The atmosphere in the chapel was as if time itself was suspended. Flavio's proposal—Will you, at last… find peace?—lingered between them a serene haven of stillness. Devon perceived its weight within his core. Saying yes would be effortless. Completely sensible.
He refrained from grabbing his gun. Instead he advanced into the gap separating them using his fatigue as a weapon, against himself.
"You label action, as vanity " Devon spoke softly. His words pierced the quiet. "You claim all effort is a device.. Your lack of action… it's simply a different form of vanity. A refined more conceited variety."
A slight inquisitive crease appeared on Flavio's forehead. "Presumption? To provide comfort?"
"To assume you understand the outcome " Devon responded. "To observe the disorder the agony, the cries and assert you've witnessed the result. That the solution is nil. You've abandoned the equation itself Flavio. Not due, to its impossibility. Because you're weary of solving it."
"Resolving issues results in challenges. Every action triggers a response. Pursuing goals generates pursuit. It is a harmful cycle."
". Stillness produces nothing!" Devon's voice escalated, breaking the chapel's silence. "You've crafted a reasoning for death and named it peace. You claim that opting not to move is freedom.. It's merely another decision. A decision, with outcomes you refuse to acknowledge."
"What consequences? An end to suffering?"
"Everything must come to a halt!" Devon waved his arms dramatically toward the window the barren scenery outside. "To the child giggling without cause. To the obstinate choice to forgive. To the researcher stumbling before a breakthrough. To the relief worker—, to you Flavio, the person you once were—who still bears the sack of grain not claiming it solves hunger but because it nourishes someone today. That's not pride. That's the essence. The focus isn't, on the end result. It's about playing the game.
Flavio's calmness remained,. His gaze grew more intense focused on the battle. "A contest where the tokens represent anguish. Where the toll is settled in agony. My 'passivity,' as you describe it halts the expense. It ceases the toll."
". What gives you the right to forgive the debt?" Devon retorted. "You talk about mercy. It's the mercy of a deity who floods the earth to stop its turmoil. You don't have the authority to declare the conflict meaningless simply because you're weary of observing it."
"Meaning?" Flavio repeated, the term falling like a breath. "We create meaning to rationalize hardship. It is the narratives we construct to endure the anguish. I present reality. The reality is, on the quantum scale on the scale nothing truly matters. Every event breaks down into entropy. I am simply… attuning our awareness to that truth."
Devon sensed the coldness of the dispute. It was accurate. In the vastness of the cosmos they amounted to configurations, in fading energy. Flavio's tranquility was an acceptance of physics.
He remembered Veronica Vigdis, caring for her injury. Of Felisca Fleur tapping her stones. Of the crushed evidence sack, in the tomb of bones.
"So we're patterns " Devon admitted, the confrontation draining the aggression, from his tone replaced by a tired unyielding resolve. ". We're patterns capable of choice. We can opt to embody greed or fear or… or compassion. Your 'fundamental fact' serves as the backdrop. The artwork—ugly, beautiful, chaotic meaningless—that's us. Wiping away the painting isn't wisdom, Flavio. It's simply… a denial to create."
He made a move now near enough to notice the delicate creases of weariness, near the other man's eyes the shadow of the compassionate soul who had empathized excessively. "You didn't uncover a truth. You merely individualized a tiredness and labeled it insight. Your Grand Conjunction isn't an epiphany. It's a meltdown. The final meltdown of a man who realized the world's harshness and concluded the ethical choice was to force everyone else to cease experiencing it as well."
For the occasion Flavios flawless composure shattered. Not, through rage. Via a sudden surge of deep intimate pain—the agony of the dreamer. "Do you believe I am a child? Having a tantrum?"
"I believe you cherished the world enough that its suffering felt like your own " Devon murmured softly. " Of enduring that love alongside the anguish you decided to erase them both. You're not presenting peace. You're presenting numbness.. You aim to sedate the world."
The ensuing quiet was distinct. It ceased to be a calm and became a disputed one. Flavio fixed his eyes on him the specter of the clashing with the composed master of silence inside his look. On the tablet the unified signals, from the three locations started to accelerate, nearing a peak.
The philosophical debate had concluded. Arguments had ceased. What remained was a decision, between two forms of love: one that eliminated all pain by extinguishing all emotions and another that decided to experience the pain nurture it and declared that nurturing to be the significance that counted.
Flavio looked from Devon's face to the pulsing lights on his tablet, his expression that of a conductor whose perfect symphony has just been interrupted by a single, discordant, heartfelt note that refuses to be harmonized. He had an answer for everything, except for that.