The land is again enshrouded in darkness.
The darkness was invited back to the land by one in four who actively cast their intent for its return. Those who did so had more hate and fear in their hearts than they did imagination. This inability to foresee the cost that their invitation comes with is a tragic flaw. Those in the remaining seventy-five percent either opposed the return of this darkness, had no say in the matter, or didn't care enough to try and keep it at bay—which is tragic in a different way.
And so in this land, at this time, the darkness is allowed back.
Grand plans have been devised. Schemes set in motion. The construction of a metaphoric throne has begun. Those who wield influence pledge allegiance and bend the knee. Much gold is offered as a boon, and a hollow voice offers a hollow promise that these lickspittles will see great returns from their gifts…assuming they stay loyal to the darkness.
As a result of these machinations, a great many in the land will suffer hardships the likes of which they've never known. Some will lose family and health and property. Some will be banished to other lands. Still others will lose their own lives.
All will be affected.
All, that is, except the architects. Those who dwell behind the darkness. They are elsewhere, both near and far, residing above the clouds in well-lit, shiny places. These are soulless beings without conscience. They maneuver those below on the ground like chess pieces. Their palaces double as figurative laboratories where darkness is molded and imbued with vile, profane purpose. It is then sent forth to do their bidding and wreak havoc on the game board while they laugh at the chaos.
No, the architects won't be affected in the slightest.
They won't lose sleep or lie awake at three a.m. with these thoughts.