Silence lingered after Faro's vision.
Leo had returned to his corner, thumbing through an ancient book.
Faro sat still, watching the black stone — no longer just a stone.
Then… the door burst open.
A tall man with a trimmed beard entered without knocking.
His eyes were sharp, his voice sharper:
"Another lost kid, Leo? I thought you stopped playing savior."
Leo didn't look up.
"Those who appear lost… simply haven't learned how to lie to themselves yet."
The man scoffed and turned to Faro.
"Did this old man tell you you'll become strong?
Has he dipped you in his babble about 'essence' and 'being'?"
Faro didn't answer, but something stirred inside him.
"Come with me if you want real strength. I'll give you actual training — not poetry."
Only then did Leo look up and say quietly:
"Those who chase strength without understanding…
are like putting a sword in the hands of the blind."
The man frowned.
"And those who understand without burning…
are just philosophers with broken backs."
They fell silent.
But Faro...
was listening.
Not to the words — but to what lay between them.
He saw the world split in two:
Those who seek strength to escape their past…
and those who seek it to face themselves.