"They thought they could destroy the cycle of injustice. But all they did was replace it with a new one. One that will be stronger and more cruel than the one that came before."
- Anonymous Citizen after the night of the failed uprising.
Longer than history can remember...
Few realize how long the history of civilization was—older than the written word. Nomadic tribes would forage the lands for food and shelter, always seeking to bind themselves to something greater. Something more. Throughout the early ages, fledgling societies and even kingdoms would rise, only to collapse into ruin, their knowledge lost, their people reduced to warring factions due to greed, envy and fear. Time and again. The only evidence of their cultures ever existing were the temples, castles and other great structures they left behind. Empty husks. Some of which were lost to time. Others which survived, almost as if they wished to serve as a grim reminder of what could have been. Over time, what endured was not hope, but despair over the failure to become more than what they were.
What endured in those times was not hope for a better future, but the failure to achieve it. It was only when the ancestors of the Nobility emerged and took rule, that a permanence of order and stability would slowly begin to take shape.
Few deny that it was ancestors of the Nobility who ended the tribal wars and brought lasting peace. Yet some whisper that peace might have come on its own, without the need for conquest, had the other tribes been given more time to find that peace themselves, if they had been been given more time to make their own choices. And their own mistakes. Those whispers never faded, and as the centuries passed, some of those whispers grew stronger.
A great system was created. One that brought peace to a broken land that had been ravaged by centuries of endless conflicts and bloodshed. Yet as generations passed, the fruits of that peace began to ripen unevenly.
Perhaps the creators of the system never meant for it to be so unequal. So cruel. But intent meant little as the system quietly tilted in one direction. Generation after generation, one side gathered more wealth and power, while the other was left with less. Less wealth, less voice… less hope. That imbalance, that inequality, deepened like low pressure in the sky, and beneath it, a storm began to form. Slow, silent, and inevitable.
Until one fateful night, in a city seen as the symbol of peace and order in a powerful nation, that storm broke.
The disillusioned chose violence as their voice. And champion. But violence was neither a voice nor a champion. It was a blunt weapon. And in the confusion, many of those harmed were not enemies, but allies. Nobles who had listened, who had passionately advocated for change. A change that did not benefit them, but one they still championed, because they believed it was right. Many of them died alongside those who never cared. The tragedy of their fate being… they died because they did care.
Few among the Common-born realized that many of those who fell that night were the same ones quietly labouring on their behalf. trying to bring about incremental reforms to benefit those not born of Noble blood. Some had even used the power and privilege they had to shield those common-borns from harsher punishments in the past, without them ever realizing it. Violence, meant to liberate them, had now left them more isolated than before.
he insurrection failed. Its charismatic leader believed dead and their followers scattered, yet the night left a stain that could not be washed away. Until that night, their cause had slowly, but steadily, been gaining support. Even the most wary of onlookers had begun to express sympathy and support for their cause. But in one night, the actions of a brazen few—those who believed they had been ignored, exploited and forgotten for too long— tainted that cause. Nobles who had once felt sympathy, saw that sympathy turn to shock. And in the aftermath, that shock for many, would turn into anger and distrust. Meanwhile, some common-borns initially expressed support for the uprising, unaware of the true extent of the damage inflicted. When they found out, many were horrified, and tried to recant their earlier support for what had happened. Some even tried to reach out to those most affected by what had happened, to try and offer support and help in any way they could. But many were met with the same distrust and contempt they had previously shown those of Noble blood. Many were so accustomed to being angry at Nobles for so long, that they did not know how to respond to the anger of Nobles towards them. Especially those who had once supported them. In response, many tried to avoid contact with those who were of Noble blood, creating a deeper divide between the two classes. Open conversation and debate, once encouraged, was now looked upon with suspicion. As a result, in the days that followed, many could feel a strange new silence begin to take shape in the streets. Some believed that the silence was a new normalcy. A new peace. One that they hoped would last. Others knew that the new silence which had settled across the heart of the nation was not peace. And that it would not last. And with that understanding, some began to remember a cautionary tale they once heard…
“Anger can make anyone believe their cause is just.”
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