The Great Teselia

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Teselia rose from the ashes of civil war, a phoenix reborn in fire and blood. 

The people, weary of old demons and nepotistic rot, placed their faith in a new leader—one of their own. 

A humble man, they whispered, poor like them, hardened like them. 

No silver-spooned aristocrat, no puppet of the old regime.

 Just a man who had suffered as they had suffered.

But power reveals truth.

Inexperience masked something far darker—a mind fraying at the edges, a soul drunk on delusions of greatness.

 The people had traded a fallen devil for a rising psychopath. 

Would he shepherd them, or devour them?

Winter gripped Teselia, endless and unrelenting. Life was a struggle, but survival was all they knew. Slowly, the illusion cracked. 

The bonuses—those meager handouts of free coin—dulled their rage, numbed their suspicions.

 Bread and circuses for the starving masses.

And then, the silence.

Intellectuals vanished, their voices smothered beneath the weight of dogma. "I don’t need minds," the leader declared, "only working hands." Dissent withered beneath his boot.

 "You do the dirty work. I’ll do the thinking." A cold smile. 

"Do you know what we do to liars here? We kick them in the balls—then we take their tongues."

The people had gambled on change. Now, they choked on it.