In the Grand Scheme of Things

The signals had been there for years—minor fluctuations in a vast machine, too subtle to draw notice. It held, or so it seemed—locked in its familiar orbit, its momentum mistaken for permanence.

“The construct is strong. It cannot be undone.” The architects of its decay spoke with certainty, as if repeating the message might make it unbreakable.

Law remained, but only as a relic—stripped of its purpose as a check on power and repurposed as a weapon against those without it. Rights still existed in name, but their protections had been quietly reassigned. The machinery of governance turned as it always had, sustaining the illusion of order—even as every safeguard had already been undone.

Gradually at first—no proclamation, no upheaval—only the slow, uneasy drift into a future already decided for them. A few sensed the shift, the unseen fracture widening—but the world pressed forward, as if nothing had changed.