In the final days of Rome, wealth didn’t disappear. It simply detached from reality.

The rich grew richer, but they no longer built roads or armies. They built illusions. Their fortunes rose on paper while the foundation beneath them began to rot.

The state diluted its money to keep the people calm. Bread and games replaced duty and purpose. And the citizens convinced themselves it was progress.

They called their comfort “civilization.” They called their indulgence “enlightenment.”

No one believed they were living through a collapse. They thought they were entering a golden age.

But every empire learns the same truth in the end.

Decay never announces itself. It disguises itself as progress.

And by the time the people notice, the barbarians are already inside the walls.