H e was resigned, beaten to the core of his humanity, the humanity he’d spent the last few weeks leaving behind. Now, in this moment, he was proud. Proud because he knew something everyone else couldn’t. Something that even if he told them they could never accept because to do so would go against everything that made up the world as they understood it.
He knew that the world would change, and that he was the reason for that change. They could kill him, but there was no stopping the forward march of progress. An avalanche would fall upon them all. It could take years, they could fight it, but it would happen all the same. All he had to do was this last task.
When he did all the knowledge from her divinity would be unleashed on the world.
It was a change that could never be undone, a revelation that nothing short of the genocide of enlightenment could erase. This would be his legacy.
The loud clanging of keys and boom of his shifting cell door opened to admit man fully garbed in a holy smock.
“I am here to hear your confession, my child,” the holy man said, moving closer and kneeling down to look into his eyes.
Honestly confused the prisoner’s brow furrowed. “My confession? I have nothing to confess to you or your God, priest.”
The man looked him up and down, noting the scars on his person that could only mark two kinds of people, degenerates and soldiers. So, he gambled. “What about your King? What about the men who fought beside you, the men who died instead of you? Do you have anything to confess to them? Don’t forget that we who wear the robes also write the histories. Will you leave the telling of your treason to my imagination?”
“Oh, priest.” the man responded, “You think that history is what’s written on a page. But you don’t understand how deep real truth etches into the fabric of this reality we exist in. Into the mind, into the heart, into the very soul that connects us. Your words alone will only last so long without real truth to pierce it into the intuition of the world. What you do as a priest is to speak to the generations of today, what I do is to speak to the eternity of generations to come.”
The priest looked him up and down. “And what is it you think the generations to come will say of you and your actions? What truth will you show them that’s so everlasting?”
The man side glanced at the priest. “The truth of knowledge, not told but explored. Of mysteries examined and solved not by the documentation of events that is the limitation of the world in this age, but by the capacity to think and see beyond what’s here and now into the impossible. To theorize and hypothesize!”
The priest gave his best sympathetic scowl. “I see. More blasphemy, more made-up words and ideas that suggest somehow that what we see is not the truth and that imagination, as you call it is somehow more real than what’s in front of us. But your logic lies flawed as it bases its truth in nothing we can observe. The sun god travels his path every day, and the moon god chases his progress. The Sisters Pleiades shine in his favor, the seven of them bright as the moon itself by his granting, and here you claim to be equal.”
“No,” the man said vehemently, pulling against his chains. “Not equal, more than. Because I don’t hold myself above the world. I don’t posture some feigned ordained magnificence.” he loosened and relaxed his temper. “I am a man of humanity, for humanity, by humanity. I am for us, those here who will listen, and that is why I am greater.”
“Greater than what?” asked the priest. “Greater than God?”
“Not yet,” said the prisoner. “But if you release these chains I will be.”
The prisoner looked at the priest conspiratorially. “What do you think priest? Do you want to write something that won’t ever be forgotten, that could not be forgotten even if the world tried?”
To affect the trajectory of the story clap for the response. Will the priest accept the lure of the prisoner or refuse it. The response with the most claps will be the winner and affect how the story unfolds!