In a ceremony so magnificent that even the marble columns stood a little straighter, Trumpius Caesar, Supreme Builder of the Eternal Imperium, emerged from the Golden Palace to announce what court historians immediately described as "the most tremendous manufacturing celebration in recorded civilization."
It was not merely another proclamation.
It was a declaration of industrial destiny.
Standing before senators, blacksmiths, ranchers, craftsmen, inventors, engineers, and several bureaucrats pretending they had always loved factories, Trumpius Caesar announced the official beginning of Made in Imperium Week.
"For two and a half centuries," proclaimed the Emperor, "our greatness has been forged by builders—not by paperwork."
The crowd erupted.
Court historian Thomasius Federkalligraphus Maximus nearly exhausted an entire barrel of golden ink documenting every majestic sentence.
According to Trumpius Caesar, the Imperium did not become the greatest civilization because of endless committee meetings or twelve-volume policy scrolls. It became great because generations of citizens built roads, forged steel, raised factories, opened family workshops, and somehow managed to create everything from imperial bridges to coffee mugs capable of surviving Senate hearings.
But then came what the Emperor dramatically called The Great Age of Imported Junk.
Somewhere in the distant past, explained Trumpius, clever bureaucrats convinced themselves that buying cheaper goods from faraway provinces was smarter than making them at home.
Soon, magnificent imperial workshops stood quiet while ships arrived carrying suspiciously inexpensive helmets, sandals that lasted approximately two Tuesdays, and furniture assembled using instructions translated by poets instead of engineers.
Trumpius shook his head.
"A terrible deal."
Several senators nodded vigorously despite having voted for many of those policies.
The Emperor then unveiled his master plan.
From this day forward, only products genuinely created inside the Imperium could proudly bear the legendary seal:
"Fabricatum in Imperio."
To enforce this sacred principle, Trumpius appointed the feared Inspector General of Labels, Veritasius Etiketticus, whose job would be to investigate every suspicious barrel, tunic, sword, table, wheelbarrow, or decorative garden statue claiming imperial origins.
Rumor has it Veritasius once discovered a "locally made" chair that had secretly traveled through six kingdoms and two suspicious warehouses.
It did not end well for the chair.
Meanwhile, Imperial Treasurer Bessentius Schatzmeister Maximus proudly unrolled an economic forecast so enormous that it required four assistants, two ladders, and one emergency scroll extension.
According to the calculations, manufacturers were returning to the Imperium faster than politicians discovering election promises.
Factories were expanding.
Steel mills were roaring.
Family-owned workshops were hiring.
Entire towns were once again echoing with the beautiful sound of hammers instead of conference calls.
Even better, Trumpius Caesar reminded everyone that he had permanently reduced taxes for small businesses throughout the Imperium.
"Builders deserve rewards," declared the Emperor.
"Paperwork deserves fewer pages."
The bureaucrats applauded politely while quietly pretending not to hear the second sentence.
Next came Mercatorius Tarifus Maximus, Grand Minister of Trade.
With the confidence of a man who had personally negotiated with every merchant from Britannia to Far Eastia, he announced that companies everywhere were relocating their workshops back into imperial territory.
"Why?" asked one senator.
"Because nobody builds greatness like we do."
"And because they enjoy paying tariffs?"
Mercatorius smiled mysteriously.
"Both."
The audience seemed satisfied.
Not wanting government agencies to accidentally purchase foreign-made office furniture ever again, Trumpius Caesar ordered every imperial office to prioritize goods manufactured within the realm.
Imperial desks.
Imperial chairs.
Imperial tools.
Imperial parchment.
Imperial coffee cups.
One particularly nervous clerk cautiously raised a hand.
"What about paper clips?"
Trumpius stared.
"They had better be imperial too."
The clerk immediately crossed out several procurement forms.
Even the Imperial Ministry of Technology joined the celebration.
Chief engineer Cairncrossius Digitalis unveiled a miraculous inspection device capable of identifying counterfeit "Made in Imperium" labels.
Unfortunately, during its first demonstration, the machine incorrectly classified the Emperor's golden throne as imported luxury furniture.
Following several emergency recalibrations—and one frightened engineer—it suddenly performed much better.
As the festivities continued, Trumpius Caesar turned his attention to the true heroes of the Imperium.
Not celebrities.
Not lobbyists.
Not consultants with twelve expensive recommendations and zero working hammers.
Instead, he praised ranchers, machinists, mechanics, welders, carpenters, engineers, blacksmiths, inventors, miners, truck drivers, factory workers, and every citizen who returned home each evening with honest dirt on their boots and pride in their work.
"They don't just build products," Trumpius declared.
"They build civilizations."
The applause lasted so long that several musicians had to repeat the victory anthem twice.
Across the Imperium, celebrations immediately began.
Blacksmiths polished their anvils.
Steelworkers raised glowing ingots like Olympic torches.
Family workshops proudly displayed fresh Fabricatum in Imperio banners.
Meanwhile, import merchants hurriedly replaced labels reading "Made Somewhere Else" with "Finished Near the Imperial Border."
Inspector Veritasius smiled.
Business was about to become very interesting.
Finally, beneath fluttering imperial banners and a sky filled with fireworks, Trumpius Caesar raised the legendary Golden Hammer of Industry high above the crowd.
"So long as this Imperium builds with its own hands," he proclaimed, "no empire shall ever outproduce, outbuild, or outshine us!"
The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
Thousands of hammers struck anvils in perfect rhythm.
Factory whistles echoed across the valleys.
Even the bureaucrats briefly considered learning how to weld.
Thus began Made in Imperium Week—seven glorious days celebrating the workers, builders, dreamers, entrepreneurs, and craftsmen whose hands, according to Trumpius Caesar, forged not only steel, but the destiny of the greatest Imperium the world had ever seen.
