The Fool and The Trickster

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"You will never be a god."

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   When you run through the city streets, at its heart, you find memories set in stone, like pages from an ancient story — a place where time flows slowly, and history no longer endlessly repeats itself. Here, where every ending is just a new beginning, nestled within the trunk of a history-ridden tree, an old man sells thousands of souls, abandoned by the bygone eras. An orphanage for mirror remnants... His hands, with veins pulsating like ink paths on an unwritten paper, caress the deepest secrets hidden from the world's eyes... a world filled with hatred and judgment... But he doesn’t judge; he soothes... His wrinkled skin reminds one of butterfly wings - so delicate, yet incredibly strong. His eyes, deep as a well, reflect the constellations of the past, and his small mouth speaks with a voice that makes the heart quiver, echoing like a scream against fortress walls... A voice that's ominous yet soothing. With silver hair swaying in an autumn breeze, neither too cold nor too warm, he awaits his end amid thousands of books. 

   Each day, he watches people come and go, for in this age, who is still interested in books? People, the daily ants, seek to build empires, yet all they manage to do is destroy the remnants of the present. But then, there's this young man who just entered the store. He exudes something distinct. He sits, staring emptily as if the world holds no meaning for him. His gaze sharpens, like it's being honed on a blade's edge, turning into pain. His eyes embody sorrow. Without blinking, he seemed to embrace his engulfing pain. 

   The old man began searching for a book, for this shadowed young man reminded him of a story. Not one of princes or princesses, but of someone like him, lonely, sipping the bitterness of light's chalice. And he searches, but doesn't find. The snake on the stained-glass door coils tighter in frustration, for he knows the book is somewhere... The young man starts looking too, delving into the thousands of pages touched by many masters and wisdom that drips into the tea cups that the old man serves.

 And he searches and searches... Finally, he finds a book, neglected in a dusty corner, like a testimony lost to time. Holding it feels divine. Its aged cover, worn by the years, feels like the bark of an ancient tree that has withstood countless storms. The yellowed pages, fragile as butterfly wings dancing among summer flowers, carry secrets behind their words, embracing their own end... The impeccable writing, so pale that it touches the soul, seems to whisper the tune of an ancient era, every letter dripping like dew on a spider's web... The scent of the book, reminiscent of a lost and mysterious library... Stardust... Opening the book felt like unleashing Pandora's box, where memories and dreams waltzed eternally.         This wasn’t just a book; it was a gateway to a realm where there were no kings or queens, just a bridge over rivers of memory, a lighthouse illuminating the darkest corners of the heart. Now, in his hands, destiny intertwines...

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  "Once upon a time, as all stories begin... but this isn't a tale... it's a forgotten truth, not told to children at bedtime. It conceals lost kisses, broken hearts, and tears that no longer have a place on Earth. This story is the myth of the Earth, the song of the birds, and a love that can tear apart one's thoughts...

   Elden, this splendid young man, was like the sea and land combined... He was like the sky and Earth, meeting at the horizon. Foolish yet calm, transparent as glass, with an innocent face... By day, he was an art piece painted with vibrant colors that hid secrets, embodying an orchestra playing seemingly senseless notes but harmoniously blended, so calm, so soothing. His golden hair reminiscent of the sun shining on wheat fields had a scent of pure yellow. His deep brown eyes, like the bark of a tree, young yet wise, made you believe he held the answers to all the world's mysteries. Such a beautiful, pure fool with stone-like eyes. If you looked deep, you'd see forests that yet hid the chaos he lived in. He was Elden, the Fool!

   But at night, the Fool turned trickster. His eyes darkened, and now the forest seemed to offer no protection. Behind him loomed the shadow of his past. His mind surged with waves of emotions and riddles, seeking refuge in the absurd, for there he could understand his nature. Fool and Trickster in one being. A living contradiction, a poetry of opposites, an endless maze. Elden, who warmly invites you to discover him, exposes you to his traumas by night...

   He built a castle to shield himself from the world and to protect it from his paradoxical nature. He dreamt up his own world, where his dual nature wasn't a curse. For that, he took pride in himself, adoring the eternal silence that could be painfully deafening. A memorial to pain... But disaster began to erode his soul when he saw her... Moon... such an odd name for those times, which, he believed, made her special. Pale skin, almost translucent, velvety touch leaving behind the same pain, the same curse. Her black hair seemed to absorb and dispel all her sorrows. Her large eyes—much like his—held the Earth's power. Her voice was a mere whisper... yet she embodied the world's dual nature of love and hate. She loved the Earth but despised the sky... And every day, he grew more fascinated by her, not realizing how deeply he'd wound her, finding solace in what she loathed the most: the sky—a canvas reflecting countless souls, especially hers...

   When he first saw her, his heart began to sprout green, and his shadow turned to light. Over time, he learned to love her. Gentle, humble, open—the Fool seeking love... Yet she hid behind the hate her soul consumed in this bitter time. But she, too, fell for this fool, unaware that the Trickster could drain her last drop of kindness. When she offered herself fully to the Fool, the Trickster took over. He was terrified of the immense love he now felt for her. Tears filled his eyes.

"Love—a temporal illusion," he would tell himself.

   That night, Moon came to him, breached his castle's walls, and pleaded for her eternal exchange: happiness. But the Trickster, with his hidden thoughts, told her only fools love, and he was a mere pawn of fate. He thanked his god for being incapable of love, for not loving her, his illusion of death. He spoke hurtful words intended to wound her, while she stood motionless, as if witnessing a beautiful yet morbid secret painting.

"Like flowing water, I can't be held. I always slip through the cracks, always finding myself in long-lost memories. I built my castle from nothing, brick by brick... from the harsh blows and slaps fate dealt me, from times when I wished for death yet was very much alive. And now you come, illusion of truth, to tear down my castle, to render me immortal...!"

   Moon realized that while she loved the Fool, the Trickster was there to destroy her happiness. She had to love both sides of the same coin equally. But she couldn't, so she vanished without a trace.

   Painful, bitter, sad—everything felt like death. The wounded Fool went to his father, the supreme god, and begged to be turned into a celestial body, believing it was the only way to find Moon, who had changed him slightly. He became the Sun... Elden turned into the Sun. What he didn't know was that Moon, scarred repeatedly by the Trickster, had run to the same god, asking to be transformed into a celestial body. Why? So she could learn to love the sky and shield the Earth from suffering. She became the moon, the goddess of the darkness she continuously tried to embrace.

   The Sun now sought his Moon but couldn't find her. The Moon sought her Sun, yet she couldn't find him either.

"You'll never be a god... You'll remain the Trickster Fool!"

Cursed!"

***

    The boy had begun the story in his mind but finished it by reading it aloud, while the old man listened to his fate, with the pain evident in the boy's voice. Tears welled up in his eyes, and the quiver in the boy's voice reflected the same sentiment. They mourned their fates, their pain, their bitterness. The story came to an end, and the boy carefully closed the book, placing it in a place of honor among the old books, worn out by so many hardships. Silently, he went to the window, searching his pocket for a lighter, his salty tears falling on the floor that had been trodden by so many feet. The old man watched him, with a hint of fear but more empathy, and joined him at the window. The boy was now smoking a cigarette, the last one from the pack, lost in his haunting thoughts. With a gentle touch, the old man placed his right hand on the boy's left shoulder.

"Elden... you've finally come! I'm ready."

   Surprised, the boy turned to the old man and whispered: 

"I've discovered the truth... but I haven't changed, I've just learned how to live without her! How to live... as I am."

   Though he smiled, the old man felt that Elden was still searching for his Moon. It was an endless road of searching. Nevertheless, he took the boy's hand, while the boy threw his cigarette on the floor.

   They stepped out the door, heading into the infinite together.

**

The Sun - The Fool and The Trickster

The Sun - Angel of Death