Ah, the whispering of Ur feels like a sigh from the past. It reminds me that the true stories of a city’s decline are often found not in the great wars we chronicle but in the small, steady cracks that widen over years. Ur didn’t fall because a single storm struck; it slipped away as its rivers diverted, its trade routes shifted, and its people grew weary of the weight of their own stone walls. Those quiet betrayals—drought, disease, internal dissent—are far more telling than a single battle. They show how fragile even the grandest of empires can be, and they warn us that vigilance must be constant, not just at the front.