This kingdom is dedicated to three different groups of people.
The first are the high society, haughty, self-centered beings who think they have the right to crush everyone below them because of their rank. To be noble is to be above. Above the commoners who serve them, above the merchants who pander to their desires, above anyone who dares to challenge their authority. They act as though their wealth protects the decay in their souls. They believe that their lavish celebrations, stuffed palaces, and luxuries can cover up who they really are, but their icy stares reveal what is true.
Their joy extends to hallways built on the miseries of others, while they are the first ones to take advantage of any chance to make fun of the poor commoners.
Next are the merchants, who are said to be the basis of this kingdom, but all they do is drain it. Overhead, hungry hawks circle, constantly searching for the next bargain to fill their pockets. The flimsy mask of their grins hardly hides the burning desire that motivates them to profit from those who are weak and impoverished. Their hands get dirtier with each illegal activity, and they get fatter with every penny they take from their clients.
They refer to themselves as businessmen, yet their only skill is ripping off others.
Lastly, there are the ordinary people—poor, desolate beings who would prefer to keep quiet than push themselves above their lowly status. The only thing they will ever know is where they belong. Too modest to ask for more than trash, too afraid to challenge their superiors. They will submit, obey, and do anything that is required of them, no matter how ridiculous or humiliating. With hardly a second thought, they will lay down their lives as easily as they lay down their pride, for what is life without food but a slow, agonizing death?
They are born to obey, to suffer, and to die.
Every group contributes to the rot that infects this realm in particular. The regular people, merchants, and nobles are all corrupt in some way. And they are all worthy of nothing but loathing.
However, the answer to the question of which group I belong to is straightforward. I belong to the first group of people—no, I am beyond that.
I am royalty. Royalty, and all the pride that comes with it.
It's something that sets me apart from the miserable majority and is more than just a heritage. I have the right to eliminate anyone who believes they can confront me, the luxury to indulge, and the authority to command.
I stand above them, but I am no better. I am poisoned by the same arrogance, the same entitlement that fills the hearts of every noble in this kingdom. My family, my bloodline, they wear their title like a mask, hiding the rot within. And I? I am no exception.
When you hold the bloodline of kings and queens, when you inherit a legacy of power and privilege, there's no room for shame. Only disdain for those who will never know what it means to rise above.
But what if I told you that, I have long since stopped fighting for my own place. I have given up on the endless struggle, because no matter how hard I claw and scrape, someone else is always there to take it away from me.
I've had to face this harsh reality repeatedly. It serves as an everyday reminder that nothing is ever really yours in this world of influence and power.
I used to fight with all of my strength, with every last bit of my self-respect. To get what I believed was rightfully mine, I would get up before the sun came up, work on my intellect, and increase my abilities. However, someone was always waiting in the wings, ready to take my place, my glory, or even my life, regardless of what I did or how much I bled for it.
It's not that I'm weak, or that I lack the will to fight. No, I've learned the hard way that it's not about strength. It's about power—who holds it, who has the connections, who plays the game best. And no matter how much I try to maneuver, I always end up outplayed. Every victory is meaningless, every step forward two steps back.
So I've given up. I've given up trying to get something that will never be mine. The never-ending search, the never-ending effort—it's a pointless dance I don't want to do anymore. I decided to let it go.
The want to prove myself, the ambition, and the hunger. It's all a front. When the top is constantly just out of grasp, what good is climbing? When there is always someone to bring me down, what good is it to try to gain power?
No more chaotic attempts to win a crown that will never be mine. No more reaching for objectives that disappear as soon as I believe I have them. I don't have the right to win the game.
Rather, I observe people fighting for things that never offer them peace—from a distance.
They might not realize. Maybe they believe I've become weak and accepted my fate. But they fail to see what I do. They are unaware of the silent power that arises from losing the appearance of authority.
The only way to win in a world that offers nothing is to give up. And I've discovered an odd kind of liberation in that surrender.
Because sometimes, the greatest power is knowing when to walk away.