Chapter 36 — The Choice That Wasn't Mine
The world did not thank us.
That, more than anything, convinced me we were doing something right.
No songs spread. No rumors crowned a savior. The crossroads we left behind did not become legend; it became forgettable, which was its own kind of mercy.
But consequences do not require gratitude.
They only require continuation.
Three days later, the first messenger found us.
He didn't arrive breathless or panicked. He arrived prepared—papers sorted, clothes pressed, eyes tired in a way that suggested long practice at delivering bad news calmly.
"I was told to find you," he said, stopping a respectful distance away. "Not by name. By description."
Puck muttered, "That's always how it starts."
The man bowed his head slightly. "There's a place where decisions are… pooling."
Valerius's wings twitched. "Explain."
The messenger swallowed. "No one's in charge. That's the problem. Every choice gets debated. Every outcome remains provisional. It's peaceful. It's fair. And it's… frozen."
I felt a familiar, unwanted understanding settle in my chest.
A gap held too long becomes a sink.
"Where?" I asked.
He handed me a map that refused to stay oriented. The location slid between towns depending on how you looked at it.
Elric frowned. "A convergence without authority."
"A vacuum," Valerius corrected.
The messenger hesitated. "They said if anyone could… decide something… it would be you."
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The trap I hadn't set—but had enabled.
"I don't decide," I said quietly.
"I know," the messenger replied. "That's why they sent me."
We traveled anyway.
Not because I wanted to.
Because the world had moved without asking, and now stood unsure where to step next.
The place lay in a shallow valley, open and unguarded. Tents, meeting halls, open forums. People talked constantly—but nothing concluded.
Every voice was heard.
Every position respected.
No resolution.
It was beautiful.
It was unbearable.
A woman approached me, eyes bright with hope. "You're the one who doesn't rule," she said. "Can you help us stay that way?"
Another man interrupted, frantic. "Or choose something! Anything! We can't live like this forever."
Their contradictions pressed in—not violent, not loud. Exhausted.
Puck whispered, "This is worse than tyranny."
"No," I said. "This is the fear of responsibility."
They hadn't rejected authority.
They'd outsourced it to process.
I stepped into the center of the valley, feeling every expectation settle on me like snow.
The Shard stirred—not demanding, not guiding.
Offering.
One decision, it whispered, and they will follow.
I shook my head.
"This choice isn't mine," I said aloud.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"If I decide," I continued, "you'll obey because you're tired. And tomorrow you'll build rules around my exhaustion."
Silence.
"So here's what I will do," I said. "I will not choose your future."
Disappointment cut sharp.
"But," I added, "I will choose when I leave."
Confusion.
"I'm staying one night," I said. "You may argue. Propose. Vote. Fail. Try again. In the morning, I walk away—regardless of outcome."
A man shouted, "That's not fair!"
I met his gaze. "Neither is certainty."
That night, debate raged.
Not endless this time.
Urgent.
People realized time had teeth again.
Arguments sharpened. Compromises formed. Some walked away. Some stayed.
At dawn, a framework stood—not perfect, not final. Provisional. Revisable. Owned.
I packed my things.
Valerius watched the valley wake with cautious relief. "They'll change it."
"Yes," I said. "That's the point."
As we left, no one followed.
They were too busy choosing.
Puck grinned. "You weaponized absence again."
I smiled tiredly. "No. I returned responsibility."
Behind us, the valley did not collapse.
It moved.
The Shard pulsed once—faint, respectful.
Not approval.
Acknowledgment.
For the first time, power had asked permission.
And I had said no.