A Pacifist and an Armed Rebellion

As the young mage Lumen approached the village, a huge crowd lay before him.

Thousands of men stood there, dressed in tattered clothes and dirty shoes. Such a small border village now hosted over ten times its usual population. Some of the people walked barefoot on the muddy roads, their feet bruised from the long journey. A few didn’t even have shirts, their ribs sticking out like a map drawn by hunger. The sight was desolate, yet none looked hopeless. They chattered, eyes beaming with energy. They vibed like attendees at a prince’s wedding reception. Lumen felt his heart tighten as he alone realized the harsh reality that awaited them.

These were the freedom seekers of the Maugalin Rebellion. All common folk gathered here from many towns and villages across the region of Maugalin. Farmers, hunters, smiths, and fishermen who met for the first time a mere few days ago. They now acted as one, like brothers and lifelong friends. All united by their common goal. A diverse people who preferred death by the hand of a ruthless tyrant to life in poverty and oppression. Lumen could see only determination and optimism in their eyes. They acted like there was no room for haggling, no way of turning back.

Everything started one year ago, when the ambitious Lord Dresda took over by surprise. He battled against the peaceful and feeble Lord of Maugalin and slain him. Following the swift invasion, the entire region fell under his authority. Dresda imposed harsh taxes on trade and cereals. He took their weapons and confiscated most of their cattle. The common folk had little to no means left to survive the harsh winter that followed. And so, as soon as the winter ended, the peasants rose in a large-scale rebellion. They overthrew the local garrisons and defied Lord Dresda’s will.

Today, they braced for their final battle for freedom and survival. Rumors had it that Lord Dresda himself and his elite guard had set up camp not far away. The border between Maugalin and the domain of Dresdapolis was a mere 15 km away from this village. The peasants of the Maugalin Rebellion made their last preparations. They trained with improvised spears, forks, and hunting bows. They ate their last chunk of bread and drank their final glass of wine. Today, they bonded together as comrades in arms. For they knew, tomorrow there would be little to no food left. And if the battle against Dresda wouldn't be the end, famine would. With their backs against the wall, the people of Maugalin chose violence.

Lumen’s eyes fell down with pessimism, and he let out a sigh. His long white robe dragged against the muddy road as he walked through the crowded village. He was a frail-looking young man in his late 20s, yet tall beyond all expectations. Standing at an astonishing 204 cm in height, he was bound to attract quite some attention from the crowd. His clothing bore the marks of the Brothers and Sisters of Volcamona, the monastery of the Peace God. Many people had heard about it, even here. But today, nobody came to this village for peace, nor did they want to pray to such a God. For them, peace under a tyrant meant only death and hunger. Of all people, Lumen knew that better than anyone.

Upon seeing Lumen, the more religious or superstitious asked for a quick blessing. Others made jokes about the daydreamer hermits of Volcamona. The friendlier ones offered a drink, hoping the mage would stay for a chat. A few asked Lumen if he would join them as an ally during the upcoming battle.

Lumen politely declined and didn't stop for a chat. He knew everyone meant well, but the rowdy attention of the crowds bothered him. They acted friendly, perhaps even more so than he felt he deserved. The unholy connection he had in the past with Dresda, their common enemy, was common knowledge by now. But to his surprise, people didn’t hate him for this. As for himself, the mere recollection of this thought made his head hurt.

Lumen’s journey had a goal, the same reason that always brought him to such battlefields. But he had also hoped he could buy some food from this village. There was no chance of finding any of that here, though. These thousands crowded in this border village that housed a mere hundred villagers. There was no way any slice of bread had survived these hungry bellies.

With a final crust of bread in his pocket, Lumen walked past the armed men, reaching the center of the village. There, the elderly and the women stood in the middle of the road, chatting with tired, hopeful voices. Children played carefree all around. The place was even more cramped than the one where the men were.

His eyes fell upon a small child who ran in front of him. He seemed to be kicking a stuffed ball made of rags. Suddenly, his foot hit a rock and the little one fell into the mud. Lumen couldn’t help but notice that the children like him were even skinnier than the adult men. His poor limbs were but bones and skin. The young Brother of Volcamona came closer and helped the now-crying child rise to his feet. The kid thanked the mysterious stranger and went back to play with his ball.

“Wait a second, little one,” Lumen added in a smiling, soft voice as he took the last crust of bread from his pocket. “I have something for you. It’s not much, but here, take it!”

The child stared in awe at the bread, then at the white-robed traveler. It left him dumbfounded for a second. As he collected himself, he took the bread and left, like a squirrel running to hide its newfound nut. Lumen awkwardly smiled, but the child never looked back. A few moments later, a middle-aged woman with large wrinkles rose from the crowd. She was likely the boy's mother. She headed slowly toward Lumen. The child followed from behind.

“Thank you, Brother of Volcamona!” she mumbled between tears of gratitude. “Your kind has always been good to us, the people of Maugalin. I am sorry for not having anything to give you in return. That bastard Dresda took everything away from us…”

Lumen blinked, but didn't answer. He nodded. The woman thanked Lumen once more and then left into the crowd, the slice of bread in her right hand. For a second, the mage didn’t understand why. The child remained there, alone, still weak, the ball still in his hands, and his belly still empty. Where did the woman go? Why did she not give the bread to her kid?

“Ah, I know what you think, Brother Lumen,” an old man from the crowd whispered as he drew closer. “She went to give the bread to the men who will fight against Dresda. They need extra strength more than we, the elderly, women, and children, do. Our fate lies in their hands.”

Lumen lowered his head. He felt everyone staring at him with hopeful eyes. His eyes drifted aside, as if looking for an escape.

“Brother Lumen, we beg you,” the old man continued in a soft, trembling voice. He seemed older than most, and the others seemed to respect him. “People claim you have magical powers. That you can flatten the mountains themselves and even blow the moon down from the skies. If that's true, then please help us!”

“I wish I… I'm sorry," Lumen mumbled, looking the man in the eyes for a second, but turning them away once more. Those eyes, those hopeful, sad eyes. Why were those expectations crushing his soul so badly?

“Brother Lumen, we beg you,” the old man continued, falling to his knees, tears flooding his eyes. The other men and women came closer as well, forming a circle around Lumen.

“We know you have the power to change this," the elder added. "Everyone here is putting their lives at stake. We have nowhere to run. Dresda took everything away from us. You and Dresda used to be friends once. Can you at least talk to him and change his mind?”

Lumen shook his head and said nothing. He bowed deeply as if he were trying to apologize. He felt awkward and terrible. The people around him held their breaths. Perhaps they were expecting something magical, like the hero of a fairy tale showing up to save the day. But Lumen was not meant to be this hero.

Within the blink of an eye, Lumen was gone from the crowd, teleporting a few kilometers away. There was no spark, no incantation, no "goodbye." For the people who watched, he simply vanished like a ghost.

He was now at the other end of the village. Here he was alone, though the noise of the chatter from the crowds still filled the area. The village ended on a gentle rise, where an old vineyard used to be. Very little remained of it today. The place must have burned to a crisp when Lord Dresda first invaded.

It was early spring. A normal sunny morning like any other, the air chill but bearable. Trees had started to grow tiny buds and green leaves. The fields around the village showed signs that crops this year would be plentiful. If Maugalin emerged victorious, this land's fruit would feed three times its population. They would start anew, like a phoenix emerging from its ashes. Perhaps, against all odds, the hopes and dreams of such united people will prevail. Perhaps its oppressors will be defeated, and they will regain their freedom.

No, Lumen knew better than to fool himself.

By sunset, he would be doing what he always did. He would use his magic to dig thousands of graves. One for each of these innocent, hopeful people who had messed with the wrong madman. He would honor their forgotten bodies before they rotted and lay them back into the earth to rest. It was too little of a thing to do, not enough, never enough.

“Why does it have to be like this…” he muttered, and a single, lonely tear rolled down his right cheek.