He suddenly cleared his throat.
"Tell me… where is this country heading?"
His voice was heavy, trembling with anger.
Silence fell across the room instantly.
"Four years have passed,"
he continued,
"and we're still stuck in the same place—
only labor, humiliation, and darkness."
I lifted my head.
There was an unspoken fire burning in my father's eyes.
"Greenery…" he paused,
"is a green land only by name.
In reality, it has split in two—
South Greenery on one side,
North Greenery on the other."
Ryan spoke softly,
"Dad, are you starting politics again?"
"This isn't politics. It's reality."
Father's voice turned sharper.
"The government only develops the southern side.
Schools, universities, factories, roads—
and here?"
He raised his hand toward the window.
"Here, there's only dust, hunger, and despair.
To them, we aren't even people—
as if we were born just to serve them."
Kelly's mouth trembled. She placed her spoon down and whispered,
"Will we never be free, Dad?"
Father looked at her.
His eyes carried warmth, but his face was firm.
"We will, my child.
It's only a matter of time.
The oppressors will fall one day."
Ryan let out a long sigh.
"North Greenery wants independence,
but the government will never allow it easily."
"That's why they deployed the military,"
Father lowered his voice.
"Four years—since 1925 to 1928—
this war hasn't stopped.
Every day people die, villages burn,
yet no one stops."
I listened quietly.
Each word echoed inside my head like beating drums—
Greenery, a nation
with light on the south
and darkness swallowing the north.
And I—
I stood right in the middle of that darkness.
A gunshot rang from outside—
far away, yet unmistakably clear.
Mother put her plate down and looked toward the window.
Kelly gently held my hand.
Ryan, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke—
his voice steady like a trained journalist.
"They aren't just shaming us, Riven.
They're crushing our voices."
His tone held anger, but the words were precise.
"In South Greenery, newspapers, television—everything is controlled.
Foreigners must not know what's happening here,
so they cut the news.
Anyone who speaks for freedom is labeled
'misguided', 'rioter'—
and then erased.
Nobody can speak in the open."
Father listened silently.
A strange shine gathered in his eyes,
as if holding back tears.
He wasn't just talking about poverty—
he was talking about how people were being turned into living sheep,
their existence stripped of worth.
Kelly's voice shook,
"Schools are open, but no one comes.
Why would they?
If you die on the way, what's the point of studying?"
Riana Rei pulled her shawl tighter,
her eyes reflecting a mother's hidden fear.
"Ruma from the neighbouring house," she said softly,
"the military took her daughter last week.
When she asked why,
they said, 'Administrative needs.'
But the girl never returned.
Girls don't dare step outside anymore.
We cry quietly,
but even crying feels dangerous—
as if the whole village might hear."
Kelly's hand trembled,
her fingers clinging unconsciously to mine.
I listened to them,
my heart aching,
questions rising like storm clouds inside my mind.
The room grew quiet.
Everyone sat around the table,
but the words hung in the air like broken pieces.
Suddenly, Ryan shifted his gaze
straight toward me.
"Are you going to stay indoors forever, Riven?
How can someone be this lazy?
You have no purpose—
just sleeping, eating, hanging with friends.
Is that the goal of your life?"
He scoffed,
"Failed class 10,
and we can't spend more on your studies.
It will be difficult for you to get married.
Go outside, fight, do something.
If you die in war, you'll still be honored.
But here?
Here you're invisible."
I stayed silent.
His words felt like thorn-covered arrows,
each piercing deeper.
They hurt,
but they also sounded like bitter truths.
Mother snapped—her eyes red.
"Ryan! How dare you speak like that?
Riven is my son—
I won't lose him.
We barely saved your father's life—
I can't lose anyone else!"
Ryan spoke again, calmer but unapologetic.
"Mom, this isn't emotion—this is reality.
If no one stands up,
they will erase us.
If Riven steps forward,
at least he'll have a name.
People will respect him.
Even if he dies,
he'll be remembered.
But here?
Nobody will even notice him."
"Should I sacrifice my son for that?"
Mother whispered, tears falling.
"Yes, freedom needs sacrifice.
But I can't give him."
"Enough," Father said.
"Both of you, stop."
I said nothing.
I knew talking would only make everything worse.
My chest tightened—
between Ryan's harsh demand
and Mother's desperate plea,
my heart felt torn in two.
Just then, a car engine roared outside—
a sudden, sharp sound.
It felt like someone had come to pick Ryan up.
He stood, grabbed his suit,
and walked toward the door.
"I'm leaving," he said.
"We'll talk in the evening."
And I realized—
this wasn't an ordinary morning.
This was the morning
from which my chapter of war
was about to begin.
It was noon.
I slowly stood up and walked toward the door.
As I stepped outside,
the harsh sunlight struck my face.