The old capital, Casablanca.
As a former capital, it had a rather poor reputation, because its time as the capital had coincided with the Empire's deepest decline.
Vast numbers of territories had declared independence, the Empire had teetered on the brink of collapse, and rebellions had erupted one after another.
Back then, the entire Empire had felt like a great edifice about to crumble beneath a sky of looming storm clouds.
And naturally, Casablanca had been inseparable from all of this. It had been the Empire's capital, the gathering place of the king, nobles, and wealthy magnates of the time. They were, of course, equally implicated in what the Empire had become. Its entire ruling class had seemingly abandoned their duties, fighting over power and wealth, forming factions, and indulging in extravagant pleasures.
Precisely because of this, Casablanca itself had become a city of staggering luxury and excess. Everywhere one looked, the buildings were lavish, dazzling, and beautiful.
Every imaginable form of art had flourished there.
It had the Empire's largest opera house and stage, along with an enormous botanical garden that looked as though it had been sculpted from crystal. It was nothing short of a perfect paradise of decadent luxury.
The Empire had continued like this until Queen Victoria II ascended the throne.
She had led her army through Casablanca, slaughtering until blood ran in rivers. The blood of those corrupt nobles had flooded its beautiful streets, and their corpses had hung from its magnificent streetlamps. In a single night, the once-dazzling city had become a silent graveyard.
Afterward, the Queen had begun her plan to relocate the capital, eventually moving it to Fog City. To her, Casablanca symbolized everything most depraved, evil, and disgraceful about the Empire. She had never even intended to return. With the relocation