Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 210: You Can Climb

Chapter 210: You Can Climb

I still had in mind the floating tear that had been before me.

It haunted me without hurting, like an image one does not forget because it touched something too deep to be named. It was neither sad nor beautiful. It was there, in me, suspended as it had been in the air — fragile, clear, unreal.

It had lasted only a moment. But that moment, that single heartbeat, was enough to make it exist forever in a corner of my memory.

I didn’t know if it was the tear I was carrying, or what it represented. A farewell. A promise. A remnant of who I had been. But it still shone, somewhere, in my gaze, in my throat, in my silences.

And even if it no longer existed, even if it had dissolved into the air like the child before it... I still carried it. Like proof. Like mourning. Like one heartbeat less, but one step more.

Just enough time to exist.

Just enough time to leave in me an indelible mark — not a scar, not a wound, no, but a vivid, intimate, deep imprint. One of those we don’t know how to name, that we’ll never truly tell, but that silently shape everything that comes after.

It had crossed my heart like a forgotten shiver, awakening a capacity I thought long dead: the ability to feel in a way other than through pain. A sensory memory. A pure trace. A gentle flaw in my armor.

And slowly... the image of that tear faded.

Without sound. Without sparkle. Without resistance. As if it knew it had fulfilled the reason it had come. It dissolved in my mind as it had dissolved in the air, with the same discreet grace, the same humility.

A crystalline memory, absorbed by nothingness.

Or rather... by me. Because I had become the vessel of that moment. And now, there was no longer need for an image.

Then... the world opened.

Not abruptly. Not like a door being slammed or pushed. Nothing mechanical. Nothing clean. The world opened like a root splits the earth. Slowly. Deeply. Naturally.

From the mist a bridge was born. But it was not an inert, fixed, or stable structure. It was a living thing. A bundle of nerve fibers, damp, supple, almost organic, gently vibrating under the red light of the sky. They pulsed, as if they were breathing. As if they already sensed my presence.

The bridge stretched out before me. Tortuous. Uncertain. No straight path, no obviousness. It wasn’t an offered road, but a woven link, fragile, shifting. A spine, immense, deployed toward the unknown. A living framework, built into the void itself, as if the world itself hesitated to let me pass, but resigned itself to it, because I had changed.

And I, facing this pulsing thing... felt my heart beat a little stronger. Not from fear. From lucidity. Because I understood. This was not the end.

It was what came after.

I took one step.

Just one. But it was enough for everything to begin to change.

The silence... didn’t just settle in. It was born. Literally. Around me. Like reversed mist, a hollow wave swallowing sounds with terrifying gentleness. With every meter, something disappeared. A noise. A beat. A breath.

The wind went out.

Not by stopping. By ceasing to have ever blown. As if it had never existed.

The rain faded. Drop by drop, without runoff. It left the air, the skin, the space, without trace, without goodbye.

Even my breath... became blurry. Like a memory one doubts. It was there, but I could no longer feel it. It still passed through my lips, but no longer made my throat vibrate.

And my heart...

My heart was slowing.

I suddenly felt it. Viscerally. That strange, deep, almost solemn slowing. A more spaced-out beat, more hollow, as if it too was listening to what was coming.

I placed my hand on my chest. It was still beating.

But differently.

Not from fatigue. Not from anxiety. Like restraint. Like expectation. As if it sensed what I didn’t yet understand.

As if it was waiting for something. Or someone.

I walked.

Not out of faith. Not out of hope. Out of will. Out of necessity.

Each step was no longer a struggle. There was no longer that throbbing pain of refusal, no longer that resistance from the ground or the breath. There was only movement. An inner march, almost ritualistic. No longer to prove anything, no longer to survive.

But to pass through.

It was no longer a trial. Not an ascent. Not a fight. It was a crossing. Pure. Dense. Silent.

The passage to a voiceless world.

A world that no longer needed cries, complaints, or prayers. A world beyond words. A world that demanded nothing, but awaited everything. Where nothing was heard — neither outside, nor within — but where every gesture became a sentence, every breath a reply, every step a mute declaration of existence.

And I... walked toward it. Toward that silence. That silence that doesn’t judge. But that hears everything.

At the edge of the world... she was waiting for me.

Not as an end. Not as a promise. She was simply there. Sitting in the frozen grass, that strange grass, frozen not by cold or time, but by an ancient waiting, a sacred stillness.

The Guardian.

Still blurry. Still pale. A silhouette of memory more than flesh. As if the world itself hesitated to give her contours. But this time... there was something else. A peace.

Not a given peace. An offered peace. Present. Obvious.

Her arms were open. But it wasn’t an embrace. It wasn’t an invitation to return to something. No. Her arms weren’t opening to take me back. They were opening to let me pass. To say: you don’t need me anymore.

And I stopped. Just in front of her.

Not to seek an answer. Not to ask a question. Just to acknowledge.

That I had come this far. And that she... had led me here. Without ever guiding me. Simply by being there.

And maybe that was, deep down, the greatest passage. Knowing that now one can walk... without being carried.

She raised her eyes to me.

Not abruptly. Not like an apparition. But with that slow, meaningful movement that eternal things have. Her gaze, though blurry, crossed the space between us like ancient light, like a memory larger than the present.

Then she murmured.

Barely a breath. Barely a word. Like the final chord on a forgotten harp.

— You exhaled.

Her voice did not judge. Didn’t even observe. It accompanied. It affirmed. As if that exhale, that small release, that sigh I hadn’t even noticed... was the whole trial.

I nodded.

I no longer needed to speak. Words would have betrayed. My throat was dry, but my silence... was full.

She lowered her gaze to my hands. Hands outstretched, open, wrinkled with fatigue and memory.

— You’re trembling.

I lowered my gaze, slowly. I saw my fingers.

They were trembling. Yes. But it wasn’t fear. Not shame. It wasn’t a call for help.

It was a testimony.

— Yes... I whispered.

My voice was timid. But whole.

I was trembling... because I was still here. Because despite everything that should have broken me, I had remained standing. And that, already, was a victory.

Then she placed her hand on my cheek.

Warm. Real. Infinitely simple. But so true my legs nearly gave way.

Not a caress. Not a blessing. Just a touch. An anchor.

And she said, with that voice that carried the weight of the world without ever imposing it:

— You’ve grown. You can climb.

I didn’t move. Not right away.

I looked at her. And in the blurriness of her features, in that strangeness so familiar, I glimpsed...

A form of love.

Not a blazing love. Not a possessive love.

A mute love. Steady. Ancient.

The kind that asks for nothing. The kind that watches. The kind that lets go.

I walked past her.

Without a word.

Not out of indifference. Not out of pride. But because everything had already been said. Or rather... everything had already been felt. Her silence was full, like mine. We no longer needed language. No more need for justification. She knew. And so did I.

I didn’t turn my head. I didn’t seek her gaze. Because I already carried it within me. It was inscribed in my steps, in the calm rhythm of my breath, in the memory of her hand on my cheek.

I climbed.

Toward what was coming.

Toward what is not yet known, but no longer feared.

Toward what no longer needs proof.

Nor cries.

Nor chains.

Toward what is received... because one has finally stopped fighting oneself.

And behind me, she did not move. She remained there. Silent guardian. For the others. For who I had been.

But not for me. Not anymore.