Chapter One: Welcome to the Republic. The Message They Carried
A new storybook series for kindred spirits of all ages.
Chapter Two of a ten-part illustrated tale written for readers young and old—for anyone who believes peace isn’t just the absence of conflict, but the presence of compassion, creativity, and community.
Tales From Republic Of Peace: Table Of Contents
It is not on any map—not one you’ll find in an atlas or stitched into a school globe. But it exists.
The Republic of Peace lies somewhere between memory and imagination. You might stumble across it when the wind shifts in a direction no one taught you. Or when your heart softens in the middle of an argument, and no one notices but you.
It is a place of quiet customs and odd animals. A place where the post is delivered by owls, and the rivers hum lullabies if you cross them kindly. Where disagreements are settled not with shouting but with something called a Reflection Hour, during which tea is served, and no one may speak until the steam vanishes.
But even here, in this unlikely land, peace must be tended like a garden.
Nim was a hare—young, fast, and anxious in the way all messengers are. She wore a satchel full of other people’s letters and a small brass pin on her ear shaped like a question mark. That pin meant she was still learning the routes.
Nim had never met the Council. Few had. But she knew the Republic was guided not by a single ruler but by a series of rotating voices. Each voice held the role for only one season. It was said that even the trees had once served, and one memorable spring, a turtle named Bendo presided with such slowness that all laws passed that year were whispered rather than written.
The Republic had a flag, though it changed each season. The only rule was that it must be sewn by more than one creature and must never fly higher than the oldest tree in the village square.
The currency was stranger still. Called Kindlings (pronounced /kaɪndlin/, it was made of bark, thread, and pressed petals. One could earn Kindlings through listening, apologizing, helping strangers carry water, or finishing a book and returning it with a note. Theft was rare, mainly because the coins crumbled when taken without consent.
And yes, there was an anthem. It wasn’t sung. It was hummed.
Each note was passed from one voice to another. Children learned it by listening to the wind through reeds. Elders carried it in their hands when they rubbed healing balm into someone’s back. Travelers carried it in their boots, not knowing why the rhythm of their steps felt comfortable.
Nim had never hummed the anthem out loud. But she had once heard it when crossing the Mirror Meadow at dusk. A stranger was tending to a broken wheel. Neither spoke. But as Nim helped him bind the axle with her scarf, she noticed that he was humming. And she recognized the tune without knowing where she’d learned it.
That was how the Republic worked. Not in declarations. In gestures.
But something had begun to shift.
The clouds had been forming unfamiliar shapes—jagged ones. The river near the border whispered less and less. And some said the birds had stopped composing new songs.
One morning, Nim found a letter in her satchel with no name and no seal. It read only:
“Begin again.
Where the sky fell silent.
We are forgetting.”
And underneath that, a tiny, hand-drawn feather.
Nim looked up. The sky was unusually still.
She closed the satchel. Tightened her brass pin. And began to run.
To where? She didn’t know yet.
But the Republic was calling.
And stories—real stories—were stirring again.
To be continued...
Chapter Two: The Curious Case of the Quiet Sky
When the sky forgets how to thunder, the elders gather to wonder why—and what the silence means for them all.
Tales From Republic Of Peace Table Of Contents
