The air between them was thick with tension, as the stranger finally broke the silence, his eyes colder than before. Sunny could feel the change, the shift in his presence. It was no longer a conversation—it was a confrontation of beliefs.
"You're wrong, Sunny," the stranger's voice was calm, yet dripping with conviction. "You see, this world is nothing but a grand lie, a carefully crafted illusion. Every truth, every belief you hold dear—it's all part of the manipulation. It's easy to see why people follow false gods and hollow ideologies. It's because they've been trained to do so."
Sunny's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? People follow what they believe is right."
The stranger scoffed, turning to face the sky as if it held all the answers. "Exactly. And that's the problem. You think they're making choices based on what's right? No. They're following what they've been told is right. Religion, beliefs, ideologies—they're all constructs. It takes nothing to create them. You just need a few simple truths and a little bit of fear to mold them into weapons of control."
Sunny's eyes narrowed. "But… people believe in them."
The stranger's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Yes, they do. Because it's easy. It's easier than questioning. Easier than thinking for yourself. You give people a set of rules to live by, a reason to believe, and they'll follow without ever looking back. Two or three lines, that's all it takes to turn a man into a believer."
Sunny was silent, digesting the weight of the words.
The stranger's gaze darkened. "And here's the irony, Sunny. The ones who question the system, who challenge the lie—they're the ones who are labeled as outcasts, as heretics, as people who lead others astray. But history has shown us time and again—those who fought for truth and justice, the ones who didn't bow down to power, were the ones who were condemned. You think these people care about the truth? No. They just care about control. About keeping the cycle going."
Sunny shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. "So, you're saying everyone's just blind followers?"
"Not everyone," the stranger replied, his tone softening. "But most. And that's the tragedy. The real fight isn't between good and evil. It's between freedom and control. You want to know why the world is as it is? It's because the ones who understand the truth are few. Too few. But they've been silenced, pushed aside, labeled as delusional, while the masses—the ones who follow blindly—are coddled with false hopes, false truths."
He paused, his voice growing quieter. "You'll see, Sunny. You'll see how easy it is to create a new religion. All it takes is a little manipulation, a few sacrifices, and people will follow. They'll worship it. Believe in it. Even if it's all a lie."
Sunny stood motionless, the weight of the stranger's words pressing on his chest. It was like the world he had known—everything he had ever trusted—was crumbling before his eyes.
"I…" Sunny's voice faltered. "But if that's true, then how do we ever change things? If everyone is deceived, what's the point of fighting?"
The stranger chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "That's the question, isn't it? The point of fighting… It's not to win. It's to show them that the lie exists. To rip away the veil, even if only for a moment. Because once they see it, Sunny, once they feel it, they'll understand. But even then… the fight will never end. And the battle won't be against enemies, but against themselves. Against the lies they've built their lives around."
Sunny clenched his fists. The weight of it all was crushing him, but he couldn't look away. The truth was ugly, but it was the truth.
And he would have to live with it.