statues depict the soldier displaying his Silver Tag, the healer with her White Cord, the builder with his tower-sigil, the priestess raising torch in oath. Frescoes show legions lifting comrades from mud, midwives laboring in plague-tents, magistrates breaking chains of corruption. Nobility is sacrifice, and memory is carved not in crowns but in deeds.

The Bastion

Thus stands New Antioch: fortress of flame, covenant of service, and bastion of vigilance. It is the ultimate expression of meritocracy, stripped of inheritance, sharpened by duty, and sustained by faith. Its citizens are bound not by lineage but by the shared burden of sacrifice. Its legions march as the iron heart of the empire. Its priests tend the flame that is both symbol and covenant. Its council speaks with the proven voice of service.

Enemies may come with steel, famine, intrigue, or fire. They will break upon Antioch’s walls. Her citizens will take up torch and rifle, spade and gavel, cord and cloak. They will tend the flame, and the flame will endure.