A/N: This is the final introduction type of chapter. I will start with the main story from next, and this will be the final chapter for philosophical considerations.
Here, I will discuss possibly the final philosophy that will be the main goal of out main character, and will be the backbone that will allow the MC to stand out on his own, and have an actual purpose.
This will also not disrupt the original story of Wuwa.
--
"Hiya! Evil Tacet Discord!" A youthful shrill battle cry echoed in the sunny land. "I am the Hero of Justice!"
With a rusted helm fashioned from cardboard and the legendary—wooden—sword gripped tightly in trembling fingers, the boy—no taller than a doorknob's height—lunged toward his sworn enemy.
From the opposite end of the sun-drenched clearing, beneath the solemn shadow of a backyard oak, the dark figure rose. A tattered black cape—once a living room curtain—flared behind him.
"Grrr! You dare challenge me, mortal?" the so-called Evil Lord growled, curling his small fingers into claws. His eyes narrowed with mock menace. "Then behold the fury of my dark power!"
He lunged forward, hands outstretched, shrieking with a fury that echoed not fear, but fun. The clash was less a duel and more a chaotic dance, all flailing limbs and breathless laughter.
In every corner of the world, scenes like these played out in grassy backyards and sunlit streets—innocent roleplay between young dreamers.
They chased grand destinies, swung invisible swords at invisible foes, and aimed their hearts at stars beyond reach.
But time, that most patient of thieves, waits for no dream. The future, that winding fog of promise and peril, cares little for childhood proclamations.
One may yearn, fight, and wish—and still come up empty. For in the face of wisdom, burden, and time's passage, many youthful dreams quietly fade.
"Tch." Clicking his tongue, a boy—slightly older than the two battling titans—stood apart, his arms crossed and expression curled into a sneer. His sharp eyes scanned the mock battle with disdain.
'Idiots,' he thought, his gaze flicking from one to the other with judgment hardened by experience.
He had no use for such fantasies. In his eyes, ambition was nothing more than a fleeting flicker—easily extinguished by the storm of reality. Dreams meant nothing. Only strength mattered.
He glanced down at his hands—callused, raw, aching. The wooden sword beside him was splintered, its edge dulled by hours of silent, solitary training.
'I will become stronger,' he swore to himself. 'Because only strength can protect. Strength is the only truth.'
A fire stirred behind his tired eyes—a fire wild and untamed. He exhaled—phew—and turned, ready to resume his drills. But something caught his eye.
The two "titans" still role-played beneath the snowy canopy, unbothered by pain or purpose, locked in their innocent delusion of hero and villain.
"—!!?"
The snow cracked.
From the shadows, a grey worm slithered forth—massive, sleek, its segmented body glowing with a sickly yellow hue.
Its mouth split open into four grotesque petals, a flower blooming with hunger. Drops of glowing magma hissed as they hit the snow.
It was a Tacet Discord, the Lava Larva.
The older boy's eyes widened.
"Shit," he whispered, before shouting: "A Tacet Discord! Be careful!"
But the two didn't react in time. The Tacet Discord had already drawn near, a silent shadow slinking across the boundary between game and nightmare.
It closed in with unnatural grace, eyes glinting like obsidian glass.
Yet the hero—the ever-righteous fool who barely stood tall enough to reach a doorknob—did not move.
He stood firm, feet planted in defiance, wooden sword trembling in his grip. His eyes didn't waver.
From the edge of the clearing, the older, much stronger child watched. The boy's breath caught in his throat. His lips parted, and a single word slipped out like a curse: "Idiot."
He took a step—but not toward the chaos. Not toward the children who stood facing something they couldn't possibly defeat.
Instead, he turned. He ran away. Why?
Because he knew. Fighting the Tacet Discord was a fool's dream—just like being a hero.
Grrrhhhhh—
The creature's maw cracked open, and a drizzle of molten spit melted the frost. The brave little boy stood motionless, knees shaking, but eyes locked on his friend—frozen, trembling, paralyzed by fear.
'How can I save him?' the little hero thought, every instinct screaming to run.
The creature circled the boys, savoring their terror like a predator toying with its prey. The villain—once so full of bravado—had already pissed himself. The "hero" stood alone now.
Then—"Hiya!!"
With all the strength he could muster, the boy hurled his wooden sword. It struck the creature square in the face. The Larva let out a screech and gave chase.
"Haaah... Haaah..."
The boy ran.
Legs trembling, lungs burning, heart pounding like a war drum—he kept running. The heavy thuds behind him shook the earth.
The Lava Larva was still giving chase, its molten breath hissing and snarling through the trees. His body screamed to stop, to fall, to give up—but fear and adrenaline drove him forward.
At last, he stumbled into a clearing. There, atop a stone no taller than a man's waist, sat a young man calmly polishing a sword. The stranger looked to be in his late twenties—composed, quiet, and somehow entirely out of place amidst the chaos.
"Help…" the boy gasped, staggering.
He collapsed to his knees before the man, pleading, "Please… kind sir… help me…"
The man—Lian—glanced down at him with unreadable eyes. He didn't move. Didn't stop polishing.
"Why are you running?" he asked in a calm voice. "Is your problem truly so great that you can't face it?"
"Yes—look!" The boy turned and pointed.
From the treeline emerged the Tacet Discord—a monstrosity spitting venomous magma, shrieking with a sound that could shatter glass. The boy flinched and whispered again, "Please… help me…"
Lian's eyes momentarily met the Lava Larva's as he concluded. "It looks weak."
The boy's eyes lit up with sudden hope. "Then—!"
"Why are you running from it?" Lian asked again, unmoved.
"Because…" the boy spat bitterly. "I'm weak."
"No." Lian refuted the boy's claims. "You outran it. You stood firm long enough to reach here. You're faster than it—and you endured it. So tell me again… why are you weak?"
Still seated, Lian continued polishing the blade, eyes never leaving the trembling child. "I believe you already have the strength. And you have what you need… around you."
The boy stared at him—half confused, half enraged. 'This uncle's useless,' he thought bitterly.
Then, in one desperate motion, he lunged—snatched the sword—and turned just as the Lava Larva pounced. With a cry, he swung, but the sword needed not to be used.
SHRIIK—
The creature never even touched them. It disintegrated in a flash of white light. Only a single strand of steaming hair remained… floating down like ash.
It landed at Lian's feet—and faded into him.
"See?" Lian said, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "You are strong."
"No... it was only because of this sword," the boy replied, lifting it to show him.
But the blade crumbled in his hands. It wasn't steel anymore—just a broken wooden stick. The same stick he had carried since the beginning. The same one he had used when he first stood his ground.
"This…" he murmured.
He looked up at Lian—who only smiled and gently ruffled the child's hair.
Sleep fell over him like a warm wave. His limbs grew heavy. His eyes fluttered shut.
As the boy slipped into dreams, Lian whispered, "Thank you. You four have taught me something even the wisest never could."
For months, Lian had wandered, pondering existence. He studied scholars, sages, monks. Yet no answer ever came—only riddles shrouded in robes, veiled in circular thought.
Until he saw three children beneath the snow.
One who dreamed of righteousness.
One who played for fun.
One who burned for strength.
And in them, Lian saw what no scripture, no scholar, no ancient tome had ever shown him: the purpose of life—To dream.
Not a fleeting, childish fancy, but a dream born from the desire to become. A dream that was an expression of something far greater—humanity itself.
For Lian, such dreams had always felt distant. Afterall, beneath his human flesh and serene eyes, stirred the Resonance of a Threnodian—a being not born of flesh, but of concept feared.
And yet, upon witnessing these fragile human ambitions, something shifted within him. For the first time, he began to understand his own purpose—not from the perspective of a discarded weapon, but through the lens of a discarded soul.
He had watched it unfold today.
The TD—Lava Larva—had not hunted out of malice, but hunger. It chased the brave child not to kill, but to satisfy resonance. And the child had not fought for glory, but for a friend.
Perhaps, this—this clash—was the crescendo of humanity and Discord.
A human Resonator fights to protect humanity, to uphold its world. A Tacet Discord fights to preserve its resonance, because to it, that resonance is the world.
And maybe, just maybe, in that understanding, Lian found the answer to his powers.
His power—neither good nor evil—had been rejected, like him. And in that rejection, he had only ever seen himself, alone. Why did he grieve? Why did he ache?
Because he was born from the concept of Impermanence, and in a world that seeks permanence—identity, belonging, meaning—his nature was refused.
He had wandered, clung to ego, stared into endless reflections trying to see something he could name as purpose. But he was looking too closely. All he saw was himself.
And then he met a boy. A boy who fought, not because he was strong, but because someone else was in danger.
That boy taught Lian something no proclaimed wise man ever could: "Those who overcome their own weakness become strong—but those who carry others' become the strongest of all."
Lian turned his gaze to the second child—the one who had fled, heart pounding, spirit broken. He had watched him clearly.
"A man who chooses to run the moment he sees the appearance of his adversary," Lian murmured with a sad smile, "will forever remain ignorant of the strength within him."
Then he looked to the third child—still standing where he had frozen, legs trembling, pants soiled. Lian had almost written him off.
'A coward,' he thought. One who lives only for momentary pleasures.
But then the boy moved. Not away from the danger—but towards it. Towards Lian. Towards the sleeping child in his arms.
Curious, Lian picked up the slumbering child and stepped forward. The soiled child ran, panting, and called out: "Jyu!"
Lian bent and gently handed the sleeping boy over.
"Why did you come here?" he asked.
"My friend... he was in danger," the child replied softly.
"Then why didn't you help him earlier?" Lian asked.
The boy looked down, shame brimming in his eyes. "Because I was scared."
Lian's voice was calm, even sharp. "If you're scared and powerless… then why come at all? That's foolishness."
"Because he's my friend!" the boy shouted, voice cracking—not with fear, but with fire.
Lian blinked, stunned by the ferocity behind those simple words.
"Friend."
A small word. Only two syllables. But it struck Lian like a bell through fog—foreign, yet familiar. Sacred even.
He wanted to ask more. Wanted to understand this—Friend.
But that curiosity would have to wait. He knelt, and ruffled the boy's hair.
"Alright," Lian said softly, offering a rare smile. "Take your friend. And next time… be careful not to wander too deep into the forest when you play."
"Yes." The child bowed slightly, then took his sleeping friend in his arms and turned back—feet stumbling, but determined.
Lian stood still, watching them. Watching their small, retreating forms grow smaller against the horizon—two silhouettes bathed in dusk light, heading back toward the city of men.
He stood there long even as they vanished. And for the first time in all his wandering, all his questioning... he became a dreamer, too.
Yet, for all the might he had, his dream was simple: Acceptance.
Not for himself. Not from others. But for something deeper. Something greater: Impermanence.
Yes, that was his dream.
A world where impermanence is not feared, not hidden, not rejected—but embraced. A world that understands that to cherish something, to love something, is to know it will one day be gone.
He looked up at the sky—soft and gray like fading ash—and made his vow.
"I don't need to be accepted by the world," he whispered. "It is impermanence itself… that must be accepted."
And in that vow, something stirred in the earth.
The world did not tremble. The stars did not shift. But in the quietest of silences, something unseen—something eternal—smiled back.
To be continued...
***
A/N: Well, this is the one philosophical question I've never been able to answer. I believe that I, as a human, am not important—but the quality I possess, humanity, is important for the world.
Also, I think I should take a short break—maybe a week or so. Lately, I feel like the pacing of the story is starting to drag. What do you, the readers, think?