𝖊𝖌𝖔 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉

 (𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭)

How I sat upon my throne, though chipped and unpolished, was still a lit to my existence. A life that shan't be forgotten. 

I’d carve myself back into history, repurpose and rekindle these old buildings to their former glory. 

I was yet to be defeated in any battle, though old tellers would say I ran from the battlefield, they had no say in my marvel. I reshaped humanity to my fist, and yet all has changed to worsened days with my absence. Trade now flourishes but without my command uprisings seem of interest. I was the sole controller, but now I’ve been discarded for these feeble minded rulers with nothing but pretty mouths.

Why conquer with speech when a war cry can project the same message?

Insolent in their rule, they know nothing of battle and the euphoria of slaughter. Such unbearing men don’t showcase the true potential I unlocked. The inhabitants of these kingdoms are blind to their rulers’ inabilities to strive for a greater existence, shriveling away in small cottages as kings and queens hide behind their words to create a false peace. They wait and lie, too scared to break the never ending cycle that I tore from my kingdom.

Why keep a veil then it’s easily seen through? If they wish to escape their wheel of mediocrity, then they need me to unlock the gate to greatness once more.

Whispers move around me fluidly, cutting the stale air of the temple. Lost thought, I was unable to notice the cries of simplicity that thickened the air. Though I would not have paid them much attention as simplicity is a pitiful standard.

The peace I laid, though harsh and chaotic, kept all in control, and wasn’t a force that could be cut by mere words, but blades of refined steel. 

Children frolic carelessly, but to what extent will these rulers’ allow disobedience? If all are happy, not all is right.

(𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖉)