Once upon a time, in a kingdom lost to time and sin, there lived a jester. He was adored by the children of the realm, a figure of laughter, joy, and delight. Every day, he’d perform his tricks and puppet shows in the town square, weaving his magic to bring smiles to innocent faces. His painted grin never wavered, even as the world outside the kingdom’s gates grew darker, and the flames of war and suffering edged ever closer.
The jester believed himself to be more than just a fool in motley; he saw himself as a protector, a beacon of joy in an otherwise grim world. “I nurture them,” he would say, flipping his puppets into the air as they danced on strings. “I keep the darkness away from their hearts.”
But outside the kingdom, a great inferno was spreading, devouring everything in its path—cities, forests, lives. The rulers of the land, desperate to save themselves, closed their gates and let the fire rage on, ignoring the warning signs. And the jester, in his arrogance, ignored it as well.
“Let the world burn,” he thought. “As long as I can make these children laugh, I am doing my part.” His puppets danced ever more frantically, his shows growing louder and brighter as if the chaos beyond the walls didn’t matter. He believed, foolishly, that if he distracted the children long enough, the flames would never touch them.
But, of course, the inferno grew. The kingdom’s walls began to crumble under the pressure, and the fire finally made its way to the town square. The children, once captivated by the jester’s puppets, looked up in terror as the flames approached. They begged him to save them, to protect them like he had promised. But what could he do? His tricks, his shows, his little distractions—they were no match for the raw power of the fire.
Now, Felix, do you see yourself in that jester? You believe that by pulling your strings and making your puppets dance, you can save the children of Arcadia. You think that by standing on that stage, you can keep the darkness at bay. But the world outside your funhouse is burning, and no amount of tricks will stop the inferno that’s coming.
Zeus saw it. That’s why he cut the strings and opened the arena. He knew that distractions won’t save Arcadia’s youth. Your little puppet shows might bring smiles for a moment, but they’re not preparing them for the fire that’s on its way. The real world, Felix, isn’t a stage for your whimsical games.
In the end, your funhouse will burn, just like the jester’s kingdom. And when the flames come, your strings will snap, your puppets will fall, and you’ll stand there, a fool with nothing left but the ashes of your own arrogance.
But don’t worry, Felix. When the fire finally consumes you, I’ll be waiting to guide you into the flames. After all, you’ve danced so close to the heat for so long—did you really think you wouldn’t burn?