Chapter 11 – The Gift of Sorrow

Once upon a time, there was a father who raised a son, teaching him all the things he believed to be good.

Every lesson, every value, every gesture was a reflection of his beliefs, his desire to create something that mirrored the beauty he so loved.

Yet, he raised him with a devastating awareness: his son was born to die. From the very first moment, he knew that every lesson, every shared moment, would inevitably bring him closer to a necessary but cruel sacrifice. And yet, despite that burden, he couldn’t help but grow deeply attached to him.

He believed that life, whatever it might be, was inherently meaningless, a cycle of gestures and actions devoid of lasting significance. He thought that this view was the root of his sorrow, a pain he attributed to the emptiness of existence. Yet, he had not yet understood the true source of his torment.

He had just sent him to die, and now it was happening right before his eyes. That moment was the pinnacle of their plan, everything for which Martyr had come into the world.

The sorrow that overtook him in that moment was like a bottomless abyss. It wasn’t physical pain, nor a suffering that could be eased with time. It was a heavy, visceral feeling that gripped him with the force of an iron vice.

Watching his only son face the inevitable fate, he felt the weight of the loss even before it was fully realized. Every heartbeat was like a hammer blow, an inexorable toll marking the approach of the end. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, and every image, every memory, every laugh shared with Martyr seemed to transform into a blade driving into his spirit.

It wasn’t just the death of a son: it was the death of a part of himself, of everything he had poured into the world. The sacrifice, though necessary, now appeared to him as a cruel act, an unbearable price to pay for such an ambitious plan.

He felt as though he were suffocating, as though the air itself had become too dense to breathe. A knot in his throat prevented him even from uttering Martyr’s name, while his eyes, unable to look away from the scene, began to cloud over.

It was only in that moment that he realized his true feelings, only then was his tear of sorrow shed.

The tear fell, warm and silent. Just one, but filled with all the pain that had accumulated in his heart. It was a tear that contained love, despair, and the awareness of being powerless in the face of fate.

In that moment, he understood what it truly meant to be vulnerable.

When it happened, the terrestrials erupted in loud laughter, a dissonant and almost unreal sound that rose in unison, filling the air and interrupting the moment with overwhelming force. They all laughed, without stopping, a chorus of mockery so powerful that it caught the attention of everyone present.

Even War, initially confused, joined the laughter, convinced that the terrestrials were mocking Martyr, their enemy now on the ground, defeated and powerless. His roar of amusement echoed through the square, amplifying the chaos.

But he was wrong.

The only one who did not join in was Death. He remained still, his face a mask of ice, watching the scene in unsettling silence. When the sound of laughter reached his isolation, he turned slowly, and what he saw left him speechless for a moment.

Among the laughter of the terrestrials, a being of mud was there, kneeling, and was crying.

Death understood that there was something profoundly different about this being. It was not just an enemy to be slain. There was something more, something that even clashed with the fury and violence that had dominated the confrontation up to that point.

The air seemed to freeze, as if time itself had decided to halt its course.

God was there, motionless, his ethereal form surrounded by a solemn light. His hand gripped the divine weapon tightly, ready to strike the single, decisive blow that would end the conflict.

At the same time, with that tear, he had just removed every mask, revealing himself. Their plan had just failed.

But something happened.

Death did nothing to intervene. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen God move, nor that he lacked the time to act. No, it was something else that stopped him. His gaze fell on the face of that being.

That small sign of fragility struck him like a cold wave.

In Death’s mind, time stretched further. A memory resurfaced, vivid and raw: the first time he had shown such vulnerability. The memory of that moment overwhelmed him, bringing him back to an emotion he had tried to forget, a pain he had buried under layers of pride and power. It had been him, once, who felt that same desperation, that same fragility. For a moment, he saw in God a reflection of himself, and that similarity awakened something deep within, an emotion he never thought he would relive.

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Meanwhile, War laughed.

His hoarse and fierce laughter echoed through the square, graceless and full of arrogance. He didn’t notice anything, not the silence that enveloped Death, nor the weight pressing on him. War was focused on only one thing: the blade of his axe was falling on Martyr.

God should have used that one opportunity to kill Death, the only way to ensure the success of the plan and preserve everything for which they had fought. But when the moment came, he hesitated.

His feelings overcame him. The love for his son, the deep bond that had forged him, turned out to be stronger than any strategy. In the crucial moment, God yielded.

With his heart weighed down by the awareness of what he was about to do, he threw himself with every last bit of power left, not against Death, but against War, the enemy who was about to decapitate Martyr. He gripped his divine sword, Strength, and poured every fragment of his essence into it. With a single, definitive strike, the blade shone like a sun, cutting cleanly through the enemy’s body and severing his head from his body.

War fell.

The son was safe. But God knew he had destroyed everything Martyr had lived for. The plan was shattered. Martyr, who had accepted his fate for the sake of a greater purpose, now saw that sacrifice rendered in vain. And with it, all their chances of victory vanished.

Death, now fully aware of both, turned toward them with cold eyes. With a simple gesture, he crushed their resistance as if it were nothing. Their powers were suppressed, and at that moment, God and Martyr were nothing more than two defenseless beings, clinging to a glimmer of hope now extinguished.

Before Death, it was like imagining a tiger playing with a chick. The disparity was so crushing that even the thought of resisting seemed a cruelty toward themselves.

The facts, however, were clear. God had yielded to a weakness that should have never emerged. In a single moment, with that choice, the hopes of prosperity and salvation shattered like glass under the weight of a stone.

God stood up, and then, with a voice full of judgment and contempt, he began to speak.

God: “You... foolish beasts without glory, you do not even realize what you laugh at. Yet you do so, in your ignorance, in your absolute emptiness. Every laugh that escapes your throats is meaningless, devoid of understanding. You wallow in your blindness, incapable of seeing that you exist without purpose, that you are shadows without souls, stains wandering without meaning.

And yet, you dare to laugh. You mock what you cannot understand, a suffering you cannot feel. You lack the very ability to perceive what would make you alive, the depth of pain and the greatness of the love that accompanies it. But it will not be so anymore.

Today, I will give you a gift. The gift of my tear.

Let it be for you a revelation and at the same time a condemnation. From this tear, you will understand the feelings you mocked, the pains you ignored, and with them, you will know the unbearable weight of your existence. You will no longer be empty, but filled with a single truth: sorrow.

I curse you. Be beings eternally sad. Let pain flow through every fiber of your being, let it accompany you at every moment, let it hide behind every smile. Joy will be for you an unreachable mirage, an illusion that will leave you with dry throats and empty hands.

This is my gift and my punishment. You will suffer for eternity. And I hope that in that torment, you will learn the lesson you so cruelly ignored. Let your laughs break like glass under the weight of my disdain.”

God: (glaring at Death)

“As for you... why didn’t you stop me? You had the chance. I know well.”

Death: (turning toward God, with an icy expression): “I hesitated for a moment. Seeing a terrestrial cry struck me, I admit. But now everything is clear. You are no different from him.

Did you come here to fight us? Why? Why have I never heard of you before? Who sends you? What are you really?”

(with a sudden burst of anger, his tone growing more resolute)

“Useless questions. I’m not interested in your answers, nor your history.

What I see before me is clear: you are enemies. You decapitated my ally and devastated my lands. The only conclusion is this: you will die. There is nothing you can say, nothing you can do, that will change my mind.”

Death, speaking these words, began to move slowly toward God, his step heavy and inevitable. Martyr, reduced to a being of mud and powerless, remained behind him, helpless.

Silence fell over the square.