Chapter 105: The Weight Of Being Chosen

The Guild Hall didn’t fall silent when Gregor walked in, but the atmosphere shifted nonetheless.

It wasn’t overt, no heads turned, no conversations abruptly halted, but the pulse of the room changed in subtle ways that only someone under scrutiny could sense.

Voices dipped just a notch, laughter softened. Even footsteps seemed to sidestep his path. Gregor noticed it all and, as always, pretended not to.

He approached the desk with deliberate steps, maintaining a carefully neutral expression, the practiced facade of a man who had learned to bear attention without letting it overwhelm him.

Sage sat behind the desk as usual, leaning back slightly, one hand propping up his chin while the other flipped lazily through a ledger. To an outsider, the Guildmaster appeared bored; to Gregor, he seemed infuriatingly composed.

Sage’s eyes lifted before Gregor spoke, as if he had sensed his approach long before his footsteps reached the desk. Their gazes locked for a moment in silence.

Gregor broke first. “We need to talk.”

Sage studied him quietly for several heartbeats before closing the ledger with a soft thud and gesturing toward the side door behind him. “Office,” he said simply.

Gregor turned and followed him through the door into a smaller room beyond. The office was stark, almost aggressively so, with no decorations or trophies adorning its walls, just shelves filled with documents, a narrow window allowing muted daylight inside, and a single table with two chairs facing each other. It felt intentional, a space where nothing could hide behind ornamentation.

Sage entered moments later and closed the door behind him, muffling the sounds of the Guild Hall and leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake.

Gregor didn’t sit. He stood in the center of the room, hands clenched loosely at his sides, staring at the floor as if searching for words hidden between the stone tiles.

“You said I was chosen,” Gregor finally began, his voice low yet controlled but strained enough that he could no longer fully mask it. “That day, you said it like it explained everything, as if it made things easier.”

Sage leaned back against the edge of the table with arms crossed and waited patiently.

Gregor let out a short laugh devoid of humor. “It didn’t.”

He lifted his head to meet Sage’s gaze,his eyes sharp yet weary from expectations that never loosened their grip on him.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he continued, “to wake up every morning knowing that if you stumble, even once, everything you are becomes temporary?”

Sage’s expression remained unchanged, but his eyes sharpened slightly at Gregor’s words.

“You made me first,” Gregor asserted. “You put me on top and called it opportunity, but it feels like I’m standing on a narrow ledge; the higher I go, the less room there is to breathe.”

He stepped forward, stopping just short of the table. “Everyone’s watching me. They’re measuring themselves against me, waiting to see if I’ll fail. And I don’t even know what I’m supposed to become.”

Sage straightened slowly. “You became what the Guild needed.”

“That’s not an answer,” Gregor snapped, immediately grimacing as he clenched his jaw, frustrated with himself for letting emotion slip through.

He exhaled sharply and continued, quieter now, “You call me a Pioneer. A symbol. But symbols don’t get tired, do they? They don’t doubt. They don’t wake up wondering if they’re strong enough to justify the weight placed on them.”

Finally moving, Sage pulled out a chair and sat down, resting his elbows lightly on his knees. “Sit,” he said.

Gregor hesitated but complied.

For a moment, silence enveloped them.

“You’re angry,” Sage observed calmly.

“I’m scared,” Gregor corrected him. “And I don’t know which frightens me more.”

Sage nodded slowly. “That’s normal.”

Gregor let out a short laugh that was more bitter than amused. “Normal? You revoke my license if I lose my rank. You tie my existence as an Adventurer to a standard no one else has to meet. You call it responsibility, but it feels like a threat wrapped in ceremony.”

“It is a threat,” Sage replied without hesitation.

Gregor froze at the bluntness of the statement.

Sage’s gaze remained steady and unflinching. “Every system worth trusting has teeth, Gregor. Without consequences, rules are just suggestions.”

“Then why me?” Gregor demanded fiercely. “Why not someone stronger? Someone who wouldn’t crack under this kind of pressure?”

“Because strength alone doesn’t build institutions,” Sage explained patiently. “Endurance does.”

Gregor shook his head slowly in disbelief. “You talk like this is all theoretical, like I’m just a piece on a board.”

“You are,” Sage said simply. “And so am I.”

The weight of those words landed heavier than any insult could have.

Leaning back in his chair, Gregor rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. “Then what does ’chosen’ even mean?” he asked quietly. “Because where I come from, being chosen was supposed to be an honor, something to be grateful for.”

Sage studied him thoughtfully before responding.

“’Chosen,’” he began slowly, “is one of the most misunderstood words in existence.”

Gregor looked up sharply.

“People think being chosen means being favored,” Sage continued thoughtfully. “That someone looked at you and decided you deserved more than others, that it’s a gift.”

Sage shook his head faintly as if dispelling an illusion. “It isn’t.”

“Then what is it?” Gregor pressed.

“It’s all about exposure,” Sage said. “When you’re in the spotlight, your failures are amplified. Your mistakes carry a heavier cost. And your growth? It becomes essential, not optional.”

He leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting toward the window as if lost in thought. “Once you’re chosen, you no longer belong solely to yourself. Your actions create ripples that extend far beyond your intentions. You can’t afford to be average anymore; hiding isn’t an option.”

Gregor swallowed hard. “That’s not what anyone tells you,” he muttered.

“No,” Sage agreed. “Because if they did, fewer people would be willing to take on the role.”

A heavy silence settled between them, thick with contemplation.

Gregor stared at his hands. “I didn’t ask for this,” he admitted quietly.

Sage didn’t argue.

“I just wanted a way to survive,” Gregor continued. “A structure where my efforts mattered. And now…”

He trailed off, searching for the right words. “Now it feels like the cost keeps escalating, and I’m the only one paying upfront.”

“You’re paying first,” Sage corrected gently. “But you’re not alone.”

Gregor looked up sharply. “That’s not how it feels.”

“No,” Sage replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “Leadership is isolating by design.”

“By design?” Gregor echoed, brow furrowing.

“Authority creates distance,” Sage explained. “The moment people start looking to you as a leader, they stop seeing you as an equal. That gap isn’t cruelty; it’s simply how things are structured.”

Gregor leaned forward slightly. “So what happens when that structure collapses?”

Sage’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile but something sharper beneath it. “Then weak systems fall apart early while strong ones adapt and survive.”

Gregor remained silent for a long time after that.

Finally, he asked, “And what if I can’t adapt?”

Sage’s voice softened just a touch. “Then the Guild will move on without you, and someone else will fill your position.”

The honesty of those words hit hard.

Gregor nodded slowly. “You really don’t believe in mercy, do you?”

“I believe in fairness,” Sage replied firmly. “Mercy without accountability erodes institutions from within.”

Gregor exhaled slowly, processing this weighty truth. “You’re asking me to bear something that never gets lighter.”

“Yes,” Sage affirmed calmly. “Because if it did lighten up, it wouldn’t hold any significance at all.”

Another pause lingered between them.

“Then why do I feel like you’re not pushing me off a cliff but daring me to step forward?” Gregor finally asked.

Sage regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment before responding quietly, “Because the difference between a burden and a foundation lies in whether you choose to stand on it.”

Gregor leaned back slightly and closed his eyes briefly as those words sank in.

When he opened his eyes again, the confusion was still there, but something new had taken root beneath it: resolve.

“I’m not sure I can become what you want me to be,” Gregor admitted sincerely.

Sage stood up and placed a hand on the desk. “That’s good,” he replied. “If you were completely certain, I’d be concerned.”

Gregor straightened his shoulders as he rose to his feet.

“This isn’t over,” he declared.

“No,” Sage agreed. “It’s just beginning.”

As Gregor turned toward the door, Sage called out one last time.

“You weren’t chosen because you’re perfect,” he said. “You were chosen because you’re still here.”

Gregor paused for a moment before nodding once in acknowledgment.

Stepping back into the Guild Hall, the weight on his shoulders didn’t lift. But for the first time, it felt… intentional.

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