Garrick leaned over the aged scroll, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows over the inked words. The Forgotten Wars—a conflict so ancient that even its name implied its obscurity. He had sifted through countless volumes in the Academy's grand archives, yet every account seemed to tell a different story.
In some records, the war was a righteous crusade against a tyrant. In others, it was a brutal campaign of conquest. Some sources barely mentioned it at all, as if it had been deliberately erased from history.
"History is truth," his mentor had told him once. But now, staring at the conflicting accounts, Garrick felt a deep unease. Which truth?
"Still at it?"
He looked up to find Professor Alden standing beside him. The elderly historian peered down at the scrolls with an amused expression, his spectacles resting at the bridge of his nose.
"You seem troubled," Alden remarked.
Garrick hesitated before answering. "I've been tracing the accounts of the Forgotten Wars, but... they don't align. Some say it was a battle for justice, others claim it was fought over land. Entire sections contradict each other."
Alden chuckled. "And that surprises you?"
"Isn't history supposed to be the record of what happened?" Garrick asked.
Alden tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Ah, but history is written by those who survive. Tell me, do you believe history is meant to preserve facts or shape narratives?"
Garrick frowned. "A historian's duty is to seek the truth."
Alden gave him a knowing smile. "Then you must decide—which truth?"
Later that day, Garrick sat in the dimly lit hall of the history division, listening to a heated debate among his fellow students.
"History is objective," said Renna, a scholar known for her meticulous research. "It is our job to uncover and preserve the facts, not alter them to fit a narrative."
"And what if the facts contradict each other?" countered Markus, leaning forward. "The truth is never simple. People remember events differently. Even witnesses to the same battle will give conflicting accounts."
"Then we must compare and verify," Renna insisted. "Cross-reference sources, seek evidence."
"But evidence can be destroyed," Garrick interjected. "Documents can be rewritten. If the victors shape history, then the history we read may already be... a distortion."
A murmur spread through the room.
"Exactly," Markus said. "History isn't just recorded. It's crafted."
Another student, Elias, crossed his arms. "So you're saying historians should shape history? That's dangerous. If we start bending the narrative, where does it stop?"
Alden, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. "Perhaps the question is not whether we should shape history, but whether we ever had a choice."
Silence fell.
"Every historian, consciously or unconsciously, selects what to include and what to omit," Alden continued. "When you write an account, you choose which sources to prioritize. When you tell a story, you emphasize certain details. You cannot escape interpretation. The question is whether you acknowledge it or deny it."
Garrick exhaled slowly. "So even if I dedicate myself to uncovering the truth… I'm still shaping it?"
Alden smiled. "Now you understand the burden of a historian."
That night, Garrick returned to the archives, flipping through old accounts with new eyes.
If history was shaped by those who recorded it, then he had to dig deeper—not just into facts, but into who wrote them and why.
He compared records from different regions. In one account, the Forgotten Wars were a noble defense against invaders. In another, the same war was portrayed as merciless expansion.
The names of heroes in one book were the names of villains in another.
The realization struck him hard—history is not just what happened. It is what people chose to remember.
For every battle, there were those who wished to forget. For every empire, there were those who wished to rewrite.
If he wanted the truth, he would need to look beyond the records and into the gaps they left behind.
At the next lecture, Garrick raised his hand.
"Professor Alden," he said, "if historians shape the past through their writing, how do we ensure we're not simply reinforcing the biases of those before us?"
Alden gave him an approving nod. "We don't."
The class stirred in discomfort.
"Our task is not to eliminate bias—that is impossible," Alden continued. "Our task is to recognize it. To question it. To leave room for doubt. A historian who claims absolute truth is the most dangerous of all."
Garrick sat back, letting the words settle.
He had chosen the Forgotten Wars because he wanted to uncover history.
Now he realized that history was not something to uncover—it was something to question.
The past had already been written. His role was to decide what it meant.