The crossroads stretched wide before him, each path leading into a future he could not yet see. The weight of decision settled in his chest, heavier than any armor he had ever worn. He had spent years marching toward war, toward survival, toward a cause greater than himself. Now, for the first time, there was no battle waiting for him—no orders, no enemy, no kingdom.
For the first time, his next step was entirely his own.
And it terrified him.
The Paths Before Him
The northern path led toward the port city—a sprawling hub of trade, opportunity, and anonymity. The traveler had chosen this road, seeking work, movement, something practical. It was a place where a man could disappear into the chaos of merchants, drifters, and sailors alike. No banners flew over its docks. No wars waged within its streets. It was a city built on commerce, where survival did not depend on steel, but on knowing how to navigate its ever-changing tides.
The eastern road wound through quiet valleys, past villages untouched by war's cruelty. The world here moved at a different pace—steady, deliberate, a life built on routines rather than urgency. Families thrived, land was tilled, stories were passed down without fear of them being lost to bloodshed. Arkanis had never known a life like that—one where he was simply a man, not a soldier, not a leader. It was tempting, in a way. To disappear into simplicity. To finally rest.
The southern path, wild and untamed, carved its way into deep forests and ruins long abandoned. It was a place outside civilization—a road for those who had no place anywhere else. There were whispers of forgotten cities buried beneath the roots of towering trees, of ancient secrets waiting to be uncovered. It was a path for wanderers, explorers, those who sought something beyond structure and certainty.
Three choices.
Three futures.
And Arkanis had no idea which one belonged to him.
The Traveler's Words
The man beside him adjusted the strap of his pack, watching Arkanis without expectation. He had seen men like him before—warriors who walked away, believing they could leave behind the weight of battle. Some succeeded. Others found themselves drawn back, not because they wanted war, but because they did not know how to exist without it.
"You don't have to choose now," the traveler said. "The road doesn't care when you start. It only matters that you move."
Arkanis dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "I've always known where I was going. For the first time, I don't."
The traveler smirked slightly, glancing toward the northern path. "Then pick a direction and go. You'll figure it out on the way."
Simple advice.
But perhaps the wisest thing he'd heard in years.
The Weight of the Past
Arkanis closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself to breathe, to feel the weight of everything that had led him here. The rebellion, the battles, the choices made in desperation. Every fight had shaped him, carved pieces of himself away until only the warrior remained. But now?
Now he had to decide if that was all he was.
Had he come here expecting to stay? Had he ever truly believed he could live beyond the shadow of war? Or had he always known, deep down, that something would eventually pull him forward again?
Maybe he wasn't meant to stay still.
Maybe he had never been.
He looked at each path, considering what lay beyond them.
The north promised anonymity.
The east promised peace.
The south promised the unknown.
And in the end, Arkanis knew there was only one choice he could make.
The First Step
Without hesitation, Arkanis took his first step forward.
He did not look back.
And with that, his future began.