Frysia

Frysia was the heart of the continent once, the place where nations came to talk because the Millennium Bearer sat there. Then came the night the world calls the Betrayal. By morning the stone was in an enemy vault and the occupation had begun.

The country is split three ways now. Vryehelm in the south is free on paper and watched from every roof. Rovengaard in the north is camps and stripped mines under Arcadian guard. Ijzerberg in the east is the mine three nations share, and the one nation that gets nothing from it is Frysia.

The F on the inside of the forearm is a sentence. The occupation stamps it on Frysians it has decided are a problem. Camp escapees. Children of people who spoke up. Anyone caught with the old faith. Anyone an officer wants gone. High ranking Frysians never receive it. Once you carry it, no school, no employer, and no checkpoint lets you forward, so the marked end up in the camps, the smuggling routes, or the resistance, which is exactly what the mark was meant to prove.

The real war is between Frysians. Covenant Frysians take Britannian jobs and army contracts, keep their arms clean, and call it survival. The camps have a shorter word. House Adamaris sits on that split, a father who sold Frysian boys into Britannian wars and a daughter who died trying to undo it, and both sides claim the name.

The faith went underground because it is illegal. In the south the faithful have started saying the stone is calling early.