The proposal lingered in the heavy atmosphere: to become the Anchor. The one who endures pain so everyone else can find peace. It was the enticing notion Devon had ever encountered. It brought a stunning clarity to a long history of exhaustion.
The fatigue carried a backstory. When Flavio's proposal resonated it unleashed a surge, not of recollections. Of feelings. A recollection not of incidents. Of burden.
At eight years old he gripped his mother's trembling hand in an illuminated hospital hallway sensing even before any words were uttered that he now had to remain the steady presence. The burden of a child's imposed steadiness.
He was twenty-four, an analyst gazing at a pixelated snapshot of a crime scene so horrific it altered his perception of evil then instructed to compose the dull official report. The burden of horror passed through tape.
At thirty years old he sat alone in his apartment following a 16-hour shift, the stillness far, from calming filled instead with the reverberations of others' troubles—a trafficker's record, a victim's testimony his boss's orders. The burden of holding fragments of shattered lives within his mind.
He was thirty-eight labeled with " occupational burnout and moral injury." The physician recommended a break. He took a fortnight. The pile of case files, on his desk appeared to multiply during his absence reproaching him. The burden of a system that refused to halt and a conscience unwilling to rest.
He stood here present, aged forty-two. Bones throbbing with a weariness that seemed ancient. The persistent subtle buzz of worry, about overlooking a hint disappointing a victim, lacking sharpness lacking speed being insufficient. The burden of a screaming world and a duty that required his attention.
In every flash of sensation, there was a common thread: responsibility without power. Witnessing without healing. Bearing the emotional ledger for a bankrupt world.
Flavio's voice pierced the daydream, gentle, like a blessing. "You have borne their suffering for years. You have been the observer, the unseen evaluator taking in the chaos so others could act as if it didn't exist. What if that was your purpose? Not to erase the pain. To hold it? To allow it to cease with you?"
The emptiness behind him appeared to murmur its consent. Yes. Allow it to conclude. Allow the burden, at last mercifully to press you into valuable calm.
Devon witnessed it. A realm where guardians never fell ill where youngsters never encountered terror, where nobody had to gaze upon pixels or compose dull accounts of hopelessness. A domain soothed by a calm born from the selfless sacrifice of his own restrained resolve. His fatigue would transform into a resource. His depletion would illuminate the lanterns of a slumbering town.
He would be the ultimate public servant. The final sacrifice.
The lure wasn't, about authority. It concerned ending. The conclusion of the conflict. To relinquish the liberty of decision and receive in exchange, a solitary holy timeless duty: to remain motionless. To suffer silently ensuring no one would.
It was the man's creed. His agony at last would possess a purpose.
He gazed up at Flavio. The aid worker who had become a prophet noticed the comprehension, in his gaze. Grinned, a grin filled with poignant kindness. "It's okay " Flavio murmured. "You may cease resisting. Your battle has ended. Now… you only need to exist. The stone upon which the final tides of conflict crash and fade away."
The living circuit appeared to incline anticipating its core. The emptiness paused, holding its breath.
Devon's entire existence had led up to this one yet compassionate decision. To bear the burden eternally thereby freeing everyone from it. This was the solution, to every plea he'd never spoken aloud in those oppressive spaces.
All he had to do was say yes.