Choices

Steven’s mind buzzed with anticipation, but a flicker of uncertainty tempered his excitement. What could he choose? The possibilities felt infinite, yet he had no map to guide him through this uncharted realm of power. He looked up at Lysandra, her luminous form towering over him like a beacon in the endless white void, and cleared his throat. “Uh, Goddess… what skills are even on the table? I mean, what can I pick from?”

Lysandra’s lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile, as though she’d anticipated the question. “A fair request,” she said, her voice a silken thread woven with authority. She raised both hands, and the void shimmered, fracturing into a cascade of light. From the brilliance emerged a spectral scroll, unfurling before Steven’s eyes—an endless tapestry of words that glowed with a life of their own. The list stretched into the distance, its edges dissolving into the haze, and Lysandra’s voice took on a rhythmic cadence as she began to recite.

“Behold the gifts of Vyrthralis,” she intoned. “You may claim three from among these: Blade Mastery, the art of wielding steel with preternatural grace, striking true where others falter; Arcane Weaving, the power to bend the raw energies of the cosmos, conjuring flame, frost, or storm from your fingertips; Shadowstep, the ability to melt into darkness and emerge where least expected, a phantom in the night. There is Beastbond, granting you kinship with the wild creatures of this world, their strength and senses yours to command; Runecrafting, the ancient craft of inscribing sigils that bind power to stone, metal, or flesh; Soulmending, the gift to knit wounds and banish affliction with a touch, a light against the tide of ****.”

She paused only briefly, her voice rising as the list unfurled further. “Or perhaps Stormcalling, to summon the wrath of the skies—lightning and thunder as your heralds; Farsight, to pierce the veils of distance and time, glimpsing what lies beyond mortal ken; Ironflesh, rendering your body a bulwark against blade and claw; Songweaving, the power to bend hearts and minds with melodies that echo through the soul. There is Earthshaping, to command the bones of Vyrthralis itself, raising walls of stone or splitting the ground asunder; Astral Projection, freeing your spirit to roam while your body rests; Bloodforging, a darker art, drawing strength from the life that spills in battle…”

On and on she went, her words painting a tapestry of wonders and terrors. Steven’s eyes widened as the list grew—Star navigation, Venom mastery, Illusion crafting, Tideshifting, Dreamwalking, Graviton grasp—each skill more fantastical than the last, a litany of powers that spanned the mundane to the divine. The scroll seemed to stretch into eternity, and Lysandra’s voice became a hypnotic chant, echoing with the weight of Vyrthralis’s boundless potential.

At last, she lowered her hands, and the scroll dissolved into motes of light. “These are but a fragment,” she said, her gaze locking onto his. “The gifts are legion, born of this world’s essence. Speak your heart, Steven—name the three that call to you, or ask me to refine the choices if you falter.”

Steven stood speechless for a moment, the sheer scope of it all crashing over him like a tidal wave. His destiny hung on this decision, and the possibilities danced in his mind like stars in an endless sky.