The Power of Whispers

For the next few days, Atenzi was super busy. He split his time between the palace and the city, playing two roles: the king's trusted advisor and the mysterious stranger spreading hope.

In the mornings, he went to council meetings. He gave advice that seemed to help the king but actually made him look bad. He suggested "safety measures" that kept the king away from his people and proposed big, expensive parties that wasted money but didn't fix any real problems.

"Your Majesty," Atenzi said in one meeting, his voice sounding extra convincing, "the people are getting restless. How about a big tournament to celebrate your great rule? It'll cheer everyone up and remind them how strong the Sovereign Lands are."

Henry's eyes lit up. "Yes! Brilliant, Atenzi! We'll have the biggest games ever. Spare no expense!"

Atenzi bowed, hiding his smirk. Another step towards bringing down Henry's rule, and the king was doing it to himself.

In the afternoons and evenings, Atenzi wandered the city. He visited bars, markets, workshops, and temples. Everywhere he went, he listened for people talking about his made-up prophecy. When the time was right, he'd add more to the story.

In a rough dockside bar, he heard two sailors arguing about the rumors.

"I'm telling you, there's something to it," one said. "My cousin's wife's brother knows a guy who saw something in the sky. A sign, he says."

The other sailor laughed. "A sign? What, did the moons spell out 'Hero Coming Soon' or something?"

Atenzi sidled up to the bar next to them. As he waited for his drink, he spoke like he was thinking out loud, but loud enough for the sailors to hear.

"You know, I heard about a strange light over the Eastern Sea. Like a star falling to earth, they say. Happened just last week, if the stories are true."

He took his drink and walked away, smiling as he heard the sailors start arguing again with new energy.

In the Temple of the Faded Gods, Atenzi pretended to pray. When a young priest walked by, Atenzi grabbed his arm.

"Excuse me," Atenzi said softly, "but I need guidance. Have you heard anything about a big change coming? A... restoration, maybe?"

The young priest's eyes went wide. "You... you've heard the whispers too? I thought... but no, we're not supposed to talk about it."

Atenzi leaned in, sounding urgent. "Please, I need to know. What have you heard?"

After hesitating, the priest looked around and then started whispering. Atenzi listened carefully, nodding at the right times. When the young man finished, Atenzi shook his hand warmly.

"Thank you, my friend. You've given me a lot to think about. May the gods smile on you."

As Atenzi left the temple, he allowed himself a small, victorious grin. The priest's version of the "prophecy" was way more detailed than anything Atenzi had started. The story was growing and changing on its own.

On the fifth day, Atenzi noticed a change in the city's mood. People in the streets seemed more excited. He heard phrases like "the coming storm," "a new dawn," and "the true heir" that he hadn't started himself.

Things were changing in the palace too. Servants exchanged knowing looks when they thought no one was watching. Nobles huddled in corners, stopping their talks when others came close.

Atenzi knew it was time to push things further.

That evening, he went to a fancy bar where minor nobles and rich merchants hung out. He sat at the bar next to one of the king's tax collectors, who was already pretty drunk. Perfect.

Atenzi turned to the man, speaking just loud enough for nearby tables to hear. "Excuse me, friend, but you look worried. Can I ask what's bothering you?"

The tax collector looked at Atenzi with bleary eyes. "Huh? Oh, it's... it's nothing. Just the usual headaches of serving our... great king." The last words sounded bitter.

Atenzi nodded sympathetically. "These are tough times, for sure. But you know, I've heard better days are coming."

The tax collector snorted. "Better days? Have you seen how empty the treasury is? The king's latest crazy idea will bankrupt us, mark my words."

"Ah," Atenzi said, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret, "but what if the king's rule is almost over? Not through violence, mind you. But through... let's call it divine intervention."

The tax collector's bloodshot eyes widened. "You mean... the prophecy? You've heard it too?"

Atenzi allowed a small smile. "More than heard, my friend. I've seen signs. The stars are lining up, the old texts are speaking. Change is coming to the Sovereign Lands, and sooner than many think."

He stood up, putting a hand on the tax collector's shoulder. As he did, he used a carefully measured dose of Lashon Kesef, just enough to make his next words sound completely true.

"Remember this," Atenzi said, his voice sounding powerful, "When the twin moons line up and the sea turns silver, the true heir will show himself. The one who can command with a word, who has the mark of destiny. Watch for him, for he will lead us out of darkness."

With that, Atenzi turned and walked away, leaving the tax collector staring after him. As he left the bar, he could already hear excited whispers spreading through the room.

The walk back to the palace was a blur. Atenzi's head was pounding, each step sending pain through his skull. He had pushed Lashon Kesef to its limit tonight, and his body was making him pay for it.

As he stumbled through the palace gates, he nearly fell over from dizziness. Atenzi barely made it to his room before the full backlash hit him.

He collapsed onto his bed, his body shaking violently. Blood flowed freely from his nose now, staining the fancy silk sheets.

For hours, he drifted in and out of consciousness, having fever dreams. He saw visions of the world he'd left behind mixed with glimpses of possible futures—some glorious, others terrifying.

When Atenzi finally woke up, weak sunlight was coming through his window. His throat felt like he'd swallowed broken glass, and when he tried to speak, only a hoarse whisper came out.

A knock at the door startled him. "My lord?" a servant called. "The king wants you in the council room right away."

Atenzi tried to answer but couldn't make a sound. Panic flared in his chest. Had he finally gone too far?

With shaking hands, he wrote a note: "Not feeling well. Will come as soon as I can." He slipped it under the door, hearing the servant walk away moments later.

Atenzi fell back onto the bed, his mind racing despite how exhausted he felt. He needed time to recover, but he couldn't afford to lose the momentum he'd built. And now, with his voice gone, his most powerful tool was temporarily out of reach.

For the first time since coming to this strange world, Atenzi felt a flicker of doubt. He had set things in motion that he might not be able to control. If he couldn't get his voice back soon, everything he'd worked for could fall apart.

As if answering his fears, a commotion erupted in the hallway outside his room. Raised voices, the sound of armored footsteps.

Atenzi forced himself to his feet, swaying as he made his way to the door. He opened it to find chaos. Servants ran back and forth, their faces pale with fear. Guards marched past in formation, their expressions grim.

A passing maid noticed Atenzi and skidded to a halt. "My lord! Haven't you heard? The city is in an uproar! There are riots in the streets, people calling for a new king, for the 'true heir' to reveal himself!"

Atenzi's eyes widened. He had expected his whispers to spread, but not this quickly, not this intensely. He gestured for the maid to continue, miming writing to show he couldn't speak.

The maid, flustered, continued, "They say the signs have come true. The twin moons lined up last night, and fishermen swear the sea turned silver at dawn. Now everyone's looking for this prophesied leader who can 'command with a word'."

Atenzi felt a chill run down his spine. He hadn't made up those particular details—they must have been added by others as the story spread. Yet they had come true anyway. Was it just coincidence, or was there more going on here than he understood?

He gestured for paper and ink, which the maid quickly brought. In a shaky hand, he wrote: "Where is the king?"

"In the great hall, my lord," the maid replied. "He's called an emergency meeting of all nobles and officials. I think he plans to speak to the people from the balcony after."

Atenzi nodded his thanks, dismissing the maid. He closed the door and leaned against it, his mind spinning. This was his chance, the perfect opportunity to take control. But without his voice, without Lashon Kesef, how could he take advantage of it?

He looked at himself in a nearby mirror. His face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes showing how rough the night had been. Dried blood was around his nose and mouth. He looked, he realized with grim amusement, like a man who had been through hell and back. Or, maybe, like a prophesied savior who had endured great trials to fulfill his destiny.

A plan began to form in Atenzi's mind. It was risky, relying more on showmanship and the power of belief than on any magical abilities. But if he could pull it off...

With renewed determination, Atenzi began to prepare. He washed the blood from his face but left the pale, tired look—signs of his "ordeal." He put on his best robes, but left them a bit messy, as if he'd rushed to answer some divine call.

As a final touch, he took a small knife and, gritting his teeth against the pain, carved a small symbol on the back of his hand—a rough drawing of the twin moons over a wavy line. The "mark of destiny" the people would be looking for.

Ready now, Atenzi left his room and headed towards the great hall. Nobles and officials rushed past him, too worried about their own fears to pay him much attention. All the better—let his entrance be a surprise.

As he got close to the huge doors of the great hall, Atenzi could hear King Henry's voice, high-pitched with panic, echoing inside.

"...will not tolerate this rebellion! I am your rightful king, chosen by—"

Atenzi pushed the doors open, the heavy wood creaking in protest. All eyes turned to him as he walked into the hall, his steps measured and deliberate despite how weak he felt.

King Henry, red-faced and sweating on his throne, stopped talking mid-sentence. The gathered nobles and officials parted before Atenzi, whispers of confusion and speculation rippling through the crowd.

Atenzi approached the throne, his eyes locked on Henry. The king's expression quickly changed from shock to relief to, as understanding dawned, absolute terror.

"You," Henry whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet hall. "It was you all along, wasn't it?"

Atenzi said nothing—could say nothing, his voice still gone. But he allowed a small, mysterious smile to play across his lips as he raised his hand, showing the crude symbol he'd carved there.

A gasp ran through the assembled crowd. "The mark!" someone cried out. "He has the mark of destiny!"

As if on cue, the doors to the balcony burst open, letting in a rush of sound from the city beyond. The roar of a huge crowd, chanting words that sent a shiver down Atenzi's spine:

"True heir! True heir! True heir!"

Atenzi turned to face the balcony, gesturing for silence. Despite his lack of Lashon Kesef, despite not saying a single word, the crowd outside fell quiet, as if by magic.

In that moment of perfect silence, King Henry's nerve finally broke. "Take it!" he cried, yanking the crown from his head and thrusting it towards Atenzi. "Take the cursed thing! I never wanted it anyway!"

Atenzi accepted the crown solemnly, holding it up for all to see. Then, slowly and deliberately, he placed it on his own head.

The roar from the crowd was deafening, a tidal wave of sound that shook the very foundations of the palace. Nobles fell to their knees, pledging loyalty to their new king. Officials who moments ago had been loyal to Henry now looked at Atenzi with awe and adoration.

As Atenzi stepped out onto the balcony, bathed in the cheers of the masses below, a single thought cut through the triumph and excitement:

What have I unleashed?

Because in his quest for power, in his determination to overthrow the cosmic game masters, Atenzi had tapped into something far older and more potent than Lashon Kesef.

He had harnessed the power of belief itself, and now he rode atop a tidal wave of faith that threatened to sweep away everything in its path.

Including, perhaps, Atenzi himself.