Chapter 43 Arkanum Veritas (4)
In the narrow alley behind Langit Market, night slowly descends as a group of people gathers in profound silence. They stand amidst weathered walls entwined with moss, listening to the sounds of mice breaking the stillness. Though they are neither soldiers, nobles, nor wizards, they share one thing in common: a sense of loss. In the midst of doubt and sorrow, Elena, a middle-aged woman with neatly rolled hair and a faded red shawl, takes her place among them.
With a thin piece of cloth in her hand bearing obscure words, Elena stands tall. She does not need to shout; the loud voices that have echoed for years have never provided the answers they seek. In that moment of tension, Elena exudes a powerful charisma, beginning her speech with a steady whisper that fills the quiet space with messages more stirring than the chimes of the Prayer House.
"Our masters are dead. But you do not weep for their loss. You weep out of confusion about who will rule next. I have not come to provide the answer. I have come to ask—why must there always be a master? Why must we continue to live in this suffocating shadow of power?"
Elena then gazed into the eyes of her listeners, her thoughts and feelings merging in a silence filled with intensity. She continued, imploring and fiery, "We do not need to wait for answers from those in power! We are the oppressed voice, yet we can rise! What we need is rebellion—not only against them but also against the despair that binds us!"
Her words resonated deeply within them. As she spoke, Elena passionately recounted the death of her child, taken by a war that was not of his choosing, and her husband's demise due to an oath he never wanted. In their hearts, a million feelings intertwined, forging a strong bond of solidarity among them.
Her words resonated deeply within them. As she continued, Elena recounted with burning spirit the death of her child, taken by a war that was not of his choosing, and her husband's death due to an oath he completely rejected. In comparison to the injustices she witnessed, this city—like a doll without substance—remained standing, preserved amidst every piece that had been lost.
"My child died due to a war that was not his. My husband died because of an oath that was not his. Yet this city... stands resilient. Like a doll without substance."
In the tense silence, Elena lifted her fabric, allowing the red thread along its edge to flutter in the cold wind enveloping the alley. Around her, some people began to weep, while others clasped their hands tightly, as if afraid they might explode with the emotions they were holding back. Amidst them, a sense of connection and solidarity began to grow, becoming increasingly clear within the cries of Elena's heart.
The speech delivered in a soft voice became a symbol of hope, a call for change. She ignited the spirit of rebellion among them, fanning the embers within the wounded souls. Their bond to one another was solidified by the promised red thread. Each whisper from Elena awakened an awareness of the social relations torn apart by power, making them feel the tremors and uniting their will to fight.