The long trek toward the light has emerged into a fork in the tunnel under a soft skylight. The cobble is sunken, and a puddle has formed, likely from the opening above. You hear faint birdsong in the distance, and the air is fresh – is it Spring? It also feels like morning, despite your lack of sleep. Regardless, two avenues lay before you. Two swords lay on the ground, cast aside. Which, you know, could mean nothing.
Upright
The stairs to the left might be the obvious choice, lifting you up toward the morning sun above your head – so close but currently far away. It could also lead nowhere, running alongside freedom but never crossing over. The other path stays even, and continues on with how you’ve been walking thus far. Then again, you could always double back, but what about the owners of the swords? How did they fare?
Reversed
Your mind is so tired, all the possibilities cloud further. No place to rest, a choice must be made. But there you stand. And then your shoulders curl – then you crouch. Then you sit. A choice must be made. You claw at the information you just had, and eye the old swords, suspicious. A choice must be made, but there you sit. You have no sword – there would be no evidence if something happened to you. And there you sit. The morning light above you brightens in the afternoon, and then begins to dim again.
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