Seeds of Revolution

"Hurry everyone, I have an announcement to make," Gabriel stated to Henry.

Henry answered, "Yeah, yes, My Lord."

Henry said, "Everyone gather around; Lord Gabriel has an announcement to make," as he headed outside Gabriel's chamber.

In a little while, everyone gathers in Gabriel's chamber.

The tight atmosphere in Gabriel's Chamber was only broken by the repetitive clinking of cups and the murmur of quiet talks. The flickering oil lamp created long shadows on the rough-hewn wooden tables. Gabriel stands in front, his face etched with a mix of fatigue and a glimmer of something fresh: hope. 

Launch his statement.

The days of raucous parties and laughter were long gone. The toll of fifteen years of unrelenting resistance against the tyrannical Empire was high. The severe realities of a life lived in the shadows were written on the gloomy faces gathered around the tables. His second-in-command, Henry, was a guy whose allegiance was as piercing as the axe he was carrying. Anya, the ferocious archer, had the steely gleam of a winter storm in her eyes. Others had names like a muttered litany of sacrifices: Elara the healer, whose touch was a salve for physical wounds but helpless against the hopelessness that gnawed at their souls; Tomas the strategist, wounded from innumerable conflicts.

The sound of Gabriel clearing his throat reverberated throughout the space. There was a pause in conversation as everyone fixed their focus on their leader. He was a guy of few words, hardened by a lifetime of adversity. But there was a flash of something different in his eyes tonight.

He said, "Everyone, I have an announcement to make," in a quiet yet confident tone.

A whisper echoed around the space. Gabriel rarely made announcements; when he did, it was usually in the context of a new mission or a shift in strategy. This felt different, though. There was a spark of excitement in the air.

"We have battled in the shadows for fifteen years," Gabriel said, his voice heaving with the weight of the past. An ember flickered against the iron hand of the Empire. We shed tears and lost loved ones for a cause that didn't seem to have any hope."

Anya arched her brow and leaned forward. "What are you saying, Gabriel?"

He looked up at her, taking a deep breath. "There... there might be hope after all."

The room gave a collective gasp. Hope? Among them, the word had become alien, a fading relic from a period before the cruel reign of the Empire.

"I have a letter that I received," Gabriel said, raising his voice. "From Kieran, the King's personal guard, a man we all believed dead."

The faces around the table were painted by shock. After fifteen years, where has Kieran, a symbol of undying commitment, disappeared? The narrative was too good to be true. "He says, "GGabriel hesitated, a momentary constriction in his throat. "He says the prince... Prince Aurelius... is alive."

A riot of noise erupted in the room. Bewilderment, almost to the point of fury. How is that possible? Was the prince, who was thought to have died along with his father, the King, still alive? Screams replaced the whispers, accusations tinged with a last-ditch hope that tore at their hearts.

With a slap of his scarred hand on the table, Tomas bellowed, "Is this some trickery, Gabriel?" "Are you trying to lift our spirits with a false hope?"

Gabriel met his gaze without fear. "No, Tomas. That's not what I would do. Neither would Kieran. The man gesturing towards Baron is the one delivering it. He is a hunter from the Vorgath tribe, and as you are aware, tribesmen are not required to tell lies to us."

Again, there was a strained quiet, heavier than before. The realization weighed heavily on them, causing a tempest to build inside their worn-out hearts.

"But... but how?" Elara trembled, her voice a whisper in the large room.

Gabriel acknowledged, "The letter doesn't go into detail." "But it says the prince has been hidden, trained, and preparing for this day."

He looked around him, looking for a glimmer of the same hope that had come to him. He saw the light ignite again in their eyes, a cautious optimism replacing their incredulity.

"Kieran also says that the prince is coming to us," Gabriel added, his voice full of fresh, passionate energy. "He's coming to lead us, to reclaim what is rightfully his—the throne of Zarkenia!"

A ragged, then progressively stronger, cheer erupted from the room. Anya felt a wave of mixed emotions come over her, causing tears to fill up in her eyes. Never one to smile much, Tomas's smile stretched across his face like a daybreak. With a sense of purpose, Elara started gathering herbs for a feast to celebrate, her hands shaking slightly.

A group of jaded rebels known as the Silver Ravens were once again active. Once flickering, the coals of insurrection had now been stoked into a blazing bonfire. Hope was spoken again, a language long lost. And Gabriel stood among them, his heart full of a fresh sense of direction.

Gabriel exclaimed, "This isn't just about vengeance."

News of this broke like wildfire over the entire empire. 

Eldoria, the once-grand metropolis of Zarkenia, now a dilapidated monument to the ruthless rule of the Empire, was filled with howling winds. Cradled in a ragged brown cloak, a lone person crept through the alleyways, holding a piece of parchment in his callused hand. This was Finn, a youthful apprentice blacksmith, before his life was destroyed by the iron grip of the Empire. He was now a messenger, a spark in the rebellion's escalating fire.

He came to a secret tavern tucked under a collapsing arch. Inside, the smell of sour ale and desperation filled the air. Men and women, their faces scarred by adversity, huddled together in corners and whispered to one another. Finn looked around the room, his gaze darting until it settled on the elderly man, Old Man Thorne, who had a beard resembling matted steel.

"Finn," in a raspy voice as scratchy as sandpaper, said Thorne. "Updates? from the Baltimore Ravens?"

Finn nodded, his heart racing with both excitement and anxiety. As he unfolded the parchment, the aged material crackled beneath his fingers. "There's... there's hope, Thorne."

As Finn started talking, there was a gasp around the tavern. He brought the news that Prince Aurelius, the apparent heir apparent to the Zarkesian throne, had been declared to have lived for fifteen years. After the first shock, there was a barrage of questions, with whispers flying out like a swarm of restless bees.

"A prince? Are you certain, boy? Not another falsehood from the Empire?" With a blacksmith's hammer still gripped in his hand, Gregor, a strong man from a previous life, burst into view.

Finn grew more insistent, "No, Gregor," in his voice. "The Silver Ravens wrote the letter. They would not mislead people. They claim that the prince will arrive to guide us."

A woman by the name of Elara moved forward; years of sadness reddened around her eyes. "What difference does it make, even if it's true? We have battled for leftovers, lost loved ones... what is a prince capable of that we have not?"

"Elara, hope," thundered Thorne, his voice soaring above the clamor. "What we've lost is hope. The Empire feeds off our hopelessness. This prince, a representation of our legitimate monarch, might be the catalyst for a revolt throughout Zarkenia."

His words resonated with their hearts' need and lingered heavy in the air. Anya, a young woman, smashed her fist on the table, her eyes flaming with a fresh passion.

Thorne is correct! We had been squabbling like a swarm of ants. But we may form an army with a prince as our head!"

A roomful of people murmured their agreement. Once dormant, the seed of hope had sprouted. Finn saw the sadness change into determination, the whispers becoming shouts. People who had lost everything and given up to the oppressive power of the Empire were starting to reawaken.

Gregor said, "We need to spread the word," his voice full of newly discovered determination. "Every town, village, and area in Zarkenia must be aware of this. The prince is returning home and is still alive!"

A desperate hope drove hasty plans to be made. They sent out runners, who passed the word along like a torch through the night. In a silent call to arms, messages were scrawled on bits of paper and tucked into their homes' walls. The once-lost murmurs turned into a rallying cry.

"For Zarkenia!" Finn yelled and pumped his fist into the air.

He was repeated by the others, their voices a chorus of defiance that shook the pub and sent shivers down the windswept streets. Word of mouth would spread, spoken in low tones beneath the watchful eyes of the Empire's warriors and carried on the backs of exhausted travelers. It would not be a tidy, planned uprising. It would be a thousand little acts of rebellion, a desert fire consuming the earth.

The city lights appeared a little brighter, and the wind was a little less biting as Finn tiptoed out of the tavern. Hope had flared, even under the shadow of Eldoria's collapsing walls. The dream of a free Zarkenia was arriving with the prince. Though there was still a long way to go and plenty of blood and sacrifice to make, they were finally living rather than merely existing after fifteen years. Their battle was for survival.