By the summer of 1793, the Kingdom of Aragon had become something entirely new. Not just in substance, but in soul. What began as sketches in a prince's study had become the beating heart of a nation—thundering with piston, spark, and steel.
Beyond the city limits, iron rails crisscrossed the countryside. Steel bridges spanned rivers where only ferries had once dared. Telegraph poles marched like sentinels across the land, humming with messages about harvests, trade, and innovations. In workshops across Toledo, Zaragoza, and Segovia, belts turned, gears clicked, and hammers rang—not in isolation, but in harmony. The kingdom had become a machine, and every citizen, willingly or not, was now part of its rhythm.
Even the nobility had changed.
