Artists' Cemetery

Fire opened the door to the room where all the pieces created by students over the years were kept. His eyes immediately fell on a piece made by a close friend. Scenes of its creation flashed in his mind— all the struggles, but also the moments of mutual support. “What was his name again?” He had left a long time ago, without saying goodbye, without looking back. “I wonder where he is now,” Fire thought. One by one, talented colleagues silently faded away. As he walked through the room, he wondered: how many of them had given up, disappearing into thin air? How many were still around?

The air felt stagnant, thick with dust and darkened by a heavy, eerie presence. He made a small gesture of respect toward the objects around him, each now resembling a gravestone. “It’s a battlefield out there”, he thought. “But the memories of fallen comrades keep us moving forward.”

Standing still, Fire paused, lost in contemplation. “Why am I still here?” he wondered. “Talent, skill… none of it matters. Is believing in yourself even enough?”

He closed his eyes, the silence settling in. “Perseverance,” he whispered at last. “There’s nothing else I could imagine myself doing.”