Norms and Values:

There are no saints in Everwealth, The Great Schism made sure of that. Only those who lasted longer than they should have. The world rewards neither kindness nor cruelty, only usefulness. Cooperation is not a virtue here; It’s a weapon. A village that will not share its sleds learns quickly how deep winter can dig a grave. Folk work together not from trust, but from the cold arithmetic of survival. Strength earns respect, but cunning keeps you fed. Resilience is holy, but so is deceit when it saves your kin. The people of Everwealth admire the ones who find the dry path through a wet year, who trade a broken wheel for three days of food, who smile through rot and ruin because laughter wastes less than tears. Humor is armor here; we laugh not because it’s funny, but because it’s the only thing that still echoes back. Loyalty runs short, hearth, crew, oath-circle. Beyond that, trust frays. Kings rise, coalitions collapse, gods go silent. But the neighbor who shares his last lamp-oil, the farmer who hides a fugitive from the lash, these are the legends that outlive banners. Even slavery wears its logic like rusted jewelry, to own chains is wealth, to bear them misfortune, to break them heroism. The act matters more than the cause. In Everwealth, survival excuses much, but it is defiance that defines us. Every act of mercy is rebellion, every jest a refusal to bow. Our virtues are not lofty; they are sharpened for daily use. Cooperation, loyalty, cunning, humor, resilience. Tools, not ideals. Weapons, not words. And though the world is never fair, the folk who endure it have learned one truth worth singing: in Everwealth, decency is not born, it’s forged.