And Javier knew—
Who suffered the most.
Not the kings.
Not the generals.
Not the nobles arguing in marble halls over strategy.
It was the people.
The common families.
The ones who never asked for war, but were always dragged into it.
Wives, abandoned.
Husbands gone, never to return.
Fathers buried without a grave.
Children crying from hunger.
Villages forced to split what little food they had, always short, always afraid.
And the ones in power?
They tightened their grip.
They called it law.
They called it loyalty.
But it was control.
Women taken—not as soldiers, not as workers—
but as toys for the powerful.
Someone's wife.
Someone's daughter.
Someone's sister.
Dragged away in the name of service.
Vanishing behind closed tents, never returning whole.
And if that wasn't enough?
Taxes.
Enough to starve a family.
Enough to break a man's back for a war he didn't choose.
The soldiers—forced to keep marching.
To fight battles they didn't believe in.
