The sun burned mercilessly overhead, its blazing light illuminating the great square where a thousand eyes stared in silent anticipation.
In the center stood Sunny, shackled and bloodied, but his back remained straight, his gaze unwavering.
He was not afraid.
He had already been killed the moment he refused to bow down to blind faith.
The priests in their golden robes raised their hands high, chanting the sacred verses written in a language no one even understood anymore — but which all obeyed without question.
The executioner approached with a heavy blade, but before the final blow could fall, Sunny's voice rang out.
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Every word was like a stone hurled at the fragile glass walls of their so-called truth.
"You call yourselves believers," Sunny said, his voice calm yet cutting, "but you know nothing."
"You were born into this faith. You were told that a book you cannot read holds all the answers. You were commanded to follow without question — and you obeyed, because it was easier than thinking for yourselves."
The crowd shifted uneasily, but the priests barked louder, drowning his words with chants.
Still, Sunny spoke.
"Let's talk about truth," he continued.
"Just a few days ago, some travelers from another religion passed through your lands. You called them enemies — and so you slaughtered them."
He paused, looking around, meeting their eyes.
"Even a three-year-old child," Sunny said, his voice heavy with sorrow.
"You killed him. And not one of you questioned it. You cheered."
Silence. Only the harsh wind answered him.
"Is this what your God wants?"
"Does your faith demand the blood of children?"
Some faces in the crowd faltered. Mothers clutched their babies closer. Old men looked away in shame.
Sunny smiled bitterly.
"You say that when good things happen, it is God's blessing. But when evil happens, you claim it's part of some 'greater plan.'"
He stepped forward as far as the chains allowed.
"Tell me — if your God truly loved you, why would he create a world where injustice thrives?
Why create creatures who survive by hurting others?
Why build a world where pain is born from the first breath you take?"
The executioner's hands trembled on the sword.
"If religion had never existed," Sunny said softly, "most of the wars you fight today… would have never begun."
"You use your books and your beliefs as weapons, twisting them into reasons to hate, to destroy, to conquer."
He looked at them one last time — not with hatred, but with a sad, heavy heart.
"You are not righteous. You are simply cowards clinging to lies because the truth is too painful to face."
The priests screamed for his death.
The crowd roared in confusion, anger, and fear.
The blade descended.
Sunny closed his eyes, feeling no regret, no fear.
Only a quiet, unshakable certainty.