I was filled with doubts. Who am I? What is my purpose? Nothing made sense. I felt like a blank book in the middle of a library filled with colors and stories, yet unable to do anything about it.
More than ten years trapped here, and madness seemed closer than ever. I never believed I could escape. In fact, I hadn't even tried. Even if I ran away, what would I do? Where would I go? I had no answers, only an emptiness.
But everything changed the day I saw the old man digging a tunnel in front of me. "Why the hell didn't I think of this before?" The question echoed in my mind, bringing with it a whirlwind of emotions: anger, fear, and shame—countless feelings swirling in my head made me feel humiliated.
There he was, digging for freedom while I had stood still for years, accepting my own prison as inevitable. But now? It didn't matter anymore. What mattered was the present: I was holding him on my shoulders, helping him reach the last part of the tunnel. The old man was heavy, or maybe I was just weak. It didn't matter. The pain in my atrophied muscles screamed, but my will to escape drowned everything out.
I felt the weight of time and missed opportunities, but I was there, finally acting. Maybe it was too late, maybe not. I held on tightly. Now, nothing would stop me from trying.
— Ahh... finally... I haven't seen the blue sky in 20 years...
I felt something wet fall on my shoulder. The old man... was he crying? Yes, he really was. Imagine spending two decades agonizing in a dark cell without seeing the sunlight, only to finally catch a glimpse of it, faintly, through the bars of a hole in the ceiling.
— Let me down, help me down.
With some effort, I helped him down from my shoulder. The risk of him falling and getting hurt was great, and if someone saw us, it would be the end. I would probably be killed without ceremony. But what difference did it make? I didn't have much to live for anyway.
As soon as the old man touched the ground, he placed his hand on my shoulder again, his eyes misty, as if he wanted to thank me silently.
— Thank you, young man... thank you, God, for placing him in my path...
God? He must be joking. If those I saw before coming here are gods, I would never thank any of them.
— God doesn't exist, old man...
I replied, not hiding my disappointment. I didn't believe that beings like gods existed. I thought these "Beings" were no different from any of us here; the only thing that changed was that they had something special that made people have faith in them—something we didn't have. But should we really call someone like that a god?
The old man's gaze wandered along the walls until it fixed on an inscription carved into the stone. He pointed.
— Really? Then why that inscription on the wall?
I followed the direction he pointed with his finger. It was just an old scratch, nothing special. I hadn't even written that; it wouldn't change even if I spent hours staring at that scribble, so yes, that was just...
— Just marks. They mean nothing.
That was what I always thought. Since I arrived there, I didn't know what those marks meant. Maybe they were scribbles from other prisoners driven mad by despair after years in that cell. Who cared?
— Really? — The old man looked at me inquisitively. — Then tell me... what do you carry in your heart?
— Nothing — I answered without hesitation.
— Nothing, but I would love to see the people who put me here suffer. I want those responsible for putting me here to pay.
That was the truth. If, indeed, people like me were seen as problems, then there must be a reason for my imprisonment. I needed to know who had done this and why. Anger and frustration were all that kept me alive until that moment.
The old man smiled, his eyes shining disturbingly.
— Hahaha... maybe the Lord has given you the gift of resisting death for so long... so that your revenge could sustain you in these five years...
— ???
— Come on, follow me.
How absurd. This old man was crazy. "Lord"? What "Lord"? Where was this so-called "Lord" while I rotted here?
But before I could say anything, he was already crawling back into the hole he had dug. All that remained in sight were his legs, swinging as he disappeared through the narrow opening.
I stood there for a moment, my chest heaving. Part of me just wanted to let him go and continue sinking into the same cycle of darkness and despair. But another part, the one that still dreamed of hope, began to awaken.
I sighed, overtaken by the impulse. Maybe there was nothing but madness in what he said, but what did I have to lose?
I clenched my fists, following him through the tunnel. It was time to discover what truly awaited me beyond these walls.
— And what purpose would your god have in doing something like this?
I asked, skeptical.
— Hehe... to dig... escape, I suppose.
We both crawled through the narrow tunnel, spacious enough for a person to turn to both sides if necessary, dug with surprising precision. The darkness was suffocating, and the air, dense. I hadn't expected the old man to have built something so extensive. If my sense of space was still intact, this tunnel must have been at least several dozen meters long.
Nathanael, as he called himself, was the first to emerge from the tunnel, rising with some difficulty. When I got out, I looked around and noticed we were in a cell similar to mine but with some differences. The ceiling was darker, the walls seemed even damper, and at least here, there was something I didn't have: a table, a chair, and... books? It was also very dark, just bright enough not to trip.
— Come, let me help you. — The old man extended his hand, pulling me out of the tunnel.
I accepted the gesture, more out of curiosity than necessity. That cell was bigger, and the few objects there caught my attention.
There was an old chair and a worn wooden table, and on the table, some books, their titles dusty and indecipherable to me.
I walked around the place, studying every detail — a small drip in the corner, moss growing around. Nothing there suggested comfort, but it was better than my empty cell.
I pointed to the chair, asking if I could sit. The old man nodded. When I sat down, a strange relief washed over me. It was the first time in years that something different happened; I unconsciously let out a satisfied expression.
The old man seemed to notice my expression but said nothing.
— Do you have a plan to escape?
I asked, recalling our previous conversation.
Nathanael smiled, his eyes shining through the wrinkles as he took a sharp stone and began scratching the wall with surprising precision.
— Yes, my young friend. There are only two ways to get out of this place. I thought that by digging towards your cell, I could reach the outside. But, as we saw, I ended up just reaching you.
He continued scratching, doodling calculations and symbols as if he were devising a grand scheme. He paused for a moment, counting on his fingers.
— But now that we are two... — He looked at me with a glimmer of hope. — If we dig in the opposite direction, perhaps, in four or five years, we can finally escape.
He stared at me, hoping I would buy into his idea. I couldn't hold it back. My shoulders went up and down before I let out a laugh.
— Pffftttt! Hahahaha! — I couldn't help it. It wasn't a mocking laugh, but one of disbelief.
— What's wrong? Are you already on another escape plan? — asked the old man, visibly confused.
My laughter reflected how absurd that idea sounded. Escape? From this island, which was practically a fortress carved in stone?
— Nathanael... this plan...
I took a deep breath, calming myself.
— It's impossible!
— Impossible?
He raised an eyebrow, but instead of being offended, he smiled as if he already expected my response.
— In that case, I offer something invaluable in exchange for your help.
His demeanor changed. The playful tone disappeared, and the old man in front of me spoke with a seriousness I hadn't expected from someone like him.
— Freedom? — I asked, there weren't many things I desired at that moment.
— No...
He replied calmly, as if the word bored him.
— Freedom can be taken from us at any moment by cruel people, as you already know.
That made sense. He continued, a slight glimmer in his eyes.
— I offer you something that no one can take from you.
He pointed to his own head.
— Knowledge.
I blinked, confused.
"Pardon?"
— Knowledge? — I repeated, trying to understand.
— Yes, the only possession that truly belongs to you and only you. I will pass on to you everything I've learned throughout my life.
His eyes shone with intensity.
— Mathematics, philosophy, science, geography... everything.
My attention was drawn back to the table and the books on it. I stood up, curious, and opened one of the worn diaries.
— Read and write? — I asked, with a hint of hope. It wouldn't do any good to learn science, mathematics, or philosophy if I didn't even know how to read or write. That was the basics, the foundation of everything.
The old man smiled, satisfied with my question, and nodded slowly.
— Yes. I will teach you from the beginning, young one. Let's start with the basics.
I closed the diary, carefully returning it to the table. My hands were still trembling slightly. Would I be able to escape from here? It didn't matter whether I could or not; it was better than just rotting in a cell.
— When do we start?
I asked, feeling a smile bloom on my face. Old Nathanael smiled back, looking satisfied.