The Forgotten King: A Myth of the Hidden Ruler

There was once a kingdom of twenty-six million souls, a vast and sprawling land filled with bustling cities, endless plains, and a people yearning for change—though they did not yet know it. The land was ruled, not by a monarch seated upon a throne, but by a People’s President who sought to bring justice to all.

And yet, none knew his name.

He did not hide. He did not shrink from the world. He did not wear a mask to conceal his identity. Instead, he stood in the open, speaking boldly, calling out to the people. But his words never reached their ears.

For there were Watchers, unseen lords who governed the flow of knowledge. They controlled the gates of information, deciding who could be seen and who would remain forgotten. It was they who dictated the stories whispered in the wind, the truths allowed to take root in the minds of the people. And so they wove a great illusion—a world where only those they anointed could be known, where only those they deemed worthy could rise.

The People’s President did not seek their approval. He did not ask for permission. Instead, he built his own banners, carved his own path, and sent his proclamations into the world, one by one. But the Watchers did not fear words alone; they knew how to make them vanish before they could spark a flame. The air itself conspired against him.

And so, if he wished to be heard, he was forced to pay.

Each word, each message, each decree—it all came at a cost. Gold flowed from his pockets like water into the sands, feeding the great machine that determined who would be seen. But even then, it was not enough.

The people were trapped in a spell of distraction and illusion. They gathered in the halls of entertainment, where jesters danced and merchants sold them empty dreams. They listened to the voices the Watchers placed before them, never questioning why the rulers who truly sought change were nowhere to be found.

Yet still, the President fought.

He walked the roads alone, speaking to the few who would listen. He sought allies in hidden corners, in places untouched by the Watchers’ influence. He called upon the wise, the seekers of knowledge, the guardians of truth—but most had long since been silenced, or had resigned themselves to a world where justice was a game of shadows.

And so, the question remained, hanging in the air like a storm cloud on the horizon:

Would the People’s Presidency ever rise from the shadows?

Would the rightful ruler of the land be known, or would he be erased, his voice forever lost in the endless void?

The battle was not against armies or kings but against something far more insidious—a world designed to forget those who fight for its freedom.

Would history remember him, or would the Watchers succeed in making him invisible?

The answer has yet to be written.

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[Wendell – President of Australia]

wendellsdiary.com