Choice of the Avatar
What if you knew you had the power to change the world?
What would you do with it?
With great power comes great responsibility, and this is no exception to that case – if you had the ability to mold the future of the world in your hands, what would you do with it? What everyone expected, or what you truly wanted, or what you thought you wanted? Do you really have it in you to make countless millions suffer for your unthinkable selfishness?
You always wanted more. When you flew high, you wanted to go higher. Can you have any of it – any of these precious things? The answer has always been no. People expect you to act with the dignity and bearing and reliability and control of an adult who has experienced decades of reigning in emotions and practicing self-control. But you never really had it in you to be disciplined.
You look down briefly at the bone handled blade in your left hand. It was old and fragile.
What would she think, if she knew just how serious you were when you said you needed time to think? Would she be more distressed at the fact that you were dreading this great confrontation so much that you would abandon the world again, or that you were going to take your own life to do it?
Using your head is important. Honor is important. But… so is your heart. Which out-weighs the others, though? Honor? Heart? Head?
You feel old for once. It hurts, tears prickle your eyes. You don't like being reigned in this way. Every way you look, there is only pain and sorrow. If you take flight with the wind on your heels, then victory is assured to the murderous tyrants who you were brought back to fight. After all, the first thing you really understood was that you always would be their "hope" first. A person after. You understood it; hope was important. But what happens when you no longer have hope?
Or you could stand and fight, and most likely watch everyone you have grown to love and care for die.
Or you can kill yourself.
Decisions, decisions.
Bone warms to the touch, you think, as you rub your thumb over the engraved handle. A small amber sits on the hilt. Nomadic symbols from nearly a century-and-a-half ago adorn it. You read them. The guiding principles of the monks don't help. You never really did enjoy fighting or harming others. It always made you a little sick afterwards. But to see everyone else celebrating a great victory… you never could bear to spoil that. Instead you quietly murmur some ridiculous excuse and leave.
It all comes down to this now.
What is your choice?