...So I Made A Decision

Coot's house rests at the edge of the older portion of the village, among a few houses that are no longer inhabited. It's a shack made mostly of wood, and has a single crooked glass window in the front.

"It's unlocked," says Coot from over my shoulder. "Isn't a soul around to steal anything, anyhow— except for you of course, ho ho!"

I'm seconds from dropping him.

I push the door open with my shoulder. Dust particles waft through the air as I take a step in.

I'm greeted by a dark room with only a rickety bed, and one large chest at the far end. I approach the bed and set Coot down. Well, I say 'set,' but really I got fed up with him and more or less heave him aside.

"Oof— Gentile now, boy. I'm no spring chicken," he huffs.

"Alright, where's this sword?" I say, dusting my hands as I glance around.

"Ah, just in that chest there. Underneath the, err… well… Ah, maybe I should open—"

I reach down and open the chest's latch myself. As I do… I'm faced with a literal pile of various women's underwear. I quickly shut it and jolt upright. Without looking his way, I immediately begin towards the door.

"H-Hold on, let me just… just… Stay there, boy! Just wait, I'll get it for you—!" Coot exclaims, hobbling over to the chest.

"You're not gonna die a painless death, old man," I mutter.

"Err… it's down here somewhere… Just… past this… Aha—!"

Coot pulls out a long wooden box from the bottom of the chest. He turns himself around and holds it out for me.

"Now remember boy— If you don't want it, I'll just give it to the newlywed—"

"Yeah yeah, I already said I'd take it, so don't go handing it off those two," I retort.

"Hoh, just yanking your chain," he chuckles.

I reach my hand out and flip open the box while he still holds onto it. And inside is… a sword. I'm not really sure how else to describe it. It's fairly thin and spans the entire box, and has a reflective sheen with polished highlights. I don't really have an eye for quality, but I guess it looks fairly well made…?

"I dunno. I'm not into shiny stuff," I say. "Is it even any better than the one I've got?"

"Well, you could always go get yours and see for yourself," Coot replies.

"Yeah, sure," I say.

I reach out my hand, and the ground beneath me begins to rumble just a little. A crack forms in the floor and opens up only to spit out my sword, a thick blade with a black-wrapped grip. It's tarnished from time, and has faint reddish veins running through it, lit with a dim glow. The crack in the floor echoes with a faint resonating noise.

"Wh— How did—" Coot sputters, taking a few steps back. "H-How did you do this…?"

"Dunno," I say, twirling it in my hand. "I could do it since, like… my first year of being here."

"U— Err… W-Well, just give this one a chance, lad." Coot clears his throat and approaches me again with the shiny sword. "S… Set that aside for now and try this one."

I'm a bit hesitant. I drop my sword into the crack in the ground, and it seals itself up once again with a subtle rumble.

"Ehh… Looks more like a decoration than a tool," I mutter, taking a step towards it. "Can it even—"

As I move to pick it up, a spark flies from it and forces my hand back like a static shock. But this weird buzzing feeling lingers in my hand for several seconds.

"The hell is this thing…?" I grunt, rubbing my palm.

"Silver…" Coot murmurs, staring at me with a calm demeanor… like he suspected something all along. "We don't typically get such a thing out here, so it is understandable you have never come across it. But not to matter. I would just… recommend avoiding things made of silver."

"You set me up, didn't you?!" I glare.

"I wasn't sure whether you could wield it or not. But I will still give it to you, of course. Anyone else could hold it without issue, so I will leave it to you to find it a new master."

"Then why can't I hold the thing?"

Coot closes the box and holds it for me to accept. But I don't take it right away. He raises an eyebrow, then sets the box aside on the bed.

"You have an Aversion to the metal… You do know what an Aversion is, right?"

"…Well yeah, like… some people have this one thing they can't touch or do," I mutter. "Like how the baker can touch, but can't wear stag leather or his hands turn black for a few weeks."

"Yes, yes. Different to something like allergies, an Aversion has a very specific preconceived consequence for violating a very specific action. And yours… Well, I'm not certain of the punishment, but I am sure it's best not to find out."

"Damn. Mine's… really lame," I sigh. "In any case, why'd you have me touch it if you knew I'd get punished?"

"Ho ho," he chuckles.

I expect him to follow up with something, but he doesn't.

"So you think it's funny, huh?" I glare.

Coot drops the sword's box into my hands.

"Couldn't have known for sure if you never got close," he replies. "Just hold onto that for me, will you?"

"…Old man…" I grumble. "Fine, whatever. I'm out of here."

I start off towards the door.

"Oh, and if you do decide to, err… venture out of the village, do hold onto that sword and show it to the master of the Adventurers Guild," he says.

"Huh? Which sword?"

"…Well, I suppose he would be interested in both… Err, the one I gave you. And another word of advice… Do keep that little trick of yours under wraps, for your own sake. It's more trouble than it's worth."

"…Sure. Whatever," I say.

As I make my way out the door, and just as I begin to close it behind me, I hear Coot mutter something with a sigh.

"I fulfilled my part…"

He muttered what sounded like a name afterwards, but I didn't catch what name he'd said. Guess it's none of my business, though. Omens aren't really my thing.

I snag a loaf of bread that's cooling on the windowsill as I pass by the baker's house. It's then that I get an unfortunate glimpse of a white arbor being raised in the village square. It's decorated with pink roses, ribbons, and other wedding trinkets. I want to knock it over.

Sera's father, the son of the village elder, is one of the two men endeavoring to hoist the thing up. Before I can slink away, he notices me standing there and holds up a hand.

"Oy— perfect timing! M-Marco, could you hold this up for a minute?" he calls.

I raise an eyebrow and slip behind the nearest building as I notice them struggling to keep it upright.

"U-Uh, Marco? M-Marco, help— h-help… M-Marco—!"

I hear a rather satisfying crash around the corner, and I pride myself in having done my civic duty. I set the box over my shoulder and stick the loaf of bread in my mouth, chewing as I begin off towards the eastern entrance to the forest.

"Oy, Marco," comes a voice behind me.

I loosely turn my head as I chew.

The village blacksmith stands in the alley with a wooden box full of various frilly decorations under one arm. He's this huge guy with a chiseled jawline and a pair of steely eyes. He wears a leather vest with his tool belt around his waist. He's considered the manliest guy in the village, so given his reputation he wouldn't go out of his way to admit that he loves making cutesy stuff like what he's got in the box. Or maybe he doesn't care, I dunno.

I silently continue to chew without the intention of saying a word.

"They could use your help," he says, pointing with a thumb towards the square.

I swallow my food, only to tear off another bite and keep chewing. The blacksmith watches me for a few more seconds.

"…Do whatever. Forget I said anything," he replies, turning away towards the square.

Not sure what that was about, but I decide to keep going towards the forest. I've got a decision to make, after all. And I can't possibly make it in this toxic cesspit of positivity.

I'm back in the tree house now, and have been for quite some time. I sit cross-legged with my arms folded, eyes closed in a frown. I bounce my right leg impatiently.

"Alright, screw it," I mutter, snagging a wooden die from the floor in front of me. "Anything but a one or two, and I'm leaving. That's how I'll decide."

I'd never have been able to make the decision on my own, so it just has to be this.

I take the die in two cupped hands, and shake. And shake. I shake for way too long. And finally, after agonizing over it for long enough… I grimace and let it go. It tumbles just a little, and I lean closer in anticipation. It settles on the number. I narrow my eyes.

It's a two. Which means I stay.

"Well, that's that," I sigh, leaning back on the wood, using my arms as a pillow. "Big world out there. Too big for my taste. Too many rivers. And people, probably."

But after a moment or two of laying back, I realize I keep eyeing the die. Something about the outcome left me unsatisfied.

I abruptly fling myself upright and snatch the die back up into my hands.

"Best two out of three," I say, shaking the die once more.

I let it go and watch it a little more intently than before. It skitters just a bit further, and…

"…B-Best four out of six," I mutter, scooping the die up a third time.

Letting the die go, I keep my eyes firmly affixed to it as it skitters and skips along the rickety floor. It goes and goes and then…

Six. The very second I see it land, I scoop it up and hold out my arms.

"No more bets… A close one to be sure, but the results are absolute," I shamelessly say. "It seems the world wants me to witness its glory. Which means… tomorrow, I'm leaving the village and never coming back."

I don't know why I said that out loud. But… whatever. The decision's been made. And I feel great.

I flop back down and am graced with a much more satisfied feeling than before. I can't help but notice a smile crawl across my face. Despite it all. And in spite of it, too. Like my depression doesn't have a hold on me anymore. I'm gonna leave. I'm gonna be free.

I'll have to scrap my original plan, which involved chucking a beehive into the ceremony yard. Unfortunate, but the less attention I draw, the better. In fact, this'll go by all the nicer if nobody knows I've left.

Morning comes with the sound of birds chirping and a distant clatter of jovial music. That's my cue to get going.

I hoist up a leather traveler's bag that I snagged a few years back. It's got my bedroll curled up and fastened under the flap, the sword box that Coot gave me, and all the rations I'd gathered when I first holed up. There's enough to last me a few whole days, which has gotta be enough to get me there… right?

I begin to roll across the floor until I eventually fall off the side. The moment before I hit the ground, I twist my body so that I land feet first with a thud. I brush the wrinkles out of my clothes and set off with a hop in my step.

Arriving in the village, it's not surprising to see that the place is abandoned. Everyone's off in the square. I can hear the laughs and chattering from the entrance. The ceremony itself won't start for another while, but the celebrations beforehand should give me the cover I need to slip in and out unannounced. I want to be long gone by then.

As I sneak through the tight spaces between the buildings, I idly notice various things of worth. A fishing pole, a coil of rope, and a hatchet have been left out along the way among some other crap from the villagers. I can't exactly think of an immediate need for them, but naturally I grab them anyways and add them to my bag. I'll consider it a parting gift.

Moving between the alleys, I catch an unfortunate glimpse of the decorated square, where the villagers dance and clap to the rhythm of the music. The clothier's daughter dances with the stablehand boy. The blacksmith stands beside his wife who smiles and claps for the dancers. The baker and his husband stroll around with trays of tiny cakes for the guests. The chief elder laughs with the other congregation of old people. Everyone has their place. Except for me… which fills my chest with this forlorn feeling. But that's exactly why I have to do this.

Luckily none of the villagers were turned my way as I ended up staring, and I manage to slip past for the last time as I intended. I let out a long sigh as I gradually draw further and further away from the noise.

Eventually I arrive at the village outskirts, where the farmland opens up to a vast field that stretches for miles, lined by the dense forest on the right side. I stop, looking down. The road I walk on ends where I stand, marking the village bounds.

"No going back now," I mutter. "Might as well be halfway to the capital."

I stand now with all the intention of taking another step. And yet here I continue to stand, staring out into the wild beyond. It's a sight I've seen almost every day of my life, but for some reason this is the first time it's ever scared me. Not too hard to see why, though. It's the first time I've ever made the decision to set out into it. Only now does it start to feel so overwhelmingly massive.

And then there's what's behind me. It feels like I'm turning my back to a warm fire on a cold winter's night. I'm flooded with the memories of my past.

"…Don't turn around, you idiot…" I whisper to myself. I grab my shirt as I grit my teeth and take in a deep breath.

It's the last thing I want, but my mind keeps going back to the people I'd grown up around. I don't want to admit it… I don't want to say it… but looking back and realizing I might never see them again, these memories are…

I never had to sleep outside. I was always ushered into a house by whoever saw me first. No matter who it was, they'd make me a bed if ever they saw me out at night… Even though I had no family… Even though I had no home…

"S… Stop it, dammit…" I mutter to myself, pounding my chest with a balled fist. These feelings never came up before… so why now?

I never went cold. The clothier always made me new clothes whenever I grew out of my old ones. And they'd always mend them whenever I tore through them. Thick clothes for the winter months. Light, breathable clothes for the warmth of summer. What benefit do they get from doing something like that…?

"I… said stop…" I whimper. It keeps coming back around again and again, like it's trying to beat some sense into me.

I never went hungry. Even though I stole bread every day, the baker would still put more out on the same windowsill the next morning. The trappers would leave me meats from their catches. And every night, I'd find warm soup sitting in the same place, in a bowl with my name on it. I still don't know who did it.

"I… I said…" I turn my head towards the ground. A single tear trails down my cheek. "I… I… said…"

And it all breaks open.

No one was less deserving of their kindness than I was. It couldn't have been easy to be nice to me for all these years. And yet while my heart breaks again and again, I continue to blame everyone but myself. So if there's one phrase that can change what I'm feeling… that can repair my spirits and propel me into taking this last step, it would be…

"Th… Thank you…" I whisper through my tears, even though my words disappear into the nothing, never to be heard by anyone else. "Th… Thank you, for… for everything…"

The sorrow slowly begins to lift with the words that came from my heart. They ring loud in my head as I dry my cheeks and take a step past the village road, and another into the wilderness beyond. Even though my frustration and anger haven't left, these words carry me pace by pace, until I've gone further than I've ever gone before.

The sound of the distant village bells finally ring out, carried by the ghostly winds all the way to my ear. It signals the end of the ceremony, and ultimately the joining of two lovers. Even so, I don't turn back. For a moment, I think of her. Is she smiling as she walks back down the aisle with her husband holding her arm? Is her mother crying in her seat? Does her father show a pride only a father could?

I set aside these wonders. They don't matter anymore. Not to me, at least. This's where our stories finally branch off. My childhood sweetheart married another man, and so I left to find a new purpose, one that I'll fashion with my own two hands.