“Where were you when everyone I knew died?!” shouted the older boy.


    Everyone in the room was frozen in place, unable to utter a word. Even Sister Elery, for all the authority she exuded, could barely move her lips and let out a stutter.


    Tommy was the worst of everyone and looked like someone had violently popped a balloon in his face.


    “Well?!”


    “I-I was collecting the pieces of the goddess’ armor,” the hero said weakly. “That’s… my job, to stop him.”


    “Well his armies are already here killing everyone, why haven’t you stopped them?”


    “I said… it’s because-”


    “Because you were too busy on a fun little scavenger hunt to protect the people who actually need your help!”


    Even Artyom was caught off guard. He expected any anger would be directed at him, so he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt for his relief. But looking at Tommy’s paling face… a kid like him definitely didn’t deserve it.


    “I knew it, you’re no hero, you don’t care about us at all! What are you even doing here? Just quit so somebody who’ll actually do something can take your place.”


    “Rotte, enough!” shouted Sister Elery, finally working up the nerve to speak up.


    But it was too late.


    The hero ran out of the orphanage without another word, heavy footsteps carrying him away as a thin line of tears glistened in the air behind him.


    “Tommy, wait!” shouted the four ladies as they ran after him, with Neitra following just behind.


    Artyom stood where he was, caught in the stares of the many children not sure what just happened.


    “I bet they ran because they didn’t have anything to say either,” said the older boy, Rotte. “How about you, do you think you’re any better?”


    Artyom looked into his eyes and saw a familiar sight. The gaze that passed him by a thousand yards was like staring into a mirror. A flood of long forgotten emotions emerged from a wellspring Artyom spent half a lifetime cloaking in darkness.


    And for his efforts, it thankfully stopped at just the feelings, and didn’t progress to memories.


    They still painted Artyom’s face in a mimicry of the older boy’s, who slightly flinched at the sight.


    “Ever heard of the town of Freeacres? Many of its people got killed by the Dark Lord’s war band.”


    Rotte slowly shook his head, not blinking.


    “I was there, and I couldn’t stop them.”


    He frowned and his eyes grew darker. “Then you’re-”


    “But I stopped them from killing any more. That war band won’t be killing anyone ever again.”


    Despite this being a Fairytale world, or at least the people here being equally naive, Rotte’s eyes widened in understanding of exactly what Artyom meant. His naivete was dead. He belonged to the same world as Artyom. He knew.


    “Then teach me to do the same.”


    Artyom was broken out of his emotional stupor by the unexpected request. His eyes snapped back to the present, filled with uncertainty.


    “I want to be strong like you, to stop the Dark Lord’s forces from ever doing that to anyone ever again! Teach me how to fight!” Rotte exclaimed while clenching his fists. “Show me how to swing a sword, or cast spells if you’re a mage. I’ve been teaching myself after my new Skill and I can already animate some of the bones-”


    “Rotte!” exclaimed Sister Elery. Her face was beginning to turn an incomprehensible combination of pale and red simultaneously. “First the outburst, then these terrible desires to cause harm, and now desecration of bodies?!”


    The older boy didn’t even flinch at the tirade against him. “They’re animal bones. I’ll save the human necromancy for the Dark Lord’s troops themselves, unless he’ll teach me something else,” he said, looking expectantly at Artyom.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Artyom looked back with heavy eyes. “Sorry kid, I’m not going to do something as terrible as finish what the warband started.”


    “W-what?” he stuttered. “What are you talking about, I want you to teach me how to stop warbands!”


    Artyom put a hand on the boy’s shoulder that felt like a lead weight. “They stole your loved ones and way of life, but they didn’t steal your future.”


    “Of course they stole my future, they stole everything!”


    Artyom looked at the other children and asked, “how many of you are also here because of the Dark Lord’s warbands?”


    After a few seconds, a good number of them meekly raised their hands.


    “And how many of you were happy today? Keep your hands up if you were.”


    “I felt really sad this morning when I remembered my parents,” said one.


    “That’s perfectly fine,” replied Artyom with a gentle voice. “But you still found happiness today after that, right?”


    They nodded. They all did.


    “That’s the future I’m talking about,” said Artyom, turning back to Rotte. “You can still be happy.”


    “How can I be happy? How can any of you still be happy?!” he all but screamed, eyes and cheeks turning bright red and swollen. “How can you forget the ones you loved?!”


    “Because you don’t, weren’t you listening?” asked Artyom. “The pain will always be there, you can’t get rid of it for good or escape it forever. But… it will fade. Time will scar over the deepest of wounds. They’ll still be there, and they’ll hurt from time to time, but you can still continue living.”


    “I can’t just do that to everyone-”


    “You’re not doing anything to them by just living. You’re allowed to be happy. Isn’t that what they would’ve wanted for you anyway?”


    “I-I mean, they would… but what if it happens again? What if there’s an attack? And who’s going to stop them from doing it again?” Tears were beginning to run down his face.


    Artyom let out a deep sigh. “In that case, get strong enough to protect yourself and your loved ones. But don’t dedicate yourself to revenge. You have a chance, unlike me.”


    “The Dark Lord-”


    “Not him, someone else. Someone long ago from far away. I didn’t have a choice, and I had to let go of a happy future.” Memories of an unwanted adventure from half a lifetime ago began to surface, and Artyom shook them off as he always did. “But after I was free, I scrounged up enough of my own fate to dedicate it to keeping that tragedy from happening to anyone else.”


    Rotte had no words.


    “Listen, I’m going to be in town for a little while, I’ll teach you some basics, but nothing crazy.”


    Artyom was expecting to be hit with a tirade from Sister Elery, but she was surprisingly silent. When he looked at her, he saw a woman with tears streaming down her cheeks. Maybe she was willing to trade the dangerous lessons for giving this boy some much needed catharsis.


    “And if it makes you feel any better, he’ll teach himself magic with or without me. Better that he’s supervised by an expert.”


    She slowly nodded but didn’t say anything.


    “Sorry kids for the honestly… sucky visit, but I’m sure we’ll be back for a better one soon,” said Artyom as he stood up straight and stretched himself out. “But in the meantime, I have someone else to give a pep talk.”


    As the man from Earth turned around to leave the orphanage, Rotte called back to him.


    “T-thanks,” he said loudly, but not too sure of himself. His tears were beginning to dry, but raw emotion was still present in his voice. “I thought the goddess gave me a new Skill after it because she wanted me to fight back. Are you sure I don’t? It’s called [Emissary of Dharma].”


    Artyom’s eyes widened, but he was looking away from all the others. “That’s the fourth person I’ve met who has that Skill, me included. The kobold’s leader and I got it to fight against evil, but the mapmaker was just doing his job…”


    “What a peculiar Skill,” said Sister Elery, interrupting both of their thoughts. “I’ve never heard of it, but I can check in our archives for answers.”


    “I think…” said Artyom. “It means you have the chance to take destiny into your own hands. Just do what you think is right and follow that.”


    “Alright, I think I can do that. Thank you again.”


    “Don’t mention it,” said the man from Earth as he waved behind him and walked out the building.


    Once he was out of sight, he let his lips sag into a frown.


    “I just pulled that explanation out of my ass; I have no idea what the deal with that Skill is, but… it’s interesting. It finds people who really need it and gives them the mind to make their dreams a reality. But the mapmaker didn’t look like he was in dire need, and it probably wouldn’t help a kid out either.”


    Another dark thought came to Artyom’s mind.


    “And who’s to say only ‘good’ people get it? Systems that grant Skills are almost always neutral. They just give what’s appropriate to a person, not taking morality or deservedness into account beyond how well a specific power is relevant to those criteria. Rotte could very well have been the necromancer controlling the undead that attacked the town.”


    So that made two suspects; him and the noble.


    Artyom wanted to stay back and talk to the kid more to find out for sure, but he was still processing some trauma. Every instinct in the man told him to let the kid first heal. After all, Artyom truly did make it his life mission to prevent what happened to him all those years ago from happening to anyone else, but it felt strange to give that sort of guiding talk to someone who wasn’t from Earth.


    Still, he saw a kid who was hurting in a way he understood, and did what he ought to have done. There was nothing else to say.


    In the distance at the entrance to the orphanage’s grounds, Tommy and the rest of the party sat in the grass trying to comfort him.


    Now there was a kid from Earth who was also hurting, and Artyom made his way to do his job.