The Scribe of Candle had long labored so that the City of Babylon might prosper. He loved the people, despised cheating, and would rather be branded a fanatic than be caught playing the crooked game of politics. He trained his spirit to be punctilious whenever Babylonians gathered for matters of weight, and he carried the city within his heart, praying always for its peace and glory.
He fought his own weaknesses to make life meaningful for all, yet he met walls of division and thrones of ego. The King of Babylon, though not without good intentions, was shadowed by an Old General, once mighty in the empire whose coldness toward the King cast doubts upon his loyalty.
The Scribe had just returned from distant cities where he had fought endlessly, saved many lives, and suffered wounds from evil kingdoms. With eyes sharpened by visions, he escaped countless snares. But when he came home, his trials were doubted, his sacrifices unacknowledged. Yet he whispered to himself: He who has seen ninety-nine should not tremble when the hundredth arrives.
It was then that the Old General set his scheme. At the crossroads of Babylon, plans were laid to erect a mighty Billboard, tilted to honor friends and flatter foes. The Scribe of Candle, sensing the treachery, raised his eyebrows and sought to scatter the table.
But in Babylon, truth is a dangerous fire. Though every hand carries the slate of truth, the elders who dine and wine bend justice to their side. The Scribe’s protest was carried into the palace, where his words were twisted into thunder and his questions branded as rebellion.
So, the conspirators sharpened their quills and forged a decree: the Silence Decree. They exiled the Scribe’s voice from the Marketplace of Voices, sealing his lips with the wax of falsehood and hanging his quill upon the gallows of envy. They called it discipline, but all knew it was envy dressed in royal robes.
Yet the Scribe did not faint. He adjusted his path and pressed on, for secrets opened to his many eyes. He discerned that superstition and shadows sought to govern Babylon. To fight such darkness, sacrifice was required. And so he declared:
“No one who breaks my bones shall walk with straight hinges. In Babylon, no man may sit upon a horse and call himself a spirit walker, for to the natural naturans, all power returns.”