In truth, it was a confession written for no audience, an attempt to anchor themselves to something real before the world shifted beyond recognition. The first open act came at dawn on a gray morning. Not a battle, but a refusal. A gate left unopened. A command unanswered. The sound it made was silence, and it rang louder than any alarm. By noon, blades were drawn. By nightfall, the streets belonged to fear.
Fires burned where light was never meant to be. Bells rang out of rhythm. People ran without knowing where safety lived anymore. And in the chaos, new traitors were born—not from ambition, but from desperation. Survival demanded choices, and choices demanded sacrifice. The gathering in the old hall had been only the beginning; now the entire city was learning the language of betrayal.
