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Class time.
Again.
Most days, it was a blessing in his life, a moment of blissful oblivion in which he could make believe he was nothing more but a student, with responsibilities and homeworks and worries about his upcoming baccalaureate.
He liked to pretend.
Being happy, cheerful and sweet Adrien was nice.
Being himself, well, wasn't.
For now, all he could do was pretend for a little longer.
Until he had to go back home.
And pretend a little longer.
Still deeply in the tiredness that number his mind, he heard the teacher call out.
"Class, be quiet please."
The soft rumble of indistinct chattering died down, ready for the next words.
"I will read one of Plato's dialogues. Have any of you heard of the Allegory of the Cave?"
Max and Kim shot up their hands, something pretty uncommon for Kim.
"Yes?"
"Isn't that the thing the Matrix movies were based off?"
A chuckle was heard from the back of the class.
"Actually, he is correct."
Matrix?, Adrien thought to himself.
"Allow me to read it for you."
Her soft voice filled his ears like a bedtime story would fill a child's, like his ears hadn't been in a long time.
The words carried him across his mind towards memories he so hardly desired to erase, what had been his life.
Nothing more than a lie.
No.
No.
No.
The warmth of the end of the summer made the classroom drowsy, like a perfect pool whose water towered him, burying each of his limbs under thousands of pounds worth of water in which he didn't feel a thing.
"Now, I want everyone to read it again and think of an example in which the Allegory happens, write it down and explain it."
In the back, Kim grabbed his pen quickly, eager to start writing.
"No Matrix, please."
A groan echoed throughout the room. In the front, Adrien clutched his head as if it ached, aching instead to find something other than the very example that had been roaming his mind since the teacher started reading.
Something else. Find something else.
Anything.
Please.
Nothing came out. Anything would be better than remembering. As much as he had done inner work over the past year, it hurt. Therapy had been useful, but somehow, it kind of opened the wound even more. Even with the tiny traces of a grudge he held against Felix, he and his Aunt Amélie had been more than kind to wreck their lives to come take care of him, and the woman's kindness sure made up for the entire mess Felix had once made. It was better, but remembering hurt. Hurt a lot. Nonetheless, he started reading.
"And now allow me to draw a comparison in order to
understand the effect of learning (or the lack thereof)
upon our nature. Imagine that there are people living
in a cave deep underground. The cavern has a mouth
that opens to the light above, and a passage exists
from this all the way down to the people.
They have lived here from infancy, with their legs
and necks bound in chains. They cannot move. All they can do is stare directly forward, as the chains stop
them from turning their heads around. Imagine that
far above and behind them blazes a great fire. Between
this fire and the captives, a low partition is erected
along a path, something like puppeteers use to conceal
themselves during their shows."
"Been there", he muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Sorry, nothing. Just... thinking out loud!" He flashed a nervous smile at Nino, hoping it wouldn't give away his inner cries for help.
"Now, tell me if you suppose it’s possible
that these captives ever saw anything of themselves or
one another, other than the shadows flitting across the
cavern wall before them?"
Certainly not, for they are restrained, all their lives,
with their heads facing forward only."
Was it possible that the universe was playing a prank on him?
Why was a random philosophy class explaining the way he had felt for over a decade better than he had ever been able to?
"Then, undoubtedly, such captives would consider the
truth to be nothing but the shadows of the carved
objects."
"Most certainly."
"Look again, and think about what would happen
if they were released from these chains and these
misconceptions."
They would drown. Remember every day their past lives and the way nobody bothered to tell them the truth, what was wrong with what they spent their whole lives believing was perfectly normal.
He couldn't write that down, though.
"Imagine one of them is set free from
his shackles and immediately made to stand up and bend his neck around, to take steps, to gaze up toward
the fire. And all of this was painful, and the glare from
the light made him unable to see the objects that cast
the shadows he once beheld. What do you think
his reaction would be if someone informed him that
everything he had formerly known was illusion and
delusion, but that now he was a few steps closer
to reality, oriented now toward things that were
more authentic, and able to see more truly? And,
even further, if one would direct his attention to the
artificial figures passing to and fro and ask him what
their names are, would this man not be at a loss to
do so? Would he, rather, believe that the shadows he
formerly knew were more real than the objects now
being shown to him?"
A year ago, the illusion he had of his family, of a father that loved him above all and would never even dare hurt him, was more real than whatever universal trick his life was.
The shadows were real. Felt real.
Quite literally. Shadowmoth and his father being connected, the same person even, had never crossed his mind before despite his friends' comparisons.
The shadow of never having been hurt despite what others assured him felt real.
"Now, if he was forced to look directly at the firelight, wouldn’t his eyes be pained? Wouldn’t he turn
away and run back to those things which he normally
perceived and understand them as more defined
and clearer than the things now being brought to his
attention?"
The flash of light that ultimately uncovered his father's identity and his unwillingness to show any kind of mercy at him had been again, quite literally blinding.
"Now, let’s say that he is forcibly dragged up the steep climb out of the cavern, and firmly held until finally he stands in the light of the sun. Don’t you think that he would be agitated and even begin to complain? Under that light, would his eyes not be nearly
blinded, unable to discern any of those things that we
ourselves call real?"
The police officers that had dragged him outside of the parts of the mansion that still were standing hadn't stopped until he was outside. The lights from their cars, the sun, it had been so bright.
He still begged them not to take his father.
It couldn't have been him.
Even after seeing it with his own eyes.
"It would take time, I suppose, for him to get used to
seeing higher things. In the beginning, he might only
trace the shadows. Then, reflections of people and
other things in the water. Next he would come to see
the things themselves. Then he would behold the
heavenly bodies, and the heaven itself by night, seeing
the light of the stars and the moon with greater
ease than the sun and its light by day. And then, I think, he would at last be able to gaze upon
the sun itself—neither as reflected in water, nor as a
phantom image in some other place, but in its own
place as it really is."
He saw it now. Everything back then, and now.
"And now, he will begin to reason. He will find that the sun is the source for the seasons and the years, and governor of every visible thing, and is ultimately
the origin of everything previously known."
Everything his father had caused, as either Gabriel Agreste, Hawkmoth, Shadowmoth or any ridiculous name he had selected, all the damage had fallen upon him like a ton of bricks.
"That being the case, should he remember his fellow
prisoners and their original dwelling and what
was accepted as wisdom in that setting, don’t you
imagine he would consider himself fortunate for this
transformation, and feel pity for the captives?
He felt so sorry for little Adrien.
Sometimes, he wished Bunnixx could drop him by, just to assure himself, both now and then, that things would be okay, before his expression took a sad tinge remembering everything.
"Well, here’s something else to consider. If such a man would suddenly go from the sunlight to once more descend to his original circumstances, wouldn’t his
vision by obscured by the darkness?"
"It obviously would."
"And so, let’s say he is with the captives and gets
put into the position of interpreting the wall-
shadows. His eyes are still adjusting to the darkness,
and it may take a while before they are. Wouldn’t he
become a laughing-stock? Wouldn’t they say, “You
have returned from your adventure up there with
ruined eyes!” Would they not say that the ascent was a
waste of time? And if they had the opportunity, do you
supposed that they might raise their hands against
him and kill this person who is trying to liberate them
to a higher plane?"
He would give anything to never go back there.
As much as he wanted to say no to the second part, he considered it.
The moment he regained consciousness at the hospital and was informed about the battle, he went completely feral.
It couldn't have been his father.
Only that it had in fact been him.
If he had known it back then, would he have even acted?
He couldn't keep reading. He raised his hand.
"Teacher, can I be excused from this activity?"
A single tear ran down his cheek as he exited the classroom.