Ashes Of the Führer

I began walking toward the entrance of the town hall. Even from inside, the roar of the crowd was unmistakable — a sea of voices waiting, restless.

I paused for a moment, brushing dust from my coat and adjusting my hat.

Suddenly, Virella approached, her presence quiet but confident.

"My Führer," she said. "If you wish, I can use my magic to amplify your voice — so the crowd can hear you more clearly."

"Great suggestion," I said with a nod. "Very well. Proceed — and stay close."

She gave a quick nod and fell into step behind me.

The heavy doors of the town hall opened with a slow, deliberate groan, revealing a row of figures already in place.

Lining the wide stone steps that led up to the hall, every commander and general stood at attention — a wall of presence carved from steel and discipline. Their boots were planted firmly, hands clasped behind their backs or resting on the pommels of their swords. Sunlight caught on their armor and medals, casting scattered reflections across the stone like shards of flame. No words passed between them. They didn't need any. Their silence spoke.

I stepped forward through the doorway.

Virella followed just behind me, the faint shimmer of magic flickering at her fingertips like coiled lightning, ready to carry my voice across the square.

Before us — the crowd.

Thousands.

An ocean of faces filled the plaza, stretching far beyond the eye's reach. Men, women, children — some silent, some murmuring, others shouting. The sound was deafening, a living roar that vibrated through the very stone beneath our feet. burned banner waved above the heads of the masses, and smoke from torches and hearths curled into the sky like signals to gods.

But as I stepped onto the top stair, the storm shifted.

The noise didn't stop — it bent. Curved. Lowered itself, as if the air itself was holding its breath.

They hadn't seen me yet.

But they felt me.

And now… they would listen.

Whispers rippled through the crowd — faint, fleeting — but they were quickly silenced. Not by force.

By reverence.

By fear.

By the weight of expectation.

Until at last, the only sound left was the heavy breath of the wind and the press of thousands holding still.

I stood there.

Motionless.

At the top of the stairs, with the eyes of a kingdom staring up at me.

Not a soul moved. Not a voice dared rise.

The air hung thick — not with noise, but with anticipation. A rising tension. A question on every tongue that no one dared ask aloud.

What would he say?

What would this moment become?

I waited. Just long enough.

Then… I stepped forward.

Drew in a slow breath — deep into my lungs.

Felt the air swell inside my chest.

And with a final exhale…

I gave silence a sound.

I stepped forward.

The crowd — thousands of them, shoulder to shoulder — leaned in.

Virella stood behind me, her hand raised, magic humming faintly in the air, ready to carry my voice across the sea of hungry eyes and hollow faces.

"You've all come here with questions."

My voice cut through the air, sharp and steady. The silence that followed was absolute.

"Who am I? What do I want? And why should you follow me?"

I turned, pacing a slow, deliberate circle atop the stairs, letting my gaze fall across them all — young, old, broken, bruised, scarred… but alive.

"You've spent your entire lives being told what you are. Slaves. Rats. Insects beneath the boots of those with ears too long, claws too sharp, faces too proud. You were raised behind fences. You were worked until your backs broke, your children starved, your dignity stolen."

A pause.

"And yet — here you are."

I lifted my hand and clenched it into a fist.

"Not dead. Not silenced. Not forgotten. Here you stand, breathing the same air they said you weren't worthy of. Walking the same soil they said you'd never touch. You were never weak — they just made you think you were."

A murmur rippled through the front rows.

"They say we are outnumbered."

"They say we are outmatched."

"They say we are broken."

I leaned forward slightly, voice now low and venomous.

"But what are they?"

"They are decadent. Lazy. Proud without reason. Rulers of a crumbling kingdom who sit on thrones built by our hands, eat from plates filled by our labor, and sleep in beds made warm by our suffering. And they call us inferior?"

I pointed to the crowd.

"You built their walls. You tilled their land. You carried their burdens while they mocked your names and spat on your worth. And when you grew too old to lift stone — they discarded you."

"Well, no more."

A few cheers cracked through the tension like lightning splitting the sky.

"Look around you. Look into the eyes of the man or woman beside you. That is not your enemy. That is your kin. That is your brother. That is your sister. And they need you now — not tomorrow, not next week — now."

I struck my chest with a closed fist.

"I have seen what the world becomes when humans bow their heads. I have walked through fire, crawled through filth, stood at the edge of death… and I returned. Not for myself. But for you."

"You do not need permission to be strong."

"You do not need a crown to be royal."

"You do not need their magic to have power."

My voice rose with each line, my words crashing like hammers.

"What you need is belief. Belief in your right to stand. Belief in the future we will carve with our bare hands. Belief in victory!"

The crowd stirred. Some raised fists. Others shouted.

I didn't stop.

"You want hope?" I roared. "Then make it! You want freedom? Then take it! You want revenge?"

"Then earn it!"

My eyes swept the courtyard — thousands standing on the cusp of change, waiting for a spark.

"They say we can't win. That humans are fractured. That we betray each other. That we're selfish."

I nodded slowly.

"Maybe they're right. Maybe we've been broken. But steel is forged in fire. And what breaks can be reforged — sharper, stronger, and merciless."

The wind caught my coat as I turned again to face them head-on.

"I will not lie to you."

"This war will be long."

"There will be blood."

"There will be loss."

"But there will also be glory. There will be justice. And if we are to perish — then let us perish as men, not as livestock chained to a dying order."

The roar began to grow. First small, then monstrous.

"To the nobles hiding in their towers…"

"To the beast-kin sniffing around our borders…"

"To every elf who laughed as we begged…"

"To every dwarf who watched as we burned…"

I raised my arm high.

"We are coming."

"And we are bringing with us a reckoning the likes of which this world has never known!"

The magic behind my voice surged with emotion — Virella's hand glowing brighter now, her lips pressed shut but her eyes ablaze.

"I offer no peace to those who made you suffer. I offer no mercy to the kings who sat idle while children starved. I offer only truth — that the age of demi-humans ends today."

"And the age of man… begins now."

The crowd erupted.

Fists raised. Voices screamed. The air shook with raw energy, with decades of pain finally unshackled.

I let the sound wash over me for just a moment before driving the last nail in.

"I will not stop until the last chain is broken. Until the last throne falls. Until the last noble chokes on the ashes of their greed."

"And if you stand with me — not as peasants, not as prisoners — but as people…"

"Then follow me."

"And we will burn their world to the ground — and build our own in its place."