Ryo fixed me with his icy gaze, his protruding canines giving him the appearance of a rabid dog, or even a rabid bulldog. Then I asked him a direct question, breaking the heavy silence between us.
"Are you still haunted by what I did to you the first time?" I asked, ready to face his answer.
His gaze didn't falter as he answered me.
"It's not because of that, but rather because of your insolence!"
His plan had indeed failed. My actions were embarrassing Ryo, and I knew it. He was trying to make the riddles impossible to solve, and my presence had compromised his efforts.
I couldn't help but ask him a question that burned my lips. "Why then did you warn my teammates after deliberately stabbing me with your sword?"
To my surprise, his answer came with a certain calm.
"I acted on a whim, without thinking..."
Ryo and I stood at the edge of an improvised campfire, the starry night before us the only beautiful sight in this world turned deadly playground. The flames danced before us, casting dancing shadows across our faces. The air was heavy with tension, as I finally decided to ask the question that had been burning my lips for days.
"But tell me, why aren't you trying to solve riddles like everyone else?" I asked, my tone tinged with curiosity as I sought to unravel the mystery surrounding his presence.
Ryo looked up at me, his eyes dark. His answer was delivered with unsettling solemnity. "Because I know that humans have never sought to unite," he began, his voice carrying the weight of a bitter truth. "Everyone acts on his own, pursuing his own interests without thinking of others."
I remained silent, absorbing his cynical words.
Ryo continued, his voice echoing in the air, his eyes glowing darkly. "What we're experiencing now is the judgment of humans," he said gravely. "We sowed the seeds of our own destruction, and now we're reaping what we sowed. No matter what we do, we are destined to disappear."
His dark vision of humanity washed over me. Was it really possible that all was lost, that our struggle was in vain? But something in me refused to accept this fate.
The moonlight barely illuminated the shadows around us, but in this semi-darkness, thoughts swirled in my mind. How could he be so disillusioned? The answer seemed out of reach, until memories of the film I'd seen with Saé came flooding back.
I remembered the scene where humans took advantage of Ryo's sister's disappearance to profit from the tragedy, a cruel reality that had echoed in the film. I remembered Ryo's face at that moment, his eyes full of contained pain. I knew that the loss of his sister was still a raw wound. That alone wasn't enough to explain the depth of Ryo's bitterness, but it was a start.
I turned my gaze to him, searching for answers in his dark eyes. "Why are you so pessimistic?" I asked, hoping to unravel the mystery surrounding him.
He remained silent, his expression impenetrable, as if words were barriers he didn't want to cross. Despite my efforts to understand him, he seemed determined to keep his thoughts buried deep within himself. It was as if his silence was a protection, an armor against the questioning that threatened to destabilize him, but I knew I had to insist.
"The loss of your sister...", I began, but he cut me off with a curt gesture.
"How do you... Don't talk about that," he whispered in a hoarse voice, laden with emotions I couldn't decipher.
I felt uncomfortable, realizing I'd struck a chord. But I needed to understand, for himself and for all of us.
"I'm only trying to understand you," I said softly, hoping to soothe his pain.
I couldn't help wondering what he was hiding behind that stoic facade. What other wounds, what other pain, had sculpted the dark worldview he held? I knew the answer wouldn't come easily, but I felt a compelling need to understand, to pierce the darkness that enveloped his tormented soul.
Ryo's words echoed in the night air, imbued with an icy certainty. He was evoking fatalism, the implacable idea that humans were condemned to their own destruction. It was as if every breath, every action, only brought them inexorably closer to their inevitable end.
"Many reject this idea, preferring to believe in control over their own destiny. But I can't ignore the truth behind this dark perspective. Humans, with their arrogance and selfishness, are destined for their own destruction."
I listened intently, his words seeping into the recesses of my mind with a disturbing intensity. He seemed convinced that the very nature of humans was their undoing, that their penchant for selfishness, violence and greed would inevitably lead to their downfall.
"Look around you. Look at how we behave, how we betray each other to gain a fleeting advantage. It's a danse macabre where everyone is the architect of their own downfall."
Yet even in the darkness of his grim prophecies, I discerned a glimmer of despair. As if he had abandoned all hope in humanity, condemning its destiny even before it could be fully realized.
"This ordeal we're in... it's humanity's final verdict. A judgment for our sins, for our inordinate arrogance. We thought we were the masters of this world, but we're just parasites devouring it from within."
But deep inside me, a feeling of revolt was rumbling. Refusing to accept fatalistic destiny, fighting against the shadow of apathy that threatened to engulf us... This was the spark of resistance that burned within me, even in the darkest moments.
"No matter what we do, no matter how hard we try to change things, fate remains unchanging. We are condemned to repeat the same mistakes, to dig our own grave with our own hands."
I felt an irresistible impulse to challenge his words, to reject this nihilistic vision of the world. For beyond the darkness that seemed to surround him, I believed in the capacity of humans to transcend their nature, to rise up despite hardship, to find light in the deepest darkness.
"You may still think there's hope, that there's a chance to change the course of things. But for me, it's an illusion, a chimera clung to by those who refuse to accept reality."
I had the impression that, at that very moment, Ryo had read my mind...
Listening to Ryo's dark words, a deep reflection settled in my tormented mind. He's right about some things. Humans, with their egocentricity. It was then that I began to reflect on my own existence.
In society, I'd always been seen as someone who didn't fit in with the established norms. I walked at a different pace, following my own path, even if it meant being out of step with those around me. Some people considered me an eccentric, an extraterrestrial. But I never tried to blame anyone else for my choices or convictions. I simply accepted the label I was given and kept moving forward.
There was something liberating in this acceptance, in recognizing that I didn't align myself with the expectations and conventions of this world. Rather than fight against this reality, I had chosen to distance myself from it, to chart my own course through the twists and turns of existence.
Admittedly, this had sometimes isolated me, distancing me from others and from the traditional patterns of social life. But I couldn't blame anyone else for this distance, this break with the norm. It was a choice I'd made, a decision I'd taken with full knowledge of the facts, echoing the inner voice urging me towards different horizons, towards paths less travelled.
And yet, despite this sometimes heavy solitude, I never regretted my decision. For deep down, I knew that this was where I found my true essence, my true freedom. In the open spaces of independence, in the dark recesses where unexplored dreams and unconventional ideas lurk.
And yet, despite my decision to distance myself, I can't help but feel a bond with my fellow human beings, with those struggling to survive in this hostile new world. Maybe that's what keeps me going, searching for answers where there may be none. Maybe that's what makes me different from Ryo, who refuses to resign himself to our common destiny.
Ryo's words still echoed in my mind as I pondered my own position in this tormented world. "I'm sure a part of you feels lonely and isolated," I finally admitted aloud, my thoughts escaping without restraint. "You'd like to see humans in a different way, not just as selfish, divided beings."
But before I could complete my thought, the tension in the air changed. Ryo stiffened beside me, his features drawn by sudden anger. "You don't know anything about me!" he spat, his voice full of restrained fury.
His reaction took me by surprise. I'd only shared my own feelings, my own doubts. Because I had the impression that in some ways we were alike.
"You and me, we're kind of the same...." I began, trying to calm the storm rumbling inside him, but he cut me off with a curt gesture.
"Don't you dare compare me to you!" he challenged, his gaze black as night. "You know nothing of what I've been through, what I've endured."
"I know some things..."
"What do you mean? For some time now you've been hinting that you know a lot about me. Would it be you this..."
He didn't finish his answer. My words had struck a chord, awakening an emotion in him that I hadn't suspected.
Faced with Ryo's abrupt reaction, a ball of discomfort formed in my throat. Yet, despite his palpable anger, I felt compelled to respond.
"I, too, believe that humans are far from perfect," I began, my voice hesitant but determined. "I don't claim to be better than anyone else. In fact, I consider myself imperfect, even bad at times. But I do believe that humanity has the potential to change, to improve. We're not doomed to repeat the same mistakes forever."
Ryo looked at me for a moment, his expression indecipherable. Then, after a heavy silence, he let out a resigned sigh. "Human stupidity is infinite," he murmured, as if unloading a weight he'd been carrying for too long.
His answer was tinged with disillusionment, but even so, I could feel a glimmer of hope shining through the darkness. Perhaps even Ryo, with his implacable fatalism, retained a small spark of faith in humanity's potential.
We stood there, enveloped by the silence that separated us, each immersed in our own thoughts. Perhaps we were different, he and I, with our divergent visions of the world around us. But in that difference, I saw an opportunity, a chance to transcend our limits and find common ground, however fragile.
"Decidedly. You and me, we'll never be friends!" I said in a pleasant tone.