Manidkijustexist

The city had long since cleaned away the evidence.

The charred wood was gone. The blackened stakes had been torn down months ago. The square where the execution had taken place now served its usual purpose, filled with merchants haggling over prices and children weaving between crowds while their parents shouted after them. New stalls had been erected where old ones once stood, their colorful fabrics fluttering gently whenever the afternoon breeze swept through the streets.

Life had continued. As it always did.

No matter how loudly people swore they would remember, no matter how deeply they mourned or celebrated, life continued. 

The dead remained dead.

The living open their eyes the next morning as if nothing happened.

The marketplace was particularly crowded that day. Farmers arriving from nearby villages unloaded baskets of fruit and vegetables while fishermen argued with customers over the value of their morning catch. The scent of fresh bread drifted from a bakery near the edge of the square, mixing with the less pleasant smells of livestock, sweat, and dust kicked up beneath hundreds of moving feet.

Most people were focused on their own business to care. Which was precisely why the young man standing atop an abandoned crate had managed to gather attention. Not exactly because he was loud or charismatic, but because he was taking up space where the vegetable carriage should have been. 

"...Humanity was not created to live this way."

A woman carrying a basket of figs slowed her pace as she passed. A merchant glanced up from arranging goods across his stall. Several nearby laborers exchanged brief looks before returning to their conversation. As judgmental as the people of Judea were at that time, you’d think simply leaving was a kind act.

The speaker's voice carried clearly across the square despite never rising above a calm, conversational tone. He spoke as though discussing the weather rather than attempting to challenge the beliefs of everyone around him.

His appearance did little to help his case.

Matt black hair that stuck damply onto his pale face. His coat had clearly seen years of use. The dark fabric had faded from age and repeated exposure to sunlight, while several areas near the sleeves showed signs of careful repairs performed by someone with more patience than skill. Dust clung stubbornly to the hem from weeks spent traveling roads that rarely received maintenance.

He looked poor. Tired. Unremarkable. In a crowd, he could easily blend in with all the beggars, the type of people that many seem to forget immediately. Despite that fact, his first mistake was trying to stick out like a sore thumb.

"We have strayed from the path intended for us."

"Who's 'we'?" The merchant nearest him snorted loudly, he crossed his arms, tan from the summer’s harsh sun. 

A few customers chuckled.

The young man turned his head slightly toward the speaker. The movement was small enough to seem almost absent minded. Yet his attention immediately settled upon the merchant, a tension that made several listeners nearby quiet down..

The man wasn’t hostile. Not even a tad bit aggressive. Simply because the question deserved consideration.

"Humanity."

"Humanity?" The merchant barked out a laugh.

His voice rose noticeably louder than before. Several more people stopped to look, but walked away quickly. Customers drifted their attention to the discussion but they didn’t dare look too long. They’ve learned their lesson after blindly trusting someone’s beliefs.

"You're talking about all of humanity?"

"Yes."

"And what makes you qualified to speak for all of humanity?"

The crowd around the stall grew slightly larger. Yet still not enough to form a gathering, just an audience.

A brief silence followed, long enough for several people to assume he lacked an answer.

"I am not speaking for humanity." The young man considered the question.

"Then who are you speaking for?" The merchant spread his arms dramatically.

"God."

An audible groan escaped someone within the crowd. Several others rolled their eyes as they beckoned each other to leave. One woman muttered something under her breath before continuing on her way. 

"Oh, wonderful." The merchant pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned to the crowd and announced loudly “It’s another one ‘a these people, think that we’re all stupid, am I right?”

More laughter followed, but not the funny sort of laughter. The kind reserved for people who had become accustomed to hearing things they considered ridiculous.

The young man waited patiently for the noise to settle before continuing.

"Humanity was created with purpose."

"By a god who allowed his own prophet to die?"

The question came from somewhere behind the merchant. The crowd shifted slightly as people attempted to identify the speaker.

The young man simply answered.

"Yes."

A few heads turned back toward him at the answer, their expressions shifting ever so slightly as they waited for him to continue. Yet the certainty in his voice remained unchanged. There was no hesitation hidden in his words, no discomfort from the attention, and no attempt to soften the statement after hearing it aloud. Death is natural. It’s as if they can’t understand.

The merchant stared him down for a few moments before eventually folding his arms across his chest.

"Then your god sounds weak."

A laborer standing nearby leaned against a wooden cart while watching the exchange unfold. An older man carrying fishing nets paused entirely, the water splashing on his hand yet he seems not to care. Even people who clearly had no interest in religion found themselves listening.

The breeze stirred loose strands of dark hair across the young man’s face. He didn't bother moving them.

"Strength and weakness are human concepts."

"Oh?"

"They have little meaning when applied to God."

"Convenient answer." The merchant looked unimpressed.

"True answer."

"Of course it is." The merchant slapped his knee, the loud sound gaining attention from several by passers.

The crowd quickly joined him, and the laughter spread throughout the square as more and more people turned their attention toward the exchange. Smiles appeared across several faces, while others simply shook their heads at what they were hearing. A few no longer bothered hiding their amusement and began openly mocking the conversation from within the gathering crowd.

Yet the young man remained standing atop the crate while the laughter washed around him rather than through him, as though he occupied a separate world entirely.

It was strange. Most people reacted when mocked. Some became angry, others became embarrassed, and a few attempted to defend themselves. This man simply waited with a patience that bordered on unsettling, as though ridicule represented nothing more than an expected stage of the conversation.

The merchant eventually noticed, and the realization seemed to irritate him.

"You don't get tired of this?"

The young man blinked "Tired of what?"

"This." The merchant gestured broadly toward the surrounding crowd. "The laughing. The insults. The fact that nobody agrees with you."

His gaze drifted briefly around the marketplace before returning to the merchant. Around them, children continued chasing one another through the square while women negotiated prices over baskets of produce. Farmers unloaded wagons near the roadside as merchants argued loudly across neighboring stalls.

Life. Humanity. People.

"No." 

His answer was simple, it made the merchant frown.

"Why not?"

A faint breeze drifted through the square and stirred loose strands of dark hair across the young man's face. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, shredding away a bit of tension from their conversation.

"Because if I stop speaking, nothing changes.”

The merchant stared at him without responding immediately while the laborer nearby slowly straightened from where he had been leaning against the cart. The merchant seemed to realize that people were whispering about him, because his expression soured slightly before he looked away with a small scoff.

"Nothing will change anyway."

"Then I will continue trying." The young man lowered his gaze briefly before lifting it again, replying to the merchant almost immediately.

A fig struck his shoulder.

The fruit burst apart immediately upon impact and left behind a sticky smear across the sleeve of his coat. The merchant blinked while several people turned toward the direction the fruit had come from, but nobody ratted the culprit out.

The young man merely glanced down at the stain before lifting his gaze back toward the crowd. 

“...As I was saying."

The second fig struck his chest almost immediately, its juice splattering across the front of his cloak upon impact. The third missed entirely and disappeared somewhere into the crowd, while the fourth struck the side of the crate with a dull thud before bursting apart.

By then, nobody was listening anymore. 

Laughter continued to ripple through the square as people gradually lost interest and turned their attention elsewhere. One after another, they began walking away as though they had just stopped to watch a jester perform for a few moments before moving on with their day.

Merchants returned to their stalls while customers continued browsing as if nothing of importance had happened at all. Others began gathering their goods and preparing to leave for their midday rest, slowly carrying away what little audience remained.

The young man eventually stepped down from the crate and brushed at his sleeve with limited success. Fragments of crushed fruit clung stubbornly to the fabric, while the stains had already begun settling into the fabric. They would remain as minor inconveniences. He had experienced worse in the smaller streets, where the light won’t shine past high buildings. He had experienced much worse.

Behind him, the laughter continued as though nothing of value had been lost. Ahead of him, the road stretched onward beyond the marketplace, waiting just as it always had.

And so he left.

– ꩜ –  

The noise of the marketplace gradually faded as he strayed further from the city.

The crowded streets gave way to scattered homes. The scattered homes gave way to open roads lined with patches of dry grass and occasional trees that provided welcome shade against the afternoon heat. Dust rose beneath his boots with each step before settling back onto the ground moments later.

He decided to head for the river to wash his cloak after all the commotion. Even though the color was dark enough to hide the stains, it was the smell which irritated him.

The walk remained peaceful for approximately twenty minutes as the sounds of the city gradually faded behind him. The distant noise of merchants arguing and carts rolling over stone roads became quieter with every step until all that remained was the countryside stretching ahead. Dust shifted beneath his boots while a warm breeze occasionally passed through the grass lining the roadside.

Then he noticed the footsteps.

At first, he ignored them. Travelers used roads, and there was nothing unusual about sharing one with somebody heading in the same direction.

Five minutes passed and the footsteps remained.

Ten minutes later they were still there.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

The rhythm never changed. Whoever occupied the road behind him neither approached nor slowed down, maintaining the same distance with a consistency that gradually became more noticeable the longer he listened. Which made them significantly more suspicious.

The young man continued walking without changing his expression or pace. Nothing about his posture shifted and, to anyone watching, he would have appeared entirely unconcerned.

The follower either possessed remarkably poor stealth, or remarkably doltish confidence. Neither possibility was helping the follower’s case.

Another half hour passed, and the footsteps still remained.

By then the city had completely disappeared behind him. Open countryside stretched in both directions with only fields, patches of tall grass, scattered trees, and the road itself breaking apart the landscape. There were no crowds left to blend into and no distractions left to justify continuing onward together.

No reason whatsoever for someone to continue following him. Yet the footsteps persisted.

Eventually, the young man came to a stop. The footsteps stopped too.

The road extended ahead beneath the golden light of the lowering sun while insects buzzed lazily among the grass. Dust settled around his boots as the movement ceased and silence gradually reclaimed the space around him. The only sound left was gentle flowing of the river, drifting cool breezes of winds across the grassland. 

The young man turned to his right, and kneeled down near the water. He took off his cloak and started rubbing off the stains, turning the water slightly red.

For several moments neither party moved. The young man quietly let out a merely resigned breath.

"You have followed me for nearly an hour."

Then followed complete silence. The breeze continued, soothing the harsh temperature of the sun. Birds called from somewhere within the trees.

Then a voice answered.

"Only an hour?"

The disappointment sounded genuine. 

"...Surely it felt longer than that."

A blond head emerged from behind a nearby tree before the rest of its owner followed shortly after. The stranger stepped onto the road with his hands clasped behind his back and a smile that looked entirely too pleased with itself, like a cat that had just pushed a vase off a table and was waiting to see whether anybody had noticed.

He looked young. Seventeen, perhaps eighteen.

His hair was short, though seemingly incapable of remaining neat for more than a few seconds. Several strands stuck out in different directions as though they had long since given up. His clothes were simple enough: A linen tunic tied at the waist with a cord and carried nothing that would immediately distinguish him from countless other commoners.

Unfortunately, his expression accomplished that well enough on its own. His smile appeared entirely too cheerful for someone who had just been caught stalking a stranger through the countryside.

"Hello."

The young man waved yet he received no response whatsoever.

"Still hello." His smile widened.

And somehow, despite only speaking three words, he had already become a problem.

The young man looked at him while the blond continued looking back. He hadn’t the slightest trace of embarrassment or discomfort from being discovered, neither appearing particularly interested in ending the silence. 

"You know, most people say hello back." The blond eventually tilted his head.

"Most people do not follow strangers through the countryside."

The blond nodded immediately and accepted the answer. It briefly became difficult to tell whether he understood that the statement had not actually been permission.

"That's fair." The blond’s expression remained unchanged.

"What do you want?" The young man sighed as he continued to wash his cloak. And yet the question seemed to catch the blond off guard, he blinked once before vaguely pointing toward himself as though confirming he had heard correctly.

"You followed me." 

"Yes. I did.” He answered as if stating a fact.

“And for what reason?"

For the first time since stepping out from behind the tree, the blond actually appeared to think about the question rather than answering immediately. His eyes briefly drifted toward the fish swimming by before returning. 

"I don't know." The answer came without hesitation.

"You don't know." The young man looked at him for a brief minute. 

"No." The blond shrugged lightly.

"Then why are you here?"

Another brief silence settled between them before the blond spoke again. Then he smiled, not because he had finally discovered an answer but because the question itself seemed amusing to him.

"You looked interesting."

"You followed me for nearly an hour because I looked interesting." The young man stared at him, his hand stopping its scrubbing motion.

"Closer to half a day." The blond tilted his head slightly. The correction did not improve the explanation, and yet his smile remained unchanged. "You were speaking in the marketplace. Nobody agreed with you.”

The other young man stared at him silently.

“They laughed, threw fruit at you, and left. And you kept talking." He continued as his eyes narrowed slightly, not critically but curiously. "Most people stop. They get angry, or embarrassed, or decide it isn't worth the effort anymore. But you didn't."

"No."

The blond smiled, he walked closer to the other "Your idea about purity. I find it rather fascinating."

Slowly turning his head, he looked over his shoulder to find the blond standing there as though nothing unusual had happened.

"...Your point?"

"Well. I want to pursue your ideal future. I too crave a sense of freedom." The blond looked confused “Was that not your intention? To find followers with the same ideal?”

The young man wrung out his cloak and draped it over his shoulder, he didn’t seem to care that it was still wet.

"You are not coming with me."

"Why not?" The blond frowned

"I do not know you."

"Oh." The frown disappeared immediately.

He straightened slightly before placing a hand against his chest.

"My name is Nikolai."

The young man looked at him. Nikolai looked back. The young man stared. Nikolai stared back.

"...That usually works." he squinted his eyes.

The young man quietly sighed.

"Fyodor."

Nikolai's expression brightened immediately "There we go."

Before Fyodor could say anything further, Nikolai had already fallen into step beside him as though the matter had always been settled.

Fyodor looked ahead as Nikolai continued walking. Fyodor stopped considering methods to make him leave and instead resumed heading toward the mountain. Allowing the stranger to follow would require less effort than removing him anyway. “Are you not going to ask anything more?” “No.” 

Nikolai shrugged at his indifference. 

“So?” Nikolai leaned over to him “Where are we headed next?” 

“If you attract any unwanted problems, I will not be responsible for it.” Fyodor didn’t look back when he announced so, only continuing when the other man nodded. “This town showed no interest. I will be moving to another town. Preferably on the mountains.” “Should I pack my bags?” asked Nikolai, pausing his steps as he pointed towards the town. “Do you have anything important?” “No?”