The Will of the Many

Silence is a statement, Diago. Inaction picks a side. And when those lead to personal benefit, they are complicity.

Nervousness means there’s a fear to be faced ahead, Diago. The man who is never nervous, never does anything hard. The man who is never nervous, never grows.

Death is only meaningless if it does not change us, Vis.

There comes a point in every man’s life where he can rail against the unfairness of the world until he loses, or he can do his best in it. Remain a victim, or become a survivor.

The decision may have been made by the few, Diago, but it’s the Will of the many that killed your family.

A fair system only works if there’s an unbiased means of assessing merit. When there is no pride or selfishness involved.” He gives a soft snort, shaking his head. “Which means that fair systems cannot exist where people are involved.

They know the system is wrong, but they choose not to think or speak up or act because they ultimately hope that in their silence, they will gain. Or at the very least not have to give more than they have already given.

That's the problem with people, though, isn't it? They always think that other people are the problem... If all you're trying to do is change who's in control, they you don't really want to change anything.

AND LET THERE BE NO MISTAKE: IT IS YOU—ALL OF YOU—WHO ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR CREATING IT. NOT THOSE IN POWER. NOT THE ONES WHO WIELD WHAT YOU GIVE THEM, BECAUSE YOU GIVE IT TO THEM. YOU LET THEM STAND ON YOUR SHOULDERS, ALL FOR THE DREAM OF ONE DAY BEING ABLE TO STAND ATOP OTHERS’. EVEN WHEN YOU KNOW, DEEP DOWN, THAT IT IS AN ILLUSION. AS UNATTAINABLE FOR MOST OF YOU AS IT IS SELFISH.

CHAIN YOUR ANGER IN THE dark, my mother used to tell me, and it will only thrive.

But I can hate without it coming to violence.” “Hate is its own violence, my prince. Your only choice is whether to let it hurt them, or you.

The power to protect is the highest of responsibilities, Diago. When a man is given it, his duty is not only to the people he thinks are worthy.

Violence is no answer to grief,

Greed is by definition the moral ruler of the Hierarchy, Diago. All decisions are based upon it. It is not the strong who benefit in their system, no matter what they say—it is the weak. It is the ones willing to do anything, sacrifice anything, to rise. It rewards avarice and is so steeped in a wrong way of thinking that those within it cannot even see it.” He shook his head sadly. “There is no form of government that is immune from mistakes or from corruption—but it is the Hierarchy’s foundation, Son. Never forget that.

There is always something more to lose.

And this is the risk of our world, Diago. The flaw of our system is in its head. In us. The qualities of a king change the kingdom. And not one of us is perfect enough to have a right to lead ... I want you to understand that no country's governance is perfect. Anyone who looks at a system of people and thinks the system is the problem, is a fool.

You cannot be free if you are afraid to die.

I have a fair idea of how to ingratiate myself with others. I just, on the whole, never cared for it. Having to feign interest in those you don’t like, or at least don’t know well enough to have an opinion on. Pretending to have their interests at heart when in reality, you’re just figuring out how to make the best use of them. It’s all so… disingenuous.

If all you’re trying to do is change who’s in control, then you don’t really want to change anything.

You mourn your friend.” He cups my cheek in his hand. “But death is a doorway, Son. You will see him again. No one is ever truly lost.” He leans down and presses his lips gently to my forehead. “I am so glad I got to see you again. Even if it is too short. Even if it ends up being the last time.” His voice cracks a little. Aching. “I love you, Diago. I love you, Son. Never forget that.

A man will always wonder what might have been, but a wise one recognises fortune when it comes. For all I left behind, life has not been unkind to me.

I lay Callidus gently on the stone at Veridius’s feet. Meet his gaze, then Emissa’s stunned, horrified one. Put all my venom into my voice, keeping it low so that only they two can hear. Blood coats every part of my skin. I must look a nightmare made flesh. “I’m going to make sure you burn for this.

They ask something small of you. A thing you would prefer not to do, but is not so terrible. You think you are working your way up, but in fact they are changing you. Moulding you into what they think you should be, one compromise at a time.

There are those who see what should be, and complain that they do not get their due. And then there are those who see what is, and figure out how to use it to their advantage. Or at the least, overcome it.

They say that young men know they will die, but only old men believe it. For some reason, I don’t think that’s true of you, Vis. I hope it’s not.

I lean forward so that my whisper carries to her ear. “I’m going to come back one day.” There’s no trace of anger in my voice. Just promise.

That’s the power of the Hierarchy—we do, because there is no standing apart. You fight the tyranny of the many, or you are one of them.” He hangs his head again. Tired. “Silence is a statement, Diago. Inaction picks a side. And when those lead to personal benefit, they are complicity.

Loyalty is only given to those who can convince the ones lifting them up that they will succeed.