Member-only story
Let the Kingdom Rot
The scribes stayed. The kingdom didn’t.
Writers keep asking to be lifted. To be seen. To be chosen by the algorithm. I stopped asking. I started watching. And what I saw wasn’t a rise, but a collapse. A quiet one. A kingdom falling in silence while everyone kept posting.
There was a time when the scribes were honored.
When their words were etched in stone, passed from hand to trembling hand, whispered in the halls of the high houses. When to write was to be heard. When a single page could carry a kingdom.
That time is gone.
Now the scribes write into silence.
They spill their ink for ghosts, pleading with dead gods that do not answer.
They stack their offerings high. Trembling. Desperate.
Waiting for the algorithm to see them. To lift them. To bless them with attention.
But the algorithm does not bless.
It does not speak. It does not remember. It only consumes.
And when it finishes with one, it turns its gaze elsewhere, leaving only dust where a voice once was.
I do not ask for the chosen ones.
Let the golden be praised. Let the favorites feast. Let them sit at the high table and…
