"Citizens, lend me your ears, for I shall tell you not a fable of beasts, but a truth of men greater than gods in resolve!"

"It was in the days when kings still ruled Rome, and pride had yet to taste the bitter wine of tyranny. There lived a woman—Lucretia—chaste, noble, Roman in every breath. Her husband, away at war, left her unguarded save for her virtue, which was stronger than any fortress."

"But the tyrant's son, Sextus Tarquinius, driven not by love but by lust and power, came to her house by night. With steel in hand and threats on tongue, he demanded what no Roman should take. Lucretia, though afraid, did not cry out. She yielded—not in heart, but in body—so that no shame would befall her father’s house in blood."

"At dawn, with her husband and father by her side, she spoke: 'I am innocent in soul, but Rome must see the price of dishonour.' Then she took a dagger, and drove it into her own breast. Thus fell Lucretia. Thus rose Rome."

"Her death shook the hills. Brutus, silent no more, seized the dagger from her lifeless hand and cried out, 'No more kings!' And with that cry, monarchy died, and the Republic was born—on the blood of a Roman woman, pure and proud."

"What lesson, citizens? That Rome is not built by stones alone, but by the virtue of its people. That liberty, once stirred, grows stronger than any crown. And that the stories of our past are not dust, but flame—meant to burn in the heart of every Roman who would stand free."

He pauses. The crowd is silent. Then, a wave of murmured approval rolls through the Forum.