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Knowledge is infinite, there's always new information making it impossible to catch up. It's very daunting, as the source that you may use can either be reliable or be filled with fallacies. Many normal people are too scared to venture to the unknown—but one's motivation to seek more answers, just to fill their thirst is just as never ending.
Knowledge is like a buried treasure waiting to be resurfaced by the most curious of minds. But dig too deep, and you'll hit something sharp. But surely the pain will be worth it, is it not?
It's rather serene at the Peak of Truth—high up and isolated from society, only the gust of the wind and the chirpings of birds can be heard. Although an unusual living condition, it's perfect for the Truthless Recluse. Just as his name suggests, one who lives in solidarity, he doesn't really mind it—as this is voluntary on his part.
He sat right outside his spire, his blonde hair flowing along with the wind, tanned skin being kissed by the golden hues of the setting sun that he frequently watches, his dark robes gently glazing on his skin. The warmth of the sun is comforting, making him quite drowsy—he shuts his eyes momentarily, breathing in the fresh, cool air. Peace, silence and limpidness. What more could he ask for?
“Oh my dear Recluse~” a voice said in a singsong manner.
And his peace was interrupted, great.
The Recluse doesn't need to peer to know who the voice belongs to, as no one else but him ventures at the Peak.
“What do you want, Sage?” he crosses his arms with slight annoyance. He opened his eyes just to look directly at mismatched colored eyes merely inches away from his, glimmering with fascination and mischief.
“Too close.” He pushed The Sage away, and stood from his earlier position and dust aways his robes—ignoring the burning sensation from his cheeks.
The Sage let out a dramatic gasp, “How dare he!?” he floats near The Recluse with a pout on his face, “That's not how you treat guests, my dear!”
“You’re not just a guest,” Gloomy eyes locked onto him, but there was a hint of fondness within them, he cupped the face idly floating in front of him and smiled, “you’re something else, My Sage.”
The Sage’s face flushed in deep blue, raising his hand to clasp the ones on his cheeks, “Then, what am I?”
The other retracts his hands away, “A nuisance, that's for sure.” and walked away.
To say The Sage was baffled would be putting it mildly—he was utterly flabbergasted. The Recluse glanced over his shoulder at the stunned scholar and let out a quiet chuckle.
“Alright, come here,” he said, raising a hand in welcome, his smile just as gentle as before. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make us some tea.”
The other followed, still trying to collect his wavered composure. He passes through the door—everything is as somber as always, but everything just fits with the Recluse’s likeness and it's rather comforting—after all it's his place.
He made himself welcome in this humble abode, flopping on the couch without a care in the world. He hums to himself until a stack of books on the coffee table, “May I read these, my dear?” his eyes glimmered with wonder.
The Recluse on the other hand is in the kitchen preparing tea—placing a filled kettle on an opened stove top, looking from his shoulders, “Go ahead.” he replied as he grabbed jellies from the pantry.
With the other’s approval, he took the books and placed them on his lap. The covers are immaculate—leather-bound with titles engraved in gold. Although a scholar who actively reads varying genres and from different eras, the books in the Recluse’s disposal are ones that he had never seen before—The Prime Singularity, The Weight of Thought and ohh, The Spellwright’s Algorithm? That'll definitely have a slot in his reading list. He grinned in content with the options he had in front of him.
But when The Sage set aside the previous book and reached for the last of the bunch, he found it had no engraved title on its cover. Unlike the others, it wasn’t hardbound—it was hand-sewn with meticulous care, standing apart in quiet defiance. He sat there in quiet confusion, the sudden change from the previous books is interesting.
His eyes sparkled with curiosity. With no title to hint at its contents, anything could lie within its pages. He flipped it open and quickly noticed—this wasn’t the product of a typewriter or press. Every word was handwritten, intimate, deliberate. Now this—this is what he craves for! A book that grabs your attention! So with full enthusiasm, he delved into the written world.
…
“They venture to the peak
Up they came, just to seek
The truth, or so to speak
But it’s not for the weak.
There are things that I came to know whilst roaming. Quite naive of me to think that the truth can lead us to the greater good—It won't and it never will be, but it's human nature to seek more than one can comprehend. Speaking from experience.
I wouldn't even wish for all of this knowledge to be bestowed to those who I despised wholeheartedly, this is maddening. But it's self-inflicted.
My mind is screaming at me to stop, every bit of sense is nothing.
Everything and anything, just an atom if being compared to the vast truth that this world has kept hidden.
I brought this to myself, I am the one to blame.
Witches forbid, my mind is faltering.
To save me some grace—and sanity, I will try to compile what I have learned in this past century or so. As I can't openly tell this to others for their own sa–”
The book on his hands, gone.
Snatched.
He jerked his head to the side and found the Recluse standing there—eyes wide, lips pressed thin, the stolen book trembling slightly in his grasp.
“Not this one,” he hid it carefully in his dark robes and placed a cup of tea on the coffee table, avoiding the other’s gaze.
The Sage recoiled, breath catching in disbelief. “I believe that I'm reading that, my dear.” he snapped, crossing his arms.
The other sighed and looked at him with fondness yet it’s tinged with uncertainty, “There are other books here.”
Just when the scholar was about to ramble about how rude it was to take something unprompted, he was greeted by the sweet aroma of the tea being held up near his face by the Recluse—soft yet creamy sweetness, warm and mellow.
“Take this as a token of apologies, my Sage.” His voice was soft, almost trembling, as he placed the ceramic cup into the Sage’s hands, his fingers lingering in a quiet, pleading clasp.
“It's just… What you're reading is personal. Really personal.” his breath hitched, looking down at the cup that both of them were grasping—the warmth of his other half’s hands and the freshly prepared tea gave him a bit of solace.
The silence gnawed at both of them, the pleading touch from the Recluse leaves the other’s sensation—it feels off… incomplete. A deep sigh left the Sage, startling the blonde—he saw the other tense up and let out a small chuckle as his face reddened due to embarrassment.
He sips the tea, mild and gentle embrace with a hint of bitterness—fragrance as sweet as the joyous spring memories. A warm smile painted on his face, “What tea is this, my dear?” he inquired as his fingers circled around the cup’s edge. Mismatched eyes looked at one another yet again, “...Vanilla.” Truthless Recluse replied, unsure about the sudden question.
“Fascinating.” he took another sip, savoring the flavour. “Reminds me of you, dear.” he chucked.
“How come?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Your scent is akin to the sweetness of pure, unadulterated vanilla extract, much like this tea.” He placed down the tea cup on the coffee table and stood up—facing the Recluse, he caressed his face, circling his thumb gently on his cheekbone. “It’s a bit bitter, but that's what I prefer.” he smiled fondly.
The Recluse just stared at him, then blinked. He pulled away from the Sage’s touch, walking backwards as his eyes were solely focused on the giggling scholar.
“I regret letting you in,” he said flatly.
“And yet you did,” he lifted himself up the air, hovering over the blonde’s figure, “I am your one and only nuisance after all.”
All of the sudden, a book hits the Sage’s head with just enough force to evoke a reaction. “OW-” he rubbed his forehead, making the other laugh.
“It's not that hard, ever the dramatic one, my Sage.” he hummed. “I say it's well deserved.”
The scholar let out an exaggerated groan, flopping down on the couch his arm draped across his forehead, akin to an actor struck by tragedy. “Plainly rude! I was only being tender, and this is what gets reciprocated to me?” He wiped away tears, “How tragic…”
The Recluse rolled his eyes and sighed, “I have something to do in my chambers,” he murmured.
He perked up from his dramatic pose, his gold and cerulean eyes glimmered. “May I join you?”
“Save your desires for later,” he said dryly.
Sage watches him ascend—his dark robes brushing on each step. Suddenly, he catches a glimpse of the Recluse embracing the hand-stitched, untitled book that he snatched from his grasp earlier, his eyes widened with the realization. Before he could even react, the other’s figure vanishes from his sight, leaving the Sage with his own thoughts, furrowing his brows.
Why does the Truthless Recluse have this book?
He wondered.
How come what’s written in this can alter one’s mind?
Why must it be hidden from the masses?
The truth must be known by all! Everyone has the right to know!
Everyone has to know the truth.
…
The hallway is dark, and why does it feel never ending?
His pace is wrong—nothing is threatening nor chasing him, but why is he jittering and tense?
Unsteady breaths, sweat dripping off his now pale face, tears waiting to roll down.
No. No. It’s ok.
His room is at the end, why can’t he reach it?
He hasn’t read it yet.
He finally faced the door, he gripped tightly on the doorknob, the cold sending chills down his spine.
He has not reached those parts yet.
His room greeted him as he twisted the knob, and immediately slammed it shut.
He mustn't know.
He leaned against the door, he let out a slow and shaky exhale. Tears now rolling down his cheeks, the book in his arms pressed tightly on his chest. Everything hurts, everything is a mess.
Then—his legs gave up.
He slips down onto the floor, cradling himself out of self-pity.
Why must you be so pathetic?
You said to yourself that this wouldn’t affect you—one last promise to her.
Stop…
And yet, here we are. Whimpering over written words. That you yourself has documented.
Please…
You could’ve sucked it up.
I beg of you…
You left her.
She needed you.
Now she’s gone.
A prodigy, a talent, a genius. Things that you are not.
She could’ve changed the world, but you’re too blinded to see that.
You didn’t save her, you saved yourself.
Pitied yourself.
You’re such a selfish thing, aren’t you?
That’s why you’re destined to be alone. Forever.
…
He’s still here…
For how long I wonder.