Witness Log: The Day Language Was Outlawed 

We asked three people what the decree sounded like. An elder said, “Weather.” A courier said, “A mouth closing.” A market keeper said, “Paper torn the wrong way.” The law arrived as text in the sky, scrolling like a storm front. Some tried to read it aloud and lost their voices for a day. Others wrote on their sleeves with ash and watched the rain bargain their promises away. A child hid letters in a braid like seeds—tomorrow in the roots. We log these fragments so the story doesn’t learn to flinch.