The Massif Central appeared as a terrain shaped by flames. Sleeping volcanoes crouched beneath a uncaring sky. Breezes moved over highlands where hopes appeared worn down alongside the earth. It was at this spot, inside a secularized stone chapel nestled at the foot of a neck that Devon discovered Flavio Fergal.
There was no protection. No remaining followers. The chapel door remained ajar beckoning toward the void. Within the room was empty apart from a wooden table. Resting on it was the Liber Ignaviae slate, a device showing the rhythmic triangulation of the three quiet points, alongside a solitary unlit candle. Flavio stood by a window gazing at the stark shapes of the hills. He donned plain attire his stance that of a person bearing no weight whatsoever.
"Analyst Duncan " he spoke, not glancing back. "You discovered the core. The eye of the approaching tempest.. Maybe the heart of the impending stillness."
Devon stepped inside his service pistol a senseless burden at his side. It didn't belong in this setting. "It's finished, Fergal. The squads are stationed at every corner. The loop won't seal."
Flavio pivoted. His expression remained serene. Devon noticed in his eyes not zealotry, but a deep weary sorrow. It was the gaze of the aid workers those who had confronted the void without flinching yet chose to embrace it.
"Over?" Flavio's tone was soft. "Do you believe this revolves around a 'circuit'? Some sort of play? The catacombs, the glen… those are merely learning spaces. The actual effort " he tapped his temple "resides here.. Here." He indicated the silent terrain beyond. ". Within every mind that peruses our manifesto and senses the truth echo."
He moved toward the table his gestures smooth natural. "You looked into my past. You're aware of my story. Sarajevo. Goma. Aleppo. I trusted in deeds. I trusted in the tireless labor of compassion. I transported sacks of grain established field clinics appealed for donations." He stopped, his eyes reflecting inward. ". With each sack of grain a fresh conflict. For each clinic a new disease. For every appeal, a justification. I wasn't combating suffering. I was fueling a system powered by suffering. An endless cycle of agony."
He gazed at Devon, his eyes bright and strikingly lucid. "Burnout, Analyst Duncan isn't a flaw, within oneself. It represents the moral reaction of a self-aware mind facing an intolerable situation. I didn't collapse. I comprehended."
"So you've chosen to quit " Devon remarked, the charge sounding empty.
"I chose to provide an escape " Flavio amended. "An escape, from the machine. The Lethargic Calculus isn't an armament. It's a key. It opens the gate of the prison we have confused with reality." He lifted the slate, his fingers following the spiral. "Belphegor is not a demon we call forth. It is the title we assign to the tranquility that arrives when all struggle ceases. I am not a ruiner. I am a… compassionate euthanist. For a world in terminal, agonizing effort."
The argument unfolded flawlessly. It recast cruelty as compassion, indifference as the expression of love. Devon was drawn to it the part, within him that was exhausted having witnessed senseless violence and administrative malice.
"And those whose lives you 'safeguard'? Their autonomy? Their existence?"
"What life?" Flavio inquired, intrigue in his voice. "The life of Kale Kane furious at the world's foolishness? Of the epidemiologist observing society deteriorate gradually? I gave them what their own sharp intellects failed to provide: a resolution, to the paradox. To exist in a realm of pain while having empathy is a form of torment. I concluded their torment."
He moved nearer. The atmosphere, in the chapel seemed scarce as though it too was fading in spirit. "You reside in that torment, Devon. You pursue the signs of the illness chastising those who present the remedy. Your exhaustion is your honesty crying out to you. Heed it."
Devon's hand didn't reach for his weapon. Instead it went to the wrinkled evidence bag tucked in his pocket the very one he'd dropped in the catacombs. He raised it the rustling plastic a bizarre contrast, in the stone chapel. "You speak of peace. Of resolutions.. This… this ugly meaningless object… it's real. It defies your formula. It's chaos. It's a mistake."
Flavio gazed at it. For the first time a hint of something resembling disappointment appeared on his face. It wasn't anger. The sadness of a mentor witnessing a pupil hold on to a basic error. ". You would prefer a world filled with such ugly meaningless things rather, than one of flawless quiet tranquility?"
"Yes " Devon responded, the word pulled from, beyond logic. "Because the unpleasant truth is genuine. The love that embraces pain is authentic. Your peace… it is merely the cessation of emotion. It's the removal of life."
Flavio exhaled deeply a noise filled with forbearance. "Subtraction remains the process that achieves equilibrium. You are the variable unwilling to be solved. Your defiance represents the resistance required. When the Grand Conjunction reaches its height your deliberate, tormented refusal will serve as the trigger. Your 'no' will enable the universal 'yes.' You will become the offering that consecrates the calm."
He did not intend to threaten. He was merely presenting a fact. In Flavio's calculation Devon's rebellion was not a hindrance; it was the essential last element.
Outside the breeze had ceased. The world appeared to be, in suspense. On the tablet the three locations—Glen Lyon, Paris the Silent Forest—glowed in flawless synchronized beat. The charge was approaching its maximum.
Flavio Fergal, the aid worker grinned with a sorrowful compassionate resolve. "The moment has come, Analyst. Time to stop the noise. Will you, at last… find peace?"
The offer hung in the still air of the chapel, not as a threat, but as the most compassionate proposal Devon had ever heard. And the terror was in knowing how much he wanted to accept it.