His gaze remained fixed ahead as he spoke, steady and composed, though there was a quiet introspection beneath it.
"Not merely strength… but absolute power. The kind you speak of."
A brief pause followed. Their footsteps filled the silence in a consistent rhythm, grounding the moment and giving space for his words to settle.
"The responsibility that follows in its wake."
"Power without purpose… without clarity…"
A quiet exhale left him, subtle but deliberate, carrying the weight of something long understood rather than newly realized.
"…is nothing more than a walking catastrophe."
The statement lingered, not pressed or emphasized, but left to stand on its own. It did not seek agreement. It simply presented itself as a conclusion already reached.
"Power consumes. It erodes those too weak-willed to bear it."
He continued forward without breaking stride, his tone even, as if he were not arguing, but stating something he had come to accept over time.
"Power without purpose…"
He paused again, briefly, with clear intent.
"…is tyranny restrained, waiting."
The space between them grew heavier, not through raised voices or conflict, but through implication. Jurgen's jaw tightened slightly, his teeth pressing together as the meaning settled. What stirred in him was not simple disagreement, but a quieter discomfort — one that came from recognizing something he had not fully confronted.
"A lonely man… left with nothing but the desire to control… everything."
Silence followed, dense rather than empty, as though the conversation had only begun to reveal its depth.
"Tell me, Jurgen," Nemesio continued, his tone softening without losing precision, shifting toward quiet curiosity rather than instruction, "let us assume you attain this power you speak of… that you become absolute."
"What then? What prevents you from doing as you please? If you possess that kind of power, and no one remains to oppose you, what restraint is left?"
He did not slow as he spoke, his tone measured, as though he were guiding the thought to its conclusion rather than pressing it.
"Power attained without true purpose, or justified by reasons one chooses to believe inevitably turns inward. It becomes control without limit."
A brief pause followed, deliberate, allowing the weight of the idea to settle before he continued.
"The man begins to lose himself. His mind fractures, gradually but irreversibly. What remains within him erodes, and in the end, he is left to endure the consequences of it."
He allowed the implication to settle before he continued.
"So I must ask you again, Jurgen, why do you seek power? Is it to uphold something? Or to stand against it. Or is it, perhaps, born of revenge?"
The final word settled heavily within Jurgen. His teeth clenched, his fist tightening as tension gathered in his shoulders. Nemesio's question had not been misplaced; it had landed with precise accuracy.
Yet the reaction it drew was not something Jurgen could fully account for. He recognized the feeling, but not its origin. It existed without clear justification, persistent despite the absence of any experience he could point to as its cause.
He studied Jurgen for a brief moment after the final words settled. The conclusion was unmistakable. The boy desired something, though it lacked clear definition; more precisely, he sought to direct punishment toward something he neither fully understood nor could properly articulate.
The hostility within him did not appear reasoned. It moved on impulse, embedded so deeply it functioned almost as a second layer of his being.
Jurgen took a moment to compose himself, settling back into a controlled stillness. His gaze remained fixed ahead, deliberately avoiding Nemesio.
"Reasons one chooses to believe?"
He spoke evenly, though the phrasing carried a quiet edge. The idea unsettled him. To reduce what he felt to something merely chosen, rather than something inherent, felt dismissive — almost condescending. Yet beneath that reaction, there was a quieter recognition he could not fully ignore.
Nemesio's point was not entirely unfounded. More importantly, Jurgen understood this, even if he refused to acknowledge it openly.
"When you base your entire self on chasing power for insignificant purposes, it leads to destruction."
Nemesio spoke calmly, releasing one hand from behind his back so he could gesture in a measured, deliberate way.
"For example, you notice a persistent bug in your home. It has troubled you for quite a while, and you finally have the opportunity to kill it while it is — let's say unaware. You could simply squash it and be done with it."
As he continued, his hand moved briefly to adjust the collar of his robe, as though to keep his posture composed.
"But instead, you decide not to kill it so easily. Because it has troubled you for days, you want to punish it. You want it to pay for that inconvenience, even though it is something insignificant."
His tone remained steady, explanatory rather than emotional.
"It is something you could have let go through a window, or chased out through a door."
"But instead, you lock all the windows, rush outside, and decide it is wiser to take a torch from a sconce just to burn it. And in doing so, while trying to eliminate something so small, you end up burning your entire home and everything you own."
He let the final part settle in silence for a brief moment before finishing, his voice still even as he dragged out the last words.
"…for something as insignificant as a bug."
Jurgen kept his outward composure, though internally a deep, restrained anger continued to build at Nemesio's words. He slowly unclenched his fists, forcing the tension out of his hands rather than allowing it to show.
"I've been rambling on like some old philosopher," Nemesio said, shifting the tone deliberately,
"let's wash all this tension away. I know a spring."
By then, they had already passed several buildings and reached an intersection where three pedestrian paths split in different directions. The layout was simple, intended only for foot traffic, and the movement of people around them remained steady and unhurried.
As they crossed, Nemesio casually gestured to the left.
Their direction led toward a large building marked by a prominent signboard overhead. On either side of it stood two tall rods that faintly resembled feathers in shape. At the center of the sign was the image of a white swan, clearly marking the place as they approached.