The Weight of Words – A Speech That Shook the World

The battle had ended, but the emotions lingering in the air were anything but settled. The dust had barely begun to settle when murmurs began spreading through the crowd. The once awe-struck spectators were now whispering among themselves, their eyes shifting towards the master, not with admiration, but with fear and resentment.

Then, it happened.

A single stone, small and sharp, soared through the air and struck the master's shoulder. It wasn't enough to cause harm, but it carried with it an undeniable weight—rejection. The first stone was followed by another, then another, until a rain of rocks pelted him from all directions.

"You monster!"

"How could someone like you exist?!"

"You're not human!"

The words cut deeper than any physical attack. The same people who had once cheered for the master, who had admired his power, now turned on him like an unforgiving storm. It didn't matter that he had trained them, guided them, protected them. The moment they saw a power beyond their comprehension, they labelled him something unnatural, something terrifying.

Ren's hands clenched into fists. His whole body trembled, not out of fear, but pure, unfiltered rage. He stepped forward, ready to scream at them, ready to fight them all if necessary. But before he could act, Kael's hand grabbed his wrist.

"Wait," Kael said, his voice steady but low, his eyes filled with something deeper than anger.

Ren turned to face the crowd, his chest heaving. "Stop it!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the entire arena. The stones continued to fly. The people continued to laugh.

"What are you going to do about it?" someone sneered from the crowd, their voice filled with mockery. "He's a monster! Just like you, Ren!"

A roar of laughter followed. The venom in their words burned Ren's very soul. His vision blurred, but it wasn't just anger—it was sorrow, disappointment, and something else. Something that had been buried deep inside him for so long.

Ren exhaled sharply, his entire being shaking. And then, he spoke.

"You think he's a monster?" Ren's voice was eerily calm, his words slow but sharp as blades. "You think he doesn't belong?"

The laughter died down slightly, curiosity flickering in the eyes of the students and elders alike.

"You all… You all sit here, laughing, pointing, throwing your stones. But let me ask you something," Ren continued, his voice growing colder. "What do you even know about monsters?"

Silence.

Ren took a step forward. His dragon, sensing his emotions, growled lowly behind him.

"I've seen monsters," Ren whispered, his tone darker than the void. "I've lived with them. Not the kind you read about in books, not the kind you fight in your little training sessions. No. The real kind."

His fingers curled into fists. His eyes, usually filled with fiery determination, now held nothing but a void—a void of pain too deep for words.

"I was born into this world already condemned. People looked at me and saw filth. They saw something less than human, someone unworthy of kindness, of love, of a future. Do you know what that's like?"

Some shifted uncomfortably, their previous confidence slowly crumbling.

"They called me a curse," Ren continued, his voice growing unsteady. "They called me a plague. I was spat on. Beaten. Mocked. I watched my parents suffer because of me. I watched them break because of me. And no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. I was never enough."

Suddenly, an unseen force surged through the air. The ground trembled, and before anyone could react, the entire stadium was swallowed in an overwhelming vision.

A projection of Ren's past unfolded in the sky, massive and inescapable. It played out like a nightmare, raw and unfiltered. The crowd gasped as they watched a young Ren, no older than five, curled up in the dirt as people threw rocks at him, their faces twisted with disgust. They saw him starving in the streets, too weak to even cry. They saw him beaten bloody, left in the cold with no one to save him.

Then came the worst part—his parents.

His mother, weeping, begging for mercy as their home burned around them. His father, standing in front of him, shielding him with his body while cruel men sneered, their weapons raised. The final scream of his mother echoed through the vision like a death knell, and the sound of a sword slicing through flesh rang louder than anything else.

The moment the vision ended, the stadium was completely silent. And then—

The first sob broke the air.

Then another.

And another.

Every single person, from the lowest student to the highest elder, was crying. Some had fallen to their knees, unable to bear the sheer agony of what they had just witnessed. The realization crushed them. The cruelty they had just laughed at, the suffering they had dismissed—it was all real. And it had been happening right in front of them the whole time.

Even the true master, the man who had endured centuries of battles, trials, and hardships, felt a sting in his chest. His throat tightened, and though he tried to stay composed, a single tear escaped, trailing down his weathered face.

Kael, who had spent his entire life suppressing his emotions, who had fought against his own torment, finally allowed himself to feel the depth of Ren's pain. He placed a hand on Ren's shoulder, his grip firm, steady.

Ren wiped his face and turned to the master. His voice was softer now, but still unyielding. "You told us to grow stronger, to become the best versions of ourselves. But strength isn't just about power. It's about understanding. About knowing what it means to hurt, and choosing not to be the cause of someone else's pain."

The master nodded slowly, his heart heavy with unspoken words. "You're right."

Ren turned back to the crowd, his final words like a dagger to their souls.

"Next time you call someone a monster, ask yourself first—who's really the monster here?"

The arena remained silent. There was no more laughter. No more stones.

Only the weight of guilt, and the quiet hum of change beginning to take root.