"Isn't that the Wicked Witch of the West?"
"I thought she was dead!"
"And she just saved all of our lives…"
The Ozians' voices overlapped until Elphaba raised both hands, her voice booming with frustration.
"All right! All right! Will you all just listen to me?! For once?!"
The crowd fell still.
She took a breath, heart pounding, and stepped forward, green face proud but heavy with memory.
"I wasn't always this. I trained to serve the Wizard. Back in my college days at Shiz, I studied spells and politics—I wanted to make a difference. I believed in him. All of us did. But then I discovered the truth."
Her voice dropped, quiet and bitter.
"He was behind the silencing of the Animals. He was no ruler, not even a true magician. He was just a man. A fraud. And when I threatened to expose him, Morrible—my teacher, my mentor—declared me Wicked and turned all of Oz against me."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
A grizzled Ozian in the front raised his voice. "We've been led to believe you were wicked for years. How do we know this isn't just another trick?"
Before Elphaba could answer, a clear, regal voice rang out from the back.
"Because I trust her."
Heads turned. Ozma, regal and radiant, stepped forward, standing beside Elphaba with quiet authority.
"She risked her life to free me from a tower where I had been imprisoned for years," Ozma said, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. "You have all been the victims of powerful enchantment and deception. Morrible was not only behind this woman's exile—she was behind the rise of the false Wizard as well."
Gasps rippled like thunder.
Ozma continued, voice even but firm. "Years ago, Morrible used her weather magic to summon a storm that carried a man in a hot air balloon over the rainbow and into Oz. His name was Oscar Diggs. She promised him power, riches, and glory if he followed her orders. She then cast a spell over the land to make the people forget me—their rightful ruler—and believe that Oscar was their true leader. Anyone who questioned it, anyone who threatened that lie… was branded evil."
Elphaba turned to her, stunned. "So… Morrible was behind all of this?"
Ozma nodded solemnly. "Indeed. The Wizard was nothing more than a puppet. And she was pulling his strings."
Silence fell again—until a voice broke through. A young woman stepped forward, face glowing with admiration and conviction. She reached out, took Elphaba's hand in both of hers.
"You've gained our full trust," she said. "Whatever you tell us to do… we'll do it. What was your name again?"
Elphaba blinked back tears, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips.
"My name is Elphaba."
Cheers erupted from the crowd, a rising wave of loyalty and righteous fury. The people of Oz were no longer confused—they were ready.
Elphaba stepped up onto a broken stone column and lifted her arms. Her voice carried over the square like a battle horn.
"Then follow me. We march to the palace. We take it back. Oz belongs to its people, not to tyrants!"
A roar rose in response, and the people surged forward, armed with whatever they could carry—torches, pitchforks, tools, magic, and will.
As the crowd prepared to storm the palace, Fiyero stepped up beside her, his scarecrow form outlined by flickering flame.
"I'm with you."
Elphaba turned quickly, grabbing his straw-stuffed hands.
"No," she said, voice soft but firm. "There will be fire. Too much of it. And in your form…" Her eyes filled with worry. "If you're hurt, I don't know how I'd survive it."
He looked ready to protest, but the look in her eyes stopped him. Slowly, he nodded.
"I'll stay back," he said. "But only so I can protect the others who can't fight."
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. "Thank you."
And then she turned, cloak billowing, and led the people of Oz forward. Toward the palace. Toward Morrible.
Toward the reckoning.