The path to intelligent existence. Testament of a new humanity
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© Serge de Brook, 2025
ISBN 978-5-0068-0448-7
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Serge De Brook
The Path to Intelligent Existence
Chronicles of the Sovereign Kingdom of Manna
Epilogue
Word of the Wise Man
«Every generation is a pilgrim.
And only he who goes further than his fathers
becomes a bridge for children.»
– From the Chronicles of the Sovereign Kingdom of Manna
I have often wondered: what is meaning?
It is sought in books, in gold, in victories. It is promised by prophets and sages. But when night falls and you are alone with yourself, meaning slips away like a drop of water between your fingers.
I am the Duke of the Sovereign Kingdom of Manna. My people look to me as the one who should know the way. But the further I lead them, the more clearly, I see my own blindness. The greatness of the title does not relieve the emptiness. Power does not bring peace.
Sometimes I stand on the castle walls and look at the horizon. The earth is silent, the stars twinkle, but my heart asks: where are we going? We speak of the future, of progress, of light – but what if these are only words covering up fear?
One night, when the wind drove torn clouds across the sky, an old man came to me. His clothes were simple; his eyes glowed with a quiet fire. He said:
– You seek the way, but you look outside. The meaning is not beyond the kingdom. It lives inside you.
I was silent. And for the first time I understood that in the depths of my soul there is a world of which I know nothing.
From that evening my pilgrimage began. Not to foreign lands, not to new cities, but to the country that opens only to those who dare to look inside themselves.
Where there are no maps, no troops, no power. There is only the heart and its response to the eternal question: what does it mean to live wisely?
I stood at the foot of the tree we planted together. Its branches reached upward, its roots pressed deep into the earth. Around me, children laughed as they ran, their voices clearer than any hymn.
I knew: my time was nearing its dusk. Yet I felt no fear. For the light I had sought all my life was no longer mine alone. It lived in them – in their hearts, their hands, their gaze turned toward the future.
Wisdom is not to keep truth, but to pass it on – as a torch that must never be allowed to fade.
I turned to the young and said softly:
«Your road will not be mine. New trials, new temptations await you. But remember: truth is not locked in palaces or books. It is born in how you look at each other, in how you act for one another, in how you guard love within your heart.»
They listened in silence. In their eyes I saw what I had lived for – a fire that could not be extinguished.
Then I understood: my pilgrimage was complete. Theirs had just begun.
And so I leave my step in the dust of time, like a note in the great melody of the universe. But may this melody never cease. Whoever reads these words becomes part of it.
Let your hearts be torches.
Let your hands be wings.
Let your love be the breath of a new world.
And the light we once sought in the night will rise as morning for those who come after us.
«To walk in the light is to vow that the dawn will never end.»
Chapter I – The Forgotten Root
I walked into a village I once knew. Once, its fields sang with harvest, and its people told stories under the stars. Now the air felt heavy, and the people’s eyes were tired. Their hands moved quickly, but without joy.
They spoke of profit, of things, of numbers. Not of life.
I tried to remind them of the sky, of the river’s song, of the earth that remembers every step. They nodded politely, but their gaze was elsewhere – as if I spoke in a language long forgotten.
I realized then: they had become clever without wisdom. They knew how to build, but not why. They could count their gold, but not their blessings.
That night, as I sat by a fire, an old farmer approached me. His face was lined like the fields he once ploughed.
«Duke,»
he said softly,
«when we were children, we could read the clouds and the wind. We knew when to sow and when to rest. Now, we chase coins, and the sky is silent.»
His words pierced me more than silence ever could.
Reason without heart is a mask. And masks forget the truth.
I closed my eyes and remembered my father’s voice:
«True wealth is not in the hands, but in the heart.»
How easily I had dismissed it in my youth. Now it returned to me, sharp and alive.
I knew then that my path must begin here – not only for myself, but for my people. To remind them that happiness is not a shadow cast by gold, but the light that rises when we live in harmony with ourselves and with the earth.
I stood at the edge of the village and looked toward the horizon where the stars shimmered like forgotten prayers. My heart whispered:
«The meaning is not outside the kingdom. It lives within you.»
That night I made a vow: I would walk a path not only of answers, but of awakening.
I often thought about the state of humanity. There was a time when man walked close to the earth, when the river’s murmur was a teacher, and the stars were companions. In those days, people could listen. They did not seek to master the world; they sought to belong to it.
But that time seemed far away.
Recently I came to a village once rich with life. Fields had yielded abundance, forests had given timber, and elders had passed down stories that bound the people together. Now I found only a pale reflection of that harmony.
The villagers’ hands were busy, but not alive. Their eyes looked at me, yet did not see.
They spoke of wages, debts, and goods – but not of wonder, not of joy.
I sat with a group of men by the square. Their words were sharp, filled with concerns about profit. I asked:
– Do you still watch the sky before planting?
One laughed bitterly.
– The sky does not pay taxes, Duke.
The others nodded in silence.
Their laughter was harder for me to bear than silence.
I felt in that moment: they had become «conditionally reasonable.»
They could measure, but not feel. They could construct walls, but not homes. They could buy bread, but not share it.
Reason without heart is a mask. And masks forget the truth.
That night, as the fire crackled, an old farmer approached. His back was bent, his hands dark with earth, but his gaze was clear.
«Duke,»
he said quietly,
«we were once children of the soil. We read the wind like a book, and the stars guided us home. Now we chase silver coins, and the sky is silent.»
I looked at him, unable to answer. His words were a mirror.
I walked to the edge of the village. Above me, the stars shimmered in a silence more eloquent than any council. I heard my father’s voice, long gone but alive in memory:
«True wealth is not what you hold in your hands, but what you carry in your heart.»
How arrogant I had been, dismissing his wisdom when youth filled me with pride. Now it returned, simple and undeniable.
At that moment, I understood: my path was not only to seek answers for myself, but to awaken my people to the truth they had forgotten.
I whispered into the night:
«Meaning is not outside the kingdom. It lives within you.»
The wind carried my words into the darkness, as if the earth itself had heard.
I knew then that my pilgrimage had begun. Not toward distant lands, not toward new cities, but toward the forgotten root – the place where man meets his soul.
Chapter II – Nature as Teacher
«In every rustle, in every stream, in every gaze of an animal, wisdom waits to be heard. Nature is our truest teacher, if we dare to listen.»
– From the Chronicles of the Sovereign Kingdom of Manna
I left the walls of the castle behind me. The air outside was different, lighter, as if it welcomed me into another world. Each step along the forest path reminded me that I was not alone. The earth carried me, the wind touched my face, and the sky opened above like a silent scripture.
The deeper I walked, the clearer my heart became. I stopped and closed my eyes. Birds called to each other, leaves whispered in the wind, water murmured nearby. It was not noise – it was a symphony.
I whispered:
«If I wish to learn again, let me begin here.»
By the stream I sat on a stone. Water danced around roots and rocks, flowing onward without hesitation. I watched it and thought:
«Life too must not fear obstacles. It flows, it bends, but it does not stop.»
A squirrel appeared, small and nimble. It came close to drink, and for a moment its bright eyes met mine. There was no fear, only curiosity. I realized that here, in this forest, all beings trusted the order of life. Each creature had its role, its place, and together they formed harmony.
Later, I followed the squirrel deeper until the trees opened into a clearing. Sunlight fell upon it like a blessing. Deer stood at the edge, hares leapt among the grass, and even a fox watched me with steady eyes. I sat silently, and they did not run. It was as if I had been admitted into their council.
I remembered the elder’s words:
«Meaning is not outside the kingdom. It lives inside you.»
And now I saw their echo in the eyes of animals.
The fox stepped closer. Her gaze was sharp, her presence both playful and serious. In her silence I heard:
«Learn to adapt. Trust your instincts. Move with grace.»
Then she turned and vanished into the undergrowth.
I felt she had not left me but had shown me the path inward.
As dusk fell, I came upon an ancient oak. Its roots gripped the earth like hands, its branches stretched upward like prayers. I placed my palm upon its bark and closed my eyes.
The tree whispered:
«Listen, seeker. All things are connected. You are not alone. As my roots hold me to the earth, so your soul is held in the great web of life.»
I opened my eyes with tears I had not noticed. The oak had survived storms and seasons, and still it stood, stronger for every trial. And I thought:
«To endure does not mean to resist, but to grow.»
That night, I found a lake. Its water reflected the sky, and in it I saw my own face – not as a duke, but as a man searching for meaning. Ducks glided across, leaving ripples that spread far beyond them.
«So it is with every act,»
I thought.
«One step, one word, one choice creates ripples that reach beyond sight.»
I knelt by the water and whispered:
«Nature, be my teacher. Let me learn not with pride but with humility.»
And in that silence, I understood: every creature, every stream, every stone was a mirror. To look at them was to look at myself.
I left the forest filled with strength, as if I carried within me not just lessons but companions – the water, the fox, the oak, the lake. And I knew: this was only the beginning of my true pilgrimage.
When I stepped beyond the castle gates, the air itself seemed to change. It was no longer thick with the weight of duty. It was fresh, alive, fragrant with pine and damp earth. For the first time in years, I felt the world breathe – and it invited me to breathe with it.
I paused at the edge of the forest and whispered to myself:
«Here begins a kingdom not of stone, but of silence.»
The path was narrow, overgrown by grass and roots, as if time itself wished to erase it. Each step reminded me that I was no master here; I was a guest. The birds sang above me, not as entertainment but as proclamation:
«Life is here, now.»
I reached a stream that twisted through the trees like silver thread. Sitting on a rock, I let its murmur speak. The water rushed over stones and roots, always moving, always yielding – yet never defeated.
«This is how one should live,»
I thought. «Not by force, but by flow. Not by breaking, but by bending.»
I bent down to drink. The water was cold, sharp, like truth itself.
As I rested, a squirrel appeared. Small, quick, unafraid, it leapt onto a branch and looked at me with eyes too clear to be mere animal. I smiled, whispering:
– What do you see in me, little one?
In silence it answered:
«You are too heavy with thought. Learn to move lightly. Life is play as much as struggle.»
The squirrel darted away, but its lesson lingered.
Further along, I entered a sunlit clearing. Deer grazed at the edge, hares darted through the grass, and a fox, red as fire, watched me steadily. None fled. For a moment, I felt I had been admitted into their circle – as if they knew my heart carried no weapon.
The fox stepped closer. Its eyes shone like twin flames, alive with instinct and wisdom. It did not speak, yet I heard:
«Do not only observe. Trust what stirs inside you. Intuition is the soul’s voice.»
Then it vanished into the shadows, leaving me with a question:
«Do I trust myself?»
I walked until I found an ancient oak. Its trunk was scarred by storms, its branches stretched like open arms. I placed my hand on its bark, rough and cool, and closed my eyes.
The tree seemed to whisper:
«I endured winds that would break stone, yet here I stand. Strength is not in resisting storms, but in sinking roots deeper.»
I pressed my forehead against it and felt its silence enter me.
«To endure does not mean to harden,»
I thought.
«It means to grow.»
By evening, I reached a lake. Its waters were calm, reflecting the first stars of night. I bent to drink and saw my reflection. Not a Duke. Not a ruler. Just a man searching for himself.
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