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In a land divided by banners, beliefs, and borders, there lived a quiet boy named Emil and his elderly grandfather, once a philosopher in a forgotten republic. They often sat beneath an old cedar tree that had outlived empires, its roots digging deep into a mountain that bore witness to generations of struggle.

One morning, after hearing news of yet another unjust trial in the capital, Emil frowned. “Why does injustice keep winning, Grandfather? Why do those who fight for truth always lose?”

The old man closed his eyes, then pointed to the horizon where a river bent around jagged stones. “The problem is not truth’s weakness,” he said softly, “but pride’s strength. Injustice is not merely a law broken or a right denied—it is pride refusing to bow before truth.”

He picked up a dry clump of earth and let it fall through his fingers.

“Humankind,” he continued, “was given freedom. Not as a toy, but as a test. A test of what we’ll do when no one is watching, when power is within reach, and when apology feels like defeat.”

Emil traced the cracks in the earth and said, “So… injustice is just the misuse of that freedom?”

Grandfather nodded. “Yes. And the most dangerous misuse comes not from monsters, but from men convinced they’re right—too proud to admit otherwise.”

He leaned against the cedar tree. “Arrogance is the root of every injustice. It hides behind flags, behind religions, behind good intentions. It shouts louder than guilt. It edits the truth to protect its image.”

“But what about humility?” Emil asked. “Does it just suffer in silence?”

“Humility,” said Grandfather, “is not weakness. It is the soil that allows the tree of justice to grow. Where arrogance suffocates, humility listens. Where pride builds walls, humility opens doors.”

Emil looked up at the branches above them. “But will we ever see perfect justice?”

“No,” Grandfather answered. “Not in this world. This world was not made for perfection, but for proving. The tree of justice can give shade, it can bear fruit—but it will always be weathered by storms. Only beyond this life is there a forest untouched by arrogance.”

He placed a hand on Emil’s shoulder.

“Do not pledge your loyalty to parties, tribes, or even leaders,” he said. “Pledge it to truth. Justice is not a sword—it is a mirror. It reflects who we really are, and many are afraid to look.”

As the sun dipped low and shadows stretched across the valley, Emil felt a quiet resolve rise in him. He would grow like that tree—not perfect, but rooted. Not loud, but listening. A witness. A bearer of shade. A humble challenger to pride.

Because while injustice may rise like weeds…

truth, watered by humility, always finds a way to bloom.