Weight of Unmade Choices

The questions circled in my mind, each one leaving me more uncertain than the last.

I was caught between two worlds, neither of which felt like my own, but both demanding something from me.

Frustrated with my thoughts, I called up the system interface, hoping for a distraction.

---

[Name: Ethan Vale

Level: 2

XP Bar: 3%

Primary Job: None

Health Points: 65 / 100

Mana Points: 50 / 50

Strength: 6

Dexterity: 8

Intelligence: 10

Wisdom: 6

Luck: 4

Skills: Skill Mimicry (1/3), Quick Footwork (🗑️)

Titles: Cursed Rebirth, Unforgiving

Free Attribute Points: 4]

---

The familiar screen flickered into view, listing my skills. My eyes were drawn to Quick Footwork, the skill I had copied from Darius.

It had saved me more than once, but it had also left me drained, pushing my body to its limits.

A small icon next to the skill caught my attention—a blinking recycle bin. The option to delete the skill was now available, something that hadn't been there before.

The sight of it stirred a mix of emotions. I could get rid of it, free up a slot for something more useful, something less taxing.

But what if I needed it again?

What if the next confrontation required the speed and precision it provided?

I hovered over the icon. My finger twitched with indecision. The ability to erase it was tempting, especially after the pain it had caused me.

But I knew that once it was gone, there would be no getting it back. Was I really ready to give up a tool that could mean the difference between life and death?

The system interface flickered as if mirroring my uncertainty.

I let out a slow breath, closing the interface without making a decision.

The choice would have to wait.

Unable to find peace in my room, I headed downstairs.

The Restful Boar was quiet with the common area dimly lit by the warm glow of the hearth.

The large fireplace dominated one wall, its fire reduced to a soft, crackling bed of embers that cast flickering shadows across the room.

Sturdy wooden tables and chairs, worn from years of use, were scattered throughout the space, each one telling its own story of the countless travelers who had passed through.

Gregor stood behind the bar, wiping down the counter with slow, deliberate movements.

The bar itself was a solid piece of craftsmanship, made of polished wood that gleamed faintly in the low light. Candle sconces along the walls added to the ambiance as their flames danced gently as if in rhythm with the quiet of the night.

As I approached, Gregor looked up. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in my expression.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

I shook my head, pulling up a stool at the bar. "Too much on my mind."

Gregor nodded, understanding more than I had said.

He reached for a bottle on the shelf behind him, pouring a small measure of dark, amber liquid into a glass before sliding it across the bar to me.

"Sometimes a bit of this helps," he offered gently.

I accepted the drink, though I barely tasted it as I took a sip.

Gregor leaned against the bar as his gaze turned steady and thoughtful. "You know," he began, "there's something to be said for finishing what someone else started, especially when it comes to matters of honor."

His words lingered in the air filled with unspoken meaning.

I stared into the glass, turning it slowly in my hands as I considered what he was implying.

Gregor didn't push me for a response, simply watching as I wrestled with the thoughts that had been haunting me all night.

"Leaving things unfinished," he continued after a pause, "it has a way of gnawing at a person. Sometimes, the only way to move forward is to tie up those loose ends."

I looked up, meeting his gaze.

There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, a kind of wisdom born from years of seeing the world as it was.

He wasn't telling me what to do, but the message was clear: sometimes, you have to confront the past to find peace in the present.

I didn't understand how he knew about my past, but that didn't stop me from feeling grateful.

I nodded slowly, setting the glass down on the bar. "Thanks, Gregor. I'll think about it."

He gave a slight smile with a knowing look in his eyes. "Take your time. You'll know what to do when the moment comes."

As the meaning of Gregor's words settled over me, I found myself drawn outside.

I stepped outside with the cool night air offering a brief respite from the weight on my mind.

The small garden surrounding The Restful Boar was quiet, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the well-tended herbs and flowers.

I found myself drawn to a wooden bench partially hidden by the shadows of a nearby tree, where I could sit and gather my thoughts.

As I approached the bench, I heard soft footsteps behind me. Turning, I saw Lila, Gregor's daughter, emerge from the inn.

She hesitated for a moment, her bright blue eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the scene. This was only the second time I'd seen her, but even now, she seemed to notice more than she let on.

"You're out here too?" she asked with her light and cheerful voice, yet there was a note of something deeper, something concerned, beneath the surface.

I offered a small nod, managing a faint smile. "Just needed some fresh air."

Lila nodded as if that made perfect sense. She moved closer, stopping a few steps away as if unsure whether she was welcome.

She fidgeted with the hem of her dress, a nervous habit that added to her innocent charm.

"It's a nice night for it," she said, her tone casual, but her eyes searching my face.

For a moment, we stood there in silence with the night's quiet surrounding us.

Lila shifted slightly, as if gathering the courage to speak again. "You look like you have a lot on your mind," she said softly with her earlier cheerfulness tempered by an unexpected note of empathy.

"Sometimes, talking helps."