Every kingdom built on lies requires silence to survive.

Not peace—silence. The kind that chokes protest. That shames questions. That calls doubt a sin.

They said, "Obey your leaders, for they are chosen." But who chose the silence?

History is written by those who burned the dissenters, silenced the dreamers, and outlawed the voice inside you that kept screaming, “This isn’t truth.”

Empires fall when the people begin to speak. When daughters stop apologizing. When sons stop bowing to fear. When elders remember the truths before conquest.

The silence is their shield. Break it—and the lie breaks too.

That’s why your voice trembles before you speak. Not because you’re weak, but because you carry something holy that the system cannot contain.

And when your voice returns, so does the ancestral memory. The knowing that once, we were not afraid to speak.

Every scroll they burned, every woman they silenced, every prophet they labeled insane— still speaks in the wind.

What feeds on silence dies by song. And the song has returned.