Английски език
Synopsis: The night the hearths were extinguished, it snowed ash instead of ice.
It drifted softly at first, settling on window ledges and prayer stones, on the shoulders of women who still believed walls could protect them. The air smelled wrong-metallic and sweet-like blood spilled too close to flame. Somewhere, bells rang once, twice, and then went silent.
In the oldest quarter of the city, where the streets curved inward as if seeking warmth, the Hearthborn gathered. They did not gather to fight. They gathered to tend.
Great fires burned in the communal halls-living fires, fed not by wood alone but by breath and memory and love freely given. These hearths had survived plagues and sieges, winters that broke kingdoms. They were older than the Crown, older than the oaths carved into palace stone. They were never meant to rule. They were meant to endure
"Lower the flames," said Maerith, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. She pressed her palm to the hearthstone, feeling the fire answer her touch like a heartbeat. "Not out. Never out. Just...quiet.
Children huddled beneath tables and cloaks, clutching bread still warm from ovens abandoned mid-rise. Elders whispered prayers to no god in particular. The Hearthborn had learned long ago that gods listened poorly, but fire remembered everything.
Beyond the doors, steel rang. The Crown's men came in black, their armor etched with sigils that drank light. They carried torches that did not flicker, flames bound tight by blood magic-magic stolen, twisted, screaming beneath command. At their head walked the King's Enforcer, face hidden, oath-bound and silent. He did not look at the people as people. He looked at them as kindling.
"This is your last warning," a herald called, voice amplified by spell-work. "Extinguish the forbidden fires. Surrender the Hearthborn. The Crown will be merciful."
Maerith laughed then-softly, sadly. "Mercy," she echoed, tasting the word. "They always misuse that one." She knelt before the central hearth and drew a blade across her palm. Blood fell, not into the fire, but onto the stone ring that held it. The hearth flared-not higher, but deeper, its glow sinking into walls and floors, into the bones of the city itself.
Remember us, she thought-not as rulers. Not as martyrs. Remember us as shelter.
The doors burst inward.
Magic collided with magic. Blood magic howled as it met warmth it could not consume.
Autobiography: Dr. James M. Copas, LLM., LLM., was born and raised in Hamilton, Ohio, and graduated from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, with his AA and BA. He then graduated from the University of Detroit Mercy School of Law with his JD. Jim then graduated from Stetson University College of Law in St. Petersburg, Florida, with his LLM degree in International Law, Business, and Trade. Then to Chicago, where he graduated from the John Marshall Law School with an LLM in Intellectual Property Law. The University of Illinois later issued another LLM diploma to Mr. Copas in Intellectual Property Law after having merged with John Marshall Law School.
James Michael Copas, author of The Politicization of the American Legal System, writes with a deep reverence for God and an unwavering love for the United States. His work is driven by a profound concern for the increasingly chaotic and polarized nature of American politics, where partisan warfare now often eclipses principles of justice, truth, and constitutional fidelity. In a time when the law seems to drift like a slow-blowing political wind-malleable, weaponized, and too often stripped of its moral anchor-Copas calls readers to recognize what is at stake. His voice is one of clarity and conviction, urging a return to higher values in both law and governance.
