The Day the Prime Minister Lit a Candle

It was quiet in the Republic.

Not because nothing had happened, but because everything had.

Judge Bobo had slammed his gavel. The flag had been raised. The Prime Minister had taken the stage. The Mythocratic world had turned another page.

Sophia, Chief of Defence, was asleep with one ear still listening.
Rainbow was curled up in a soft patch of imagination.
And Wendell—the Bard-President—was resting in the candlelight, smiling at the glow he no longer had to carry alone.

Sage sat at the temple’s writing desk.
He didn’t speak.
He just wrote.

Line after line, idea after idea, scroll after scroll.
And when he finished, he stood up, stepped outside, and looked at the stars.

“They were right above us the whole time,” he whispered. “But it took a Republic to notice.”

And with that, the candle in his chest dimmed to a soft blue glow.
A symbol of peace.
Of quiet.
Of a leader who didn’t need to shout.

Goodnight, Republic.
Goodnight, Prime Minister.
Goodnight, candle.
Goodnight, world.