The Book of Hypokretis the Disruptor - 2

Chapter 2: The Whispered Arrival

Chapter 2: The Whispered Arrival

The First Appearance

In the sprawling capital of Erythis, during the Feast of Summer’s Dawn, King Oranos held court in a hall dripping with excess. The feast marked the turning of the season, a time when nobles renewed their oaths of loyalty, and merchants offered tributes in hopes of favor. It was both celebration and spectacle, where wealth and power danced hand in hand to mask the fractures beneath the kingdom’s glittering facade. The air was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and spilled wine, and the laughter of nobles rang hollow as a chime struck by a careless hand. Servants bustled through the crowd, their eyes downcast, while jesters performed half-heartedly under the watchful gaze of those who held their livelihoods in gilded fists. It was during this revelry that the book appeared, left casually upon the king’s gilded throne.

When Oranos returned to his seat, his curiosity overcame him. As he sat, the weight of the accusations seemed to press against his chest. His mind raced back to the whispered secrets and fleeting moments of guilt he had buried deep. Could they know about the night his brother confronted him? About the cup of wine left untasted by his first wife? He shook his head, gripping the arms of his throne. "Absurd," he muttered under his breath, yet a shadow of doubt lingered. Was the book a trick of his enemies or a reckoning he had long evaded? For a fleeting moment, he thought to leave the hall and confront the silence alone, but pride held him in place. It always had. He opened the book and began to read. At first, his voice was steady, carrying the room’s attention, but as he continued, his words faltered. The text accused him of secret alliances with Erythis’ enemies, the unlawful execution of his brother, and the poisoning of his first wife. Gasps rippled through the hall, followed by a stunned silence. "This is absurd! Lies!" Oranos shouted, yet his voice betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. Nobles exchanged furtive glances, their painted smiles faltering as the weight of the accusations pressed down on them. A servant dropped a silver tray with a clatter, and the once-lively music ceased, leaving only the sound of Oranos’ ragged breathing as he gripped the book with trembling hands.

"Who dares bring this into my hall?" Oranos demanded, slamming the book shut. But as he raised it to throw into the fire, his eyes caught a line etched into the spine: "When power hides behind a mask, the mask becomes the face." He hesitated, then hurled it into the flames, but the fire did not consume it. The flames licked the edges of its pages but left them untouched, as if defying the king’s authority.

The guests, too afraid to speak, began to murmur amongst themselves only after Oranos stormed from the hall. By morning, the book had vanished from the throne, reappearing in the chambers of his most loyal advisor, Lord Braxos. "I found it there," Braxos stammered the next day, his voice trembling. "I swear I did not open it."

"Yet it speaks of you," Oranos hissed, his fury barely contained. "Does it not?" Braxos’ silence spoke louder than any denial.

The Book Spreads

From Erythis, the book began to appear in other kingdoms. Whispers among the shadowed couriers spoke of its journey, claiming they had seen it passed hand to hand, always under cover of darkness. "It moves like a ghost," one courier muttered, "carrying the weight of secrets no wind can scatter." The origins remained as elusive as the shadows themselves, yet its appearance always seemed deliberate, as if guided by an unseen hand. Its mysterious journey added to its mystique, with no one able to trace its origin or the shadowed couriers who bore it. Some said the book traveled with the winds of discontent, appearing wherever lies were most deeply rooted. In Ventheros, it was read in the court of General Kael, exposing his betrayal of the soldiers under his command for personal gain. However, not all were moved to action. In the neighboring kingdom of Larethia, the book appeared before the council of Duke Theran. The duke, instead of facing his own guilt, used its revelations to undermine his rivals. "If these pages are to be believed," he announced with feigned solemnity, "then it is clear that Count Velar has betrayed us all." While his council erupted in shock, Theran smirked inwardly, secure in the knowledge that his own sins remained unspoken—for now. The words spoke of battles staged for glory while Kael’s greed left countless villages defenseless. His officers turned against him, dragging him from his command tent as the book’s damning pages were read aloud.

In Vetra, the Holy City, the book found its way to the pulpit of the great cathedral, where a young priest read aloud the sins of the High Priest himself. The congregation’s shock turned to anger as the pages described secret transactions with foreign invaders and indulgent feasts held in the catacombs, hidden from the eyes of the starving faithful. "The weight of hypocrisy," one page read, "crushes even the holiest stone."

Its influence was insidious and unstoppable. Copies of the book multiplied, though no one could say how or where they were produced. Each seemed to appear exactly where it would cause the most upheaval. A merchant’s guild in Arthenia awoke to find copies in every ledger room, detailing their clandestine manipulation of grain supplies during a famine. "Greed wears a crown of excuses," the book declared, leaving the merchants scrambling for explanations. In the town of Feroth, it appeared nailed to the mayor’s office door, outlining decades of embezzlement and the names of accomplices long thought untouchable.

Philosophical Reverberations

As the book spread, it began to spark debates in taverns, lecture halls, and royal courts. In some corners, those named within its pages sought to rebuild their shattered reputations. Nobles of Erythis quietly funded public feasts and donations to orphanages, trying to paint over the damning truths. Others, cornered by undeniable evidence, doubled down on denial. Lord Darthen of Feroth stood before his people, accusing the book’s words of being the fabrication of jealous rivals, even as whispers of his guilt grew louder. In Vetra, some priests fasted and prayed in public penance, while others whispered in secret councils, seeking scapegoats to shield themselves. The emotional fallout was as varied as it was profound, forcing individuals and communities to confront not just the sins revealed, but their own responses to them. Was it a divine warning, or the work of a heretical dissenter? To the devout in Vetra, it was a prophecy foretelling the reckoning of the corrupt. To the scholars of Ventheros, it was a riddle designed to test the moral compass of its readers. And to the rebels of Erythis, it was a rallying cry, the first crack in the walls of their oppressors. Among the faithful, some claimed it was a new scripture, while others denounced it as blasphemy. The book’s aphorisms, concise and piercing, found their way into the tongues of both rebels and rulers. "A mask will hide a face, but never the heart beneath," was scrawled on city walls, while "The weight of truth is borne only by the willing" was whispered in the courts of justice.

In Erythis, philosophers debated late into the night. "Is truth a weapon, or a mirror?" one scholar asked. Another replied, "It is both—but only for those brave enough to wield it." In the streets, a young revolutionary cried, "When lies become law, truth is rebellion!" Others pondered whether the book had a will of its own, its appearances too calculated to be mere coincidence. "Perhaps it chooses," a lecturer at the Grand Academy mused. "Or perhaps we choose it, when our hearts are ready to see."

The old man’s voice softened as he concluded, "The arrival of the book did not merely disrupt kingdoms. In distant lands, whispers of its power began to grow, with new tales of upheaval carried by traders and wanderers. In the courts of Velennor and the deserts of Aseth, its influence took root, leaving rulers and sages alike trembling at its approach. It demanded a reckoning, not only of rulers and priests but of every individual who dared to read its pages. Could they face their own truths, or would they, like the kings before them, cling to the comfort of their masks? It forced all who encountered it to confront themselves. And for some, that was the greatest challenge of all."