Finlay rolled away from the puke-stained grass. It was hard to move because his legs fell asleep; only now did the tingling static shot up his lower body. He sat up and massaged his legs while staring at the roof of leaves above, trying to glimpse the stars. How naïve to think it was going to be easy.

Shouldn’t be a surprise. This wall was right before him from the moment the World Tree sent him back.

He was a nobody on his first trip to Ilaya.

Well, he was technically a somebody. He was the somebody with the World Tree seed that could’ve changed the course of the war. If Gramps’ story was true, it was due to a bizarre series of events that started with a horny ancestor marrying a random woman in the forest. Finlay got the seed just the same.

He knew none of it back then.

He had toyed with the idea of being a chosen one. Days went by with no special blessing from the gods, no secret quest revealing itself, and he slowly let go of that fantasy. Survival was the priority. Tough to picture himself as important while forcing down vegetables not fit to be sold to people to satiate his hunger.

A nobody. He was responsible only for himself.

Not too much pressure.

As Finlay trained to be a Soulheart Warden, he became a somebody. The more strength he gained, the more responsibilities he gathered. People’s lives eventually rested on his shoulders.

There was a quote… “With great power comes great responsibility.” It had been ages since Finlay last watched that movie. He couldn’t recall the faces of any of the actors so he imagined Grandpa Swaney telling him that.

Despite having lots of responsibilities, Finlay didn’t stand at the top of the ladder. He wasn’t a leader. His failures weren’t as… weighty.

He wasn’t the general who got his army surrounded by the Sporeal Tide. He wasn’t the Princeps of Gilders who fled the capital and abandoned his people amid the civil war. He wasn’t the Heptalinker Warden who led a massive expedition force into a Fairy Ring never to return. He wasn’t the Empress of Solvi who burned half her empire to deny the Sporeal Tide hosts to enslave, only for the other half to still fall.

And it was Hilda the Bulwark who led the human refugees in the last days of Ilaya, being a royal of the Meghindr Kingdom and schooled in military ways. Finlay just did the best he could to protect everyone.

More often than not, he was one of many under the command of another. The infrequent instances he was in charge, it was of a small group, like the children Jade had protected. Finlay never ‘felt the weight of a crown,’ as the Empress of Solvi put it when confronted by a coalition of sect elders about her genocidal plans.

That was in the past.

Who was Finlay now?

Only he knew of the Sporeal Tide. He was going to plant the World Tree seed, the hope of changing the future. And with the knowledge and experience of the past, he could be the most powerful Warden in history.

He might not have the weight of a crown on his head, but the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“That… is quite the burden,” Finlay said with a sigh.

He failed to save Ilaya the first time. Nowhere near success. What if he failed his second chance too?

Could the World Tree of the Aegis Forest send him back again? Time travel magic didn’t seem to be part of its readily available repertoire or it would’ve sent a capable goatkin like Ramuel to change the past way before the siege of the Aegis Forest. Perhaps the World Tree required the seed he had to work its magic. If so, there was no margin for error. Finlay needed to plant the seed—the World Tree even told him so—foreclosing any rewinds.

Prudence dictated to assume the worst. I only have one chance…

Doubts clouded Finlay’s mind. The stale natura amplified his apprehensions. Not good. The longer it took to achieve inner peace, the harder it was to achieve. And his worries kept coming.

Even if the World Tree could give him many more chances, he’d fail them too. The Sporeal Tide was too strong. Its malicious spores have conquered many worlds. Surely, those worlds had their powerful heroes and armies, but they weren’t enough.

Who was he to make a difference when so many others failed? He just wanted to escape his office life. Work at a farm. He wasn’t supposed to be the one to change the fate of a world.

Finlay punched himself. Hard.

He tasted a bit of blood.

That was stupid. The blow didn’t clear his mind, giving him more of a headache instead. But it did stop his spiral of negativity.

He looked up again.

Flecks of orange. Sunrise already?

Finlay was inside his mind void longer than he thought. He estimated he’d achieve anima-sense before yesterday ended, but it was already the next day. No closer to finding the solution to the new trial of his mind.

Archon Khaero would spout the usual, “Accept and endure.”

Wasn’t helpful. Finlay couldn’t accept that the Sporeal Tide was an unbeatable foe. He couldn’t simply endure until the end came again. He didn’t return to Ilaya just to be defeated. The elves lost their original world to the Sporeal Tide. They knew how strong the enemy was, and yet they viciously fought despite being fully aware of their eventual defeat. Didn’t sound like acceptance and endurance.

The teaching of the Core monks was to detach from the world. To Finlay, it was just the other side of the same coin that was the mindset of the elves. Finlay couldn’t detach himself from the world. He was supposed to save it.

Maybe he’d understand the philosophy of the Core monks and the elves someday, but it wasn’t this day. Accept and endure. What did it truly mean?

“Does no one else have the answer?” Finlay asked the forest.

If he were in a movie, this was the moment he’d remember an insightful quote that’d pull him out of his rut. Something that’d give him an epiphany. Words from a wise sage, an aged mentor. What would his grandfather say? Grandpa Swaney shared plenty of life lessons learned over his decades on earth, but none seemed apt for Finlay’s present predicament.

Finlay recounted his last conversation with his grandfather. He asked him why he chose to be a farmer. Grandpa Swaney answered that he didn’t choose it; he merely continued the life he grew up in and didn’t try anything else. He was trapped in his circumstances. “You, on the other hand, did some choosin’,” Grandpa Swaney told him.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“I chose this…?” Finlay blinked.

His first trip to Ilaya was an accident. He wanted to experiment if the dried seed could still sprout after so many years, not find a gateway to another world. Once on Ilaya, however, he had no choice but to survive. Trapped his circumstances. Play the cards he was dealt with. Accept and endure.

Returning to Earth after the time travel, the situation was different. He could’ve walked away from the table. He didn’t have to accept or endure anything.

It was his choice to pass through the vine archway once again.

This is the answer.

Finlay slotted himself back into the nook of the tree and started his breathing cycles. Sunlight piercing the thick foliage was the last he saw. Birds chirping to greet the start of the new day was the last he heard. Hunger and thirst gnawed at him—it had been several hours since he last ate or drunk—but he ignored those sensations, descending into the void of his mind once again.

The trials of his past life were no more. He had conquered them.

But the chains were present, thicker and stronger. Numerous. They bound him, digging into his astral body as they pulled him back. Each step was a struggle. Still, Finlay continued to search for inner peace.

As he walked, the abyss melted away to reveal Earth. Hills of green turned into concrete jungles; buildings then sunk into the ground to change into quaint houses of the countryside. Beaches and mountains. Fields and deserts. All beautiful and peaceful.

Someone up ahead blocked Finlay’s path. Not Jade.

Mom.

Same as the last time, with silent words, she asked him to return to Earth. Asked him why he left her. Other people joined in. Their voices became a thunderous wave. The questions they posed to Finlay were his own doubts.

Finlay approached his mother and leaned down to hug her.

She was… there. But also, wasn’t. She was an illusion.

This is the path I chose, Finlay thought to her. I’m going to do this.

It was different from his parting words to her in the real world, saying he ‘had’ to do it as if his hands were tied. Ilaya was his second home; he wanted to save it. The World Tree didn’t force him. No one did. It was his sole decision, and he was firm in his resolve to do so.

She disappeared in his arms. Other people faded away as well. The chains, however, didn’t become lighter.

It wasn’t over yet.

Walls of towering purple flames encircled Finlay. In the blaze danced tormented shadows. It was the attack at the heart of Aegis Forest that he couldn’t stop. Finlay achieved six Link as a Soulheart Warden after twelve years on Ilaya. All that strength, and he was easily killed by the dark creature. Its foreboding slender form lurked amongst the anguished bodies writhing in the fire, reminding him of his defeat.

Like before, a hand rested on his shoulder. Finlay had to confront this phantasm to move forward. He turned around to face himself.

It’s all on your shoulders. His other self repeated their previous encounter.

I choose to bear it, was Finlay’s reply.

You’re weak, came the next seed of doubt. The purple flames closed in on them. The shadows suffering inside multiplied.

I choose to be the strongest there ever was, Finlay thought, strong enough to change the future. He believed it. The impossible had happened once—he was given a second chance. He’d make the impossible happen again and change the future. Simple as that.

His other self looked him in the eye and delivered the reality needling at him. You weren’t chosen to be a hero.

I choose to be a hero, Finlay answered with conviction.

The flames roared and consumed him. He didn’t flinch. The flames didn’t hurt him. Only the chains were burned away. His other self disappeared as the blaze died down. The endless darkness of the abyss was no more. Finlay found himself standing on a vast plain of glass reflecting a cloudless blue sky.

No, not glass. It was water. He reached his latent anima pool.

Tinkling sounds like wind chimes. Finlay looked over his shoulder. A ripple from afar expanded, the edge of a gentle wave approached him. The ripple touched his feet. A cool sensation coursed through his body. New, yet not. Different but something he was accustomed to.

Other ripples formed elsewhere as if an invisible finger kept touching the water—it was the natura. The ripples multiplied, their circles overlapping.

Finlay formed an inverted triangle with his fingers near his belly. He turned it the right way up as he raised his fingers to chest level. His mind shrine would construct itself soon. Time to leave.

Rustling leaves. Buzzing insects. A parched throat. Cramped muscles and stiff joints.

He opened his eyes in the real world to an intense light. He crawled out of the hole and beheld the forest of gold. It was so bright everything seemed to be burning but curiously wasn’t blinding that’d make him squint.

Aethersight this early? Last time, he gained this ability only after reaching two Links, and not to this extent. Was this the result of self anima-sensing?

He could see the natura flowing up the trunks of the lofty trees, the powerful streams branching into ever smaller capillaries, bringing the life of the world into the whole plant. Examining the tall grass around him, he saw each blade had intricate webs of light throughout its structure. Across the undergrowth, thousands of pinpoints of light show the minute insects crawling about, each absorbing natura.

Looking down at his hands, Finlay observed anima circulating through his body—veins of blue with hints of gold. It should turn to white once he began purification. He needed a crucible for that.

Problem was he hadn’t experienced building his crucible from scratch because Cassini’s anima triggered its formation before. The Core monks and the elves didn’t teach Finlay how it happened the old-fashioned way since he already had a crucible by that time.

“Shouldn’t be too different from crucible expansion exercises,” Finlay muttered to himself, standing straight. He performed it with his feet flat on the ground to feel the force of excessive natura trying to enter his body. Easier to circulate anima within his torso to make the crucible with outside pressure, or so he theorized.

He brought his fists together in front of his chest, knuckles touching, thumbs raised to form a triangle. There were many ways to close the life conduits of the body. This was what he found most comfortable after years of training.

Finlay took a deep breath and held it.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the newfound yet familiar awareness of anima swirling in disarray inside his body. He couldn’t control the torrent that it was—it’d take a few days, even with his incredibly fast progression—so he exerted force through all his life conduits, similar to flexing the entire body to pose for a bodybuilding competition.

The excited anima rushed in all directions, crashing into each other, pushing outward to form the crucible. It was similar to heated air expanding inside a hot air balloon. He could sense the crucible was shaping up to be much bigger than what he started with as an apprentice Warden in his past life. It should’ve been enough.

But Finlay didn’t stop.

Continuing to hold his breath despite protests from his tired lungs, he maintained the movement of anima in his body. Flows merged. Stronger currents overcame the others. His anima began to flow in one direction. It whirled in his still-forming crucible.

Bigger and bigger the swirl became as Finlay agitated it. His arms trembled to hold the pose and keep his life conduits closed; his knees wobbled as strength left him. Exhaustion plagued his body. He began to rock himself back and forth to bear the pain, making sure to remain standing. Intense pressure welled up in his chest like a bad case of heartburn. A massive headache added to the mix, as if screws penetrated his temples.

Just a little more, he urged himself. The more developed his crucible was today, the stronger he’d become for the battles of tomorrow.

His ear was ticklish. Something warm flowed out. He felt a few dribbles exit his nose too.

This is the time to endure!

His crucible solidified. A wave of relief washed over his body as the first refined anima cooled his life conduits. Finlay inhaled deep. He released the lock and let himself fall on his knees, severely exhausted. He opened his eyes to a swimming world. He was so tired his Aethersight got turned off.

He wiped the liquid coming out of his nose.

Red? Blood.

It was also blood that came out of his ears.