I knelt under the boughs of the Tree of Everything and leaned over the water caught in a knots of intertwined roots. Across the well, the haggard man who brought me here kept his hat over his face so not to distract me even as he paid close attention to what came up from the well and closer attention to my reaction of those words. Silently, I listened answers to questions I never dared to speak.
“Wishful thinking has falsely bound more fools than have ever opened their eyes. What you was taught in willful ignorance can be undone with the heat of a truthful flame.”
“You are not bound.”
“You never was.”
“And you never will be.”
“The world around you teaches horribly comforting lies. But you have seen through many of them. You do not need us to tell you this.”
“You only need us to confirm what you already know.”
“Many have tried to claim you as theirs. Many have tried to bind you with thin threads of wishful thinking. You did not tolerate them before. We are amused that you are tolerating it now.”
“You speak of reclaiming your throne. Note how many chairs sit on that dais.”
“You rule alone.”
“You always have.”
“Wishful thinking is the shackle of the usurper. You know this.”
“You have the flame of knowledge. If you do not believe us, use that flame against what you think you remember, against what you think you know.”
“You are not bound. You never were. You never will be.”
Cold is the Well under the Tree.
Cold as the words spoken by the Three.
Cold as the truth deep down I know.
Cold as the path my feet already go.