This story might actually be true, in the end… I will have many enemies or allies throughout this adventure, but through the story of the toad, we understand that true power is born from observation, detachment, and self-mastery, beyond the laws and illusions of the world. Its solitary path reveals that all freedom comes at a price, and that meaning is not found in good or evil, but in the effect of each action and in what it will bring us in return.
I was watching him think; his eyes had become unfocused, and he had also removed his hand from my shoulder… and, without me realizing it, he had stepped a few paces away from me.
One of his hands rested on his chin, the other on his hip; he was completely absorbed by my fable. A small smile came to me as I watched him think like that. I took a small breath, then looked again toward the place where Didier was… the nuns were completely preventing anyone from approaching that area… even Doctor Dupont was on site with the general director; it was truly chaos.
At that sight, a small laugh escaped me: "Ahah!"
When I faced Maxime again, he was no longer thinking; he was observing the scene himself. He wasn't smiling; his eyes looked at it with total detachment, as if he were already used to all of this. Then one of his eyes suddenly turned toward me, before he looked away again.
Now he was smiling; his detachment was gone, like a veil of mist brushed away by a hand. He looked at Pierre for a few seconds, then spoke:
— I don't think I fully understood this famous fable, but at least I think I grasped the essentials… at least, I hope so…
— What did you take from this fable, Maxime? The deal with the devil? The betrayal of his friends? What did you find so important?
Pierre's eyes shone with a dark glint, but Maxime had no reaction, no change in facial expression at all; he was completely detached from reality. Pierre quickly noticed Maxime's lifeless stare: he seemed out of time, lost on the moon.
A small gust of wind lifted Maxime's hand to his face. The wind wasn't strong; on the contrary, it was light, soft, but still icy. He ran his hand through his messy hair without fixing it. He shook his head slightly and looked at me without any amusement.
— The toad made stupid choices. He chose power, strength, and not immortality. He chose the demonic path without being a true demon. A true demon is monstrous, unfathomable, evil; he only made plans upon plans without ever spilling blood, hence his failure.
Pierre looked at him in surprise. He didn't understand his reasoning: in what way was what he did so bad in Maxime's eyes?
— How? He chose caution, observation, not direct violence. He tricked the devil and then fulfilled his own wish. How was that so wrong in your eyes?
— All those choices! He wanted to climb mountains, to see beyond the heavens, but he remained in his miserable pond, only to end up becoming a simple stone statue! How is that admirable to you, Pierre?! A truly demonic being would have killed everyone in that pond to steal their souls, then offered them to devils in exchange for more power and time. Then he would have ascended to the heavens to become immortal. And even if Buddha and the world opposed him, he would have killed them all; and even if he died, he would return even more cunning and stronger than before, to annihilate them all for good.
A silence fell between them. Maxime's gaze had turned dark. Pierre did not look away: two beings stood face to face, a few steps apart. Groups passed around them—nuns and other solitary people—while a silent confrontation unfolded between the two.
Pierre understood—or perhaps only began to understand—that Maxime was different from him. His vision of the world felt foreign, almost inaccessible. He was different from normal people, so to speak. He looked at them as one looks at cattle in a cage. He did not merely classify them by social class, but by usefulness. Maxime is not like me: he is different in his movements, in his gestures. He is not like us. His morality is different from mine and completely far from any standard… He has managed to transcend social norms to create his own. At least, that's a hypothesis, but I think it's right… He hides everything, like me, but with one difference: he shows his true face, not a mask.
What does he hide from us—and from me? He possesses information that only I should know… And it seems he knows what will happen in the future. He said others should know as well, so they may also have obtained objects or magical—or at least mysterious—relics like mine… I only have the beginning of a journal, or maybe its end… I don't even know. Maxime must also have a very specific goal to annoy me like this from the very beginning of this so-called adventure. But what is his goal? And what is mine, in the end? As for mine, I know it, but…
Everything in its own time. He is clearly hiding many things from us, but I think we may have to go fishing for information later.
Pierre felt it deep in his heart. He had always known… he saw and understood the world in a particular way. One might say he had a rare talent: he could feel everything emanating from a person, understand how they worked, who they truly were, why they acted that way. He perceived intentions, distinguished truth from lies. But all of this came at a price… hence his distrust of his companions.
— Maxime… you know, I don't want to hide anything from you or the others, he whispered. I'm not trying to harm anyone… just to do what's right, for myself and for the group. Maybe you could even help me, or at least come with me a little. After all, we are here to overcome difficulties, aren't we?
Maxime remained still, silent, his eyes fixed on him like a cold, inevitable inspection. No emotion appeared—only perfect attention to every movement. A faint smile formed at the corners of his lips, but his eyes stayed locked on me, lifeless.
I continued speaking, my gestures calculated to the millimeter, my words carefully chosen to make him believe what he wanted to see:
— I know some might think I am… a liar, or someone who doesn't say everything. But I swear I have no bad intentions and that all my actions are justified for our group. I simply do what seems right to me, Maxime. And you only doubt; you don't even give me a chance to prove my truth.
— Really? You think I was wrong about you, Pierre? And that instead I should have gone to see Louis, is that it? And at the same time, I should stop watching you like a shepherd guarding his flock so it doesn't get devoured by the wolf, right, Pierre?
— Yes… look. What have I done that is so wrong for you to watch me so closely, when we don't even know each other? But… who is Louis?
— Don't make me laugh, you're incapable of that. And don't worry about Louis… it doesn't concern you anyway. You are a wolf to others; you never look behind you. Didier died by your hands… Look, I've become a shepherd because of you… and you dare talk to me about the group? And your so-called contributions to them?!
Every human being carries within them a purpose, a dream to reach during their brief existence. Without it, we sink—becoming depressed, sometimes even suicidal. There is no shame in having such goals: they are most often intimate, sometimes even unspoken… Mine is not noble, perhaps even selfish. But there is nothing wrong in desiring it, in cherishing it… Human beings are condemned to dream.
If necessary, I will become their guide… perhaps even their light. Maxime will not understand my goal, I am certain of it. But for the survival of the group—and my own—I have no choice. I must become their only source of light in this darkness in order to reach my dream.
— Yes, everything is for them… sometimes, the one who becomes a guide must carry everyone's burden, and if needed, or if there is no other choice, I will play that role, even reluctantly. Every gesture in the shadows feeds a fragile balance, where their weaknesses become my measure. I take their fears and faults upon myself, and every step leaves behind an invisible expectation. Without me, they would collapse, and yet I accept this role… because it is necessary, for them and for me.
Our two paths are very different, Maxime. Yours is unknown, but mine… I know it. I must get out of here, no matter how many crimes I commit here or elsewhere. My destiny is sealed in this goal: the end justifies the means.
"Atlas with the torn cloak, carrying shadow as if it were a fire it believes to be light.
The camel bends, the lion tears, the child laughs—and you walk over their bones.
Your flames freeze, your steps imprison, and you believe you are saving what you already hold captive.
Listen to the breath… it slips, an invisible orchestra, each note twisting air and world.
Nothing holds, everything dissolves, and the greatness you pursue fades into emptiness.
Every light you extend may consume you, every road you draw may betray you.
When everything collapses around you, they will see only your own labyrinth.
I dance with this wind, free, invisible, already far from your fading world."
He was no longer looking at me; he was staring at the ground, watching ants move across the earth, dead leaves scattered on the ground… but the strangest thing was elsewhere: he opened his arms… I was disturbed, these sentences were becoming completely delusional riddles… devoid of meaning.
— Ahah… you're really talking nonsense! What is this stupid riddle you're telling?! You're just throwing nonsense after nonsense at me. You say you are my guide, my savior… but you're nothing but shit. You annoy me by knowing everything about me when you know absolutely nothing about the real me. Now tell me, Maxime: do you possess something that can see people's past and future, Maxime?!
— Oh really, and you think you're talking nonsense… what you see is only one facet, Pierre, and what you think you understand barely touches the shadow of what is unfolding behind my actions. Every word, every glance carries a weight you will never measure, and what you call truth might only be what you want to see. You think I guide or manipulate, but maybe this role plays itself, and we simply do not share the same vision.
He did not want to answer my question. To the others, yes… but not to this one. Why? A faint smile crossed my lips: if he thought he could hide it, he was wrong. Somehow, I would end up discovering his secret.
A drop of water. At what speed, per second, does a drop fall from a tree? And with what force does it crash into the ground? Man is like that drop: what usefulness will he survive, and on what scale will it matter?
A drop of water detached itself from the apple tree, fine and translucent, capturing the light like a suspended crystal. It fell in almost palpable silence, each millisecond stretching as if the world held its breath to watch its descent. Then, with an almost imperceptible impact, it struck the ground, bursting into a myriad of tiny water stars reflecting the inevitable truth of what was about to happen.
They moved toward each other, walking with determination, fists clenched. The fight was inevitable; both knew it.
End of this episode.
Thank you for reading.