"Those who try to force change through vengeance often find they have not broken the cycle, but fed it—creating a new cycle—one more cruel and twisted than the one they sought to end."
- Anonymous Citizen upon seeing the aftermath of the failed uprising.
Before the eight nations came into being...
Long ago, the world was wild—its peoples scattered, warring, and leaderless. Tribes clashed for pride and survival, and the land bled endlessly. It is said that the seemingly endless wars would eventually lead to the extinction of all tribes. Such a day would never come to pass as the ancestors of the Nobility rose from this chaos, not as conquerors, but as stewards of order. Their reign began with fire and sword—but from their violence came peace. And from their dominion, order.
A great system was born: vast, intricate, enduring. It brought unity to a broken land. Yet as generations passed, the fruits of that peace ripened unevenly. Inherited responsibility would soon become inherited privilege. The descendants of those first rulers rose ever higher, borne upward by law and lineage. And the common citizens, though no longer at war, began to endure a different battle.
Perhaps the creators of the system never meant for it to be 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 land, 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 sacred cradle of a powerful nation, that storm broke.
They 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, who had stood at the precipice of losing all they held dear to fight for what they believed to be right. They died alongside those who never cared. The tragedy of their fate being —they died because they did care.
The insurrection failed. Its leader believed perished and their followers scattered. But the damage was done. The wounds and trauma of that night still remained. Trust, once fragile, was now broken. Many who were lost that night did not deserve the fate they met. That truth caused some to remember a cautionary tale they once heard:
“Even monsters can bleed from wounds they did not deserve — and some will carry those scars like weapons.”
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