The Poisoned Tree
A tree of apples—
One poisoned fruit was born… and life itself turned toxic.
The poisoned bloodline was no child of modern time.
It was an ancient shadow,
shifting across faces and banners,
changing colors, advancing, retreating,
but always loyal to its essence:
Corruption as a weapon… concealment as survival.
They gathered in hiding.
Their quarrels blazed in public,
each faction pretending enmity—
but beneath it all,
they were one body:
its head hidden,
its heart full of venom.
They spread their poison across the lands:
Tainted the waters
Spoiled the fruits
Poisoned the air
Even the earth wept,
screamed from what it had swallowed:
cold blood spilled through swords of betrayal and injustice.
Cursed became every place they touched.
Destruction followed them,
childhood crumbled before it could walk,
and mothers' hearts screamed in silence.
---
Long ago, in a forgotten moment,
a generation of knights fell.
Too pure for a corrupted earth.
The poisoned bloodline exploited the fall—
and betrayed them.
But what they did not understand
was that some kinds of falling
aren’t endings—
but a reshaping.
A renewal of power.
A forging of purpose.
So they rose again:
Wiser
Sharper
Knowing that purity alone is not enough
—Sovereignty is a duty.
They learned to unite with the keepers of the land.
They learned how to expose the hidden enemy.
---
The poisoned bloodline believed it had infiltrated the knights,
planted masks and traitors within.
That it controlled their strings from within.
But in their hunger to dominate,
they devoured a fruit offered by their own hand—
their poisoned apple.
An apple they thought was a victory…
but it was a curse.
From that bite,
the countdown to their fall began—
not by a visible sword,
but from within.
The poison now works in silence.
Time is no longer their ally—
but the witness to their inevitable end.
---
