They asked softly, brushing a lock of hair behind their ear. “What does freedom even mean? Is it the power to choose? To wander unbound? To live without fear or danger? Or is it just a mirage? Even before the collapse, freedom was conditional—a trick you played on yourselves. No one ever truly went wherever they pleased, yet they convinced themselves they did. And if they did move, believing each step sprung from pure free will—another illusion.”
I exhaled and poured a hefty measure of whiskey. “What makes you bring this up now?”
They watched as I handed over the bottle. “Mind if I take a swig?”
After a measured sip, they said, “Like you pointed out the other day, you don’t choose which thoughts arrive—only whether to act on them. And if you could teleport anywhere, you’re confined by what you can imagine. You can’t map every corner of the world in one life. In the end, you never discover truly new territory.”
“In other words, freedom is…