Chapter 22: Shadows and Choices (Part 1)

[Choose.]

The word floated in front of Julian, cold, almost commanding.

"Choose…?" He glanced between the two sceneries surrounding him—one of Ellie, and the other, of himself standing at a forge, hammering away at a glowing sword.

But why was this even a choice? He and Ellie have already separated, there was… nothing for him on the other side.

There was only the fire and the metal now. And so, his hand just started to reach toward the version of himself crafting; his heart, drawn to the comfort of the forge.

"Please…" But as soon as he took a step forward, Ellie's voice completely shattered his resolve.

"Julian, wake up… please wake up." Ellie's cry was faint, barely even a whisper, but in his mind, it may as well be louder than the clanging of the metal.

"Ellie…" His heart twisted as he saw her. She was there, sitting beside him, her hands gripping his tightly, tears streaming down her face.

She was hurting—because of him.

"Julian… wake up," Ellie whispered again, the desperation in her voice breaking him. "I need you."

"I don't know… I don't know what I'm going to do…" Ellie's sobs echoed around him, wrapping around his chest like a vice, making it harder to breathe.

"If I knew… if I knew it was going to be like this, I wouldn't have left. Please… please Julian, wake up."

"...Ellie." Julian's heart sank even further as her words washed over him. He stood there, torn between two worlds—Ellie, the woman who had loved him deeply despite everything, and the forge—both who had given him light in the darkness.

Her tears… they drowned him in a sea of guilt.

He was finally seeing her, finally seeing how much she had loved him—how much she still loved him. But at the same time, he saw how deeply he had actually hurt her, how much… his obsession with blacksmithing had stolen from their relationship.

Staying with her now, trying to hold onto something broken, would only hurt her further—her tears, it made Julian's decision now even easier.

"...Thank you, Ellie." With a final glance at Ellie, Julian turned his back on her, walking toward the forge. It was… the only path that made sense…

…the only way he could stop himself from destroying her any further.

And so, he walked on. But then, he suddenly realized something—no matter how far he walked, no matter how hard he tried, the forge suddenly seemed so unreachable.

"What's… going on?" The distance between him and it never shrank. He started to run, but still, the forge stayed just out of reach.

And when it seemed he was getting near, Ellie's cries just suddenly grew louder, stronger, begging him to turn around.

His legs felt heavy, as if his own body was urging him to go to her, to comfort her, but he knew. He knew if he turned back now, he would never be able to leave again.

"No… That's enough, Julian…" He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and kept walking, "I choose this path!"

And with those words… everything vanished.

[Your resolve is stronger than steel. But is it truly resolve? Or is it only selfishness, and you lie to yourself and believe otherwise?]

"...What?" Julian's eyes widened at the words, "Where's the—"

[No matter, we will see.]

Suddenly, the darkness lifted, and he found himself standing in a city street.

Tall buildings towered above him, far taller than the Tower of Mana, their sharp edges slicing into the chaos of a smoke-filled sky. The air felt heavy…suffocating. And the ground beneath his feet was littered with all sorts of debris.

"Is this… Earth?" Julian whispered, taking in the unfamiliar sight. It was strange—this was his home, the place he had lived his entire life, but he had never seen it. Not with his own eyes. But he knew, he knew what it was.

"Julian!" And suddenly, a voice called out which made him quickly turn around, only to see a woman running toward him, her arms outstretched, seemingly reaching for him.

"You're…" And though this was the first time he had ever seen her, there was no mistaking who she was.

"…Mom?" Julian's voice trembled.

"M… Mom!?" He took a step toward her, his words almost screeching his throat… but she just ran past him without a glance.

"...Mom?"

She wasn't running toward him—she was running toward a small boy, a child with a cane far too big for his tiny hands.

"Is that… me?"

The boy tapped his cane across the ground, seemingly unaware of the chaos around him. And in his other hand… was a severed arm, the same shade of skin as Julian's now.

"D… Dad?" Julian whispered, his breath turning heavy as he stared at the hand. It was rough, very much like his hand right now.

"Mom!?" the young boy then called out, his voice extremely desperate…scared. "Mom!? Where are you? Why is…why is Dad's hand so cold!? Mo—"

"Julian, run! Julian!"

"No…" And soon, a daemon suddenly appeared, causing Julian to just stop breathing there and then. It was smaller than the one he had killed in the Below, but it was no less terrifying—Its twelve legs moved with unnerving speed, its head writhing with tentacles that felt like they also crawled across the ground.

"Mom!" Julian roared, his legs pushing him forward. He reached out for her, every muscle in his body screaming along with him. "No! No!"

He was so close. Only a few more steps. He could save her.

But then… another daemon descended—wings spanning so wide it covered the sky…

…and it started tearing through his mother right before his eyes.

"What…" He skidded to a stop, his heart crashing to a halt as he saw her limbs ripped apart piece by piece—but she did not scream at all. She did not. Instead, she stared at the young boy, at the young Julian…

…making sure he wouldn't hear.

"No… Mom…" Julian started shaking his head repeatedly.

And very soon, the daemons turned their attention to young Julian, their glowing eyes narrowing in hunger. Before they could pounce, however, a hail of bullets rained down, piercing their bodies.

And then, everything just froze.

"Why… did you show this to me?" Julian whispered, his knees buckling as he dropped to the ground. The weight in his heart too much carry.

"What sort of test is this? What do you want from me!? This… this isn't even a fucking test!"

His voice echoed in the frozen street, the only sound in the silence.

But then, without any warning, the scene suddenly shifted.

He wasn't in the city anymore—he was back in the familiar rough road and the clearing, surrounded by the soldiers of the Order of Artemis he had met just before.

But this time, he was watching himself, his crazed self—holding the blade, grinning as he sliced through the neck of a soldier who surrendered, reveling in the blood that showered in the air.

[You are a person shaped by tragedy. Death and loss have defined you. But the question remains… is that strength, or weakness?]

Julian held his own throat. "What does that even—"

And before he could finish his words, a chill crawled down his spine as he realized that his violent version was staring directly at him, their eyes locked.

"Am I your true self, Julian?" His crazed reflection whispered as he dropped the body on the ground before he started circling Julian like a predator stalking its prey.

"Well…?" His smile was unhinged, a glint of madness in his eyes as he slowly tilted his head.

And as Julian followed his crazed self, he saw the other version of himself—the calm, focused blacksmith. The blacksmith version continued hammering away, his hands never faltering as he shaped a blade with precise, deliberate strikes—a hint of a smile, plastered on his face.

"Don't bother me," the blacksmith muttered, barely glancing up from his work.

"Or maybe it's this guy," the crazed Julian purred, resting his chin on the blacksmith's shoulder. "Who do you think you are, Julian Winters?"

[Choose.] And the word appeared once more.

"I'm…" Julian hesitated to answer. His mind, now replaying all the visions that was shown to him—all the pain, the grief, the blood. He stood there in silence, the weight of his past pressing down on him.

But then… he shook his head.

"I… don't want to choose," he whispered. "You said it yourself—I'm shaped by death and loss. But that doesn't mean I have only one shape."

His voice grew stronger as he spoke, the words flowing from him with unexpected certainty.

"A piece of steel… it can be shaped into many things. A dagger, a sword, an axe—or even something as small as a needle. I am…

…I am steel, tempered by life. Grinded, hammered…changed."

He looked at his two other versions—one violent, one calm. "I am all of this. I am none of this. I… I am myself."

[There are many things stronger than steel, Julian Winters.]

"Not when I make them," Julian and his other versions said in unison, their voices melding into one. There was no hesitation, not even a single bit.

[Good.] And with that, the visions slowly vanished, and Julian found himself alone in a white room.

Everything was still. Silent.

[Now, Julian Winters, which path will you take?] And only the familiar words of the Guidance of Artemis appeared before him.

"A path…" Julian closed his eyes, exhaling softly.

"I just want to be a blacksmith," he whispered, his voice steady now. He wasn't running anymore. He wasn't torn.

All he wanted was to craft, to forge, to create—he was obsessed, and it was alright.

[Perhaps. But these are the choices I have laid out for you:]

1. Blacksmith

2. Warrior

3. Bladedancer

4. Radiant Blacksmith