Legacy, in this new world, didn't mean bloodline.
It didn't mean being born into the right house.
It meant staying long enough to turn the pain into rewards, bleeding enough so that you never lose the land that they had gained.
Deep enough to make sure that even if they die, they fought till their last breath.
Refusing to leave, even when the land itself tried to erase you.
"Those people weren't granted anything," the Dean said. "They weren't elected. They didn't hold titles that could be passed down."
They endured.
And the land recognized them for that and made them the owners of it.
"So in today's world," she continued, "power doesn't always wear badges."
She let her eyes sweep the entire amphitheater. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried. It held weight, not volume.
"Sometimes it wears rags. Sometimes it moves like the wind. Sometimes it doesn't speak at all."
The dome's projection shifted again.
But this time, it wasn't land. Not a battlefield. Not a map.
