As Adam lay on his cot, the sting of his injuries a relentless reminder of his ordeal, he felt no closer to sleep. The ache of his bruised ribs and swollen face pulsed with his heartbeat, yet his thoughts burned even hotter, pushing him toward conclusions that felt disturbingly clear.

“University professors… nearly all of them elves,” he muttered, his voice a low rasp in the dim room. “There just aren’t enough humans qualified to teach at that level here.”

Education, he reflected, was scarce in this country—deliberately so, it seemed. For most children in the countryside, school was a rare privilege. Those who did learn to read and write only gained the most basic skills. Only a small fraction made it past elementary education, and fewer still ever reached high school. And university? Out of the country’s million people, only a handful were deemed fit to attend. These university students were the elite of the elite, the ones untouched by hunger, by desperation. They didn’t know what it meant to go without bread, yet they were the ones now shouting for freedom and change.

Adam’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “These university students, so eager for freedom, so passionate for ideals they barely understand.” He shook his head, the irony biting deep. And as for the professors themselves, well—most of them were elves, weren’t they? Even the few human professors that existed had earned their qualifications in elven universities overseas, where they’d been exposed to ideas humans in this country had never encountered before. The universities here were new, established only in recent decades, and there simply hadn’t been enough time for human teachers to rise within the system. So here, professors—those who shaped the minds of the young elite—were overwhelmingly elves.

“The elves huh,” he murmured, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Adam could see it all too clearly now. The students hadn’t come up with these ideas on their own; they’d been nudged toward them, their thoughts and beliefs shaped subtly, persistently. The professors, with their elven perspectives and philosophies, had planted the seeds of revolution—ideas of independence and freedom—into the minds of these students. And now, over 2 years later since the protests had first erupted, here they all were, teetering on the brink of a full-blown revolution.

“Funny,” he whispered, the irony not lost on him. These students, untouched by hardship, fueled by a restless desire for freedom they didn’t fully grasp, had stirred the pot for those who truly suffered. And the elves, quietly watching from the sidelines, had let it all happen. Such methods were used back on earth too, using the students to push an agenda that would inevitably ripple down to the people suffering the most, turning their hunger and despair into fuel for the protests, he knew such system was bound to fail, simply copy pasting the elves ideas will be of no use to the human people, how could it be? Elves had different ideals, different history and most importantly, their moral perspective was not the same as that of humans, their traditions and their culture vastly different from that of humans hence why their system was bound to fail in human hands.

Adam’s gaze darkened. So this is their game. Stir up trouble, make humans question their king, destabilize the system… but why? Was it just about resources, or was there something more?

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He knew this was a way to ensure humans would remain at the elves' mercy for the next century. But this wasn’t a military conquest; it was cultural—a far more insidious kind. The real issue was that people didn’t recognize that they were being culturally overtaken by the victors. Once a winner and a loser are established—as had happened in the great war between humans and elves—The defeated side instinctively starts viewing the victors as superior, reasoning that they must be better in some fundamental way—after all, they won. This belief drives them to look to the victors for guidance, copying their ideas, slogans, values, even their fashion. They hope that by mimicking their conquerors, they might absorb some of their strength and success. But such imitation is deeply flawed. No universal law or value system can fit every culture perfectly; people and societies are far too unique for that. Yet here they were, following blindly, adopting a way of life that wasn’t truly their own, erasing the very identity they’d once fought to protect.

At this moment, Adam felt a chill down his spine, he realized that the elves were extremely dangerous, manipulating them to do his bidding and give him magic powers somehow may be too hard of a mission.

But it was fine, he could only try his best, that’s what he vowed to himself.

Ignoring the sharp protest from his battered body, Adam sat up, pulling his hat low to shadow his face, hiding the worst of the bruising. He slipped into the quiet night, the streets deserted around him. He didn’t know exactly what he’d say to Antara, but he knew he needed to be seen like this—broken, beaten, bruised.

Antara needed to see him as he was now because, whether he knew it or not, Antara held a key to turn this quiet unrest into something unstoppable..

Under a star-studded sky, Adam made his way up the hill toward the small shack where Antara lived, nestled among the slums. The night was crisp and silent, with only the soft crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant chirping of crickets filling the air. Above, the stars sparkled brightly, casting a faint glow on the darkened landscape. He climbed higher, his mind resolute thinking to himself;

"People often gravitate toward solutions they’ve already convinced themselves are right. Some cling stubbornly to their choices, unwilling to budge, while others can be swayed by the sound of reason. But the most effective path isn’t to challenge their desires—it’s to understand them. If you can uncover what they truly want, what lies at the core of their inclinations, there’s no need to force change. Instead, anticipate the consequences of their actions and give them a gentle nudge in the right direction. The rest will unfold naturally, like dominos falling neatly into place."

Reaching Antara’s door, Adam knocked softly at first, then louder, but no one answered. Frowning, he began calling out, “Antara? Antara, are you in there?” His voice echoed slightly in the stillness, but the door remained closed. He knocked again, harder this time, hoping to rouse his friend.

Just then, he spotted a figure approaching from the path that wound down into the slums below. It was Antara, hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders slouched and head lowered as he made his way up to his modest home. He looked up, and a faint smile crossed his face when he saw Adam, but the smile faded when he noticed the bruises darkening Adam's face.

“What happened to you?” he asked, concern etching his features.

Adam shrugged, brushing off the question. “You know what happened,” he replied quietly. He looked past Antara to the distant forest line. “Do you want to go to the forest where we used to play?”

Antara hesitated, his eyes shifting to the ground. “I… I don’t know, Badr. It’s late, and—”

But Adam didn’t let him finish. He stepped forward, grasping Antara’s arm with a determined look. “Come on. We need to go.”