The door opened with a surprisingly loud groan, revealing a shadowy cavern beyond.

It was far from the bright, clinical space I'd just been through. This room was dark with its only illumination coming from flickering, ghostly figures projected onto the far wall. I watched for a moment as shadows of strange creatures, people and objects danced and spun. After a while, I thought I recognised a few of the people represented – Lia, Scar, Dema, Jorgen—all shifting as if performing some silent show.

Wait for it... wait for it.

Ah, there we go. A notification pinged up.

[System Notification – Final Challenge Initiated]

Primal Form: The Cavern

Objective: See beyond illusions. Discover the true form concealed within the space.

Requirement: Perception alone is insufficient. Comprehension of essence is mandatory.

Failure Condition: Misidentification or acceptance of shadows as truth will result in entrapment.

Advisory: Only by recognising the Real may you walk free.

Awesome. Time for a bit of show and tell.

The shadows on the wall coalesced for a moment and then moved into a series of fluid, repetitive motions, each figure going through a precise series of actions. A knight swinging a sword. A farmer harvesting crops. A child skipping rope. All now on a fast loop as if they were frozen in their respective roles.

I watched them, trying to understand what the Maker was hoping I was going to do here. Every few seconds, a buzz of disapproval vibrated in the air, one of the less subtle reminders that I have ever had that I was being judged and found wanting. And considering Griff used to taser me whenever I dropped the ball, you can take that to the bank.

The Maker might as well be going 'wah wah' whilst I thought. It struck me that the Great Celestial beings in this part of town were about as childish as they came.

A voice spoke.

Illusion is the prison of the mind. True mastery lies in discerning the shadow from the form. Only by understanding the source can you ascend.

"Only by understanding? Well, shucks, why didn't you say so? I better start, you know, thinking REALLY hard."

I looked around, but the room was empty, save for the shadows cast across the wall. No helpful glowing shapes or sparkly treadmills this time. Just… shadows. The echoes of the movements of those figures kept bouncing around the cavern, their repetitive actions a pantomime of life. And with every loop, the shadows grew sharper, more intricate and, actually, a bit more interesting.

I focused on the shadow of the knight, its rigid swing and predictable motions. It moved in perfect, disciplined loops: slash, step back, shield up, stance reset. A text prompt appeared above the shadow as I stared

[System Notification – Archetype Detected] Role: Defender of Order Descriptor: Duty-bound and eternal, loyal to the cause. Insight: Embrace its strength, and you may find purpose beyond survival.

Ha. Subtle. You couldn't say the Maker didn't try. They might as well have shoved a glowing sign in my face that read: Be a Good Boy and Conform. And, sure, it was funny. Until it wasn't.

Honour. Duty. Order. Rinse and repeat. That blade wasn't being wielded, it was being obeyed. There was no improvisation, no cheeky little detour through personal interpretation. Just rhythm. Authority. Submission. Matey boy probably hadn't had a day off in centuries. And you just knew it had never once cracked a grin at the wrong time or ducked out for a bacon sandwich mid-patrol.

This was what the Maker wanted for me, wasn't it?

Not just me, of course. I wasn't so egocentric as to think I was the centre of the divine surveillance system. This was the vision. A world of knights, each in lockstep, playing their assigned part with no room for doubt or deviation. And it wasn't even subtle. The message rang out in crystal clarity: Write no lines of your own. Speak only what is scripted. Live only as directed.

And, well. No.

Because I'd already been that guy. Not a knight in shining armour, for sure, but back on Earth, I'd played my part. I'd followed Griff's script. Kept my face blank, movements clean, never stayed long enough to leave a real impression. That was the central tenet of my old life, wasn't it? Slip through the cracks. Be effective. Be unmemorable. Be forgettable.

And it had worked. I'd been good at it. People remembered the outcomes, not me. I was the whisper at the end of the corridor. The name someone almost said before deciding not to. And then, one bad mission and a couple of bullets later, I was dead.

Now? Here? Everything was changing.

Forsyth had picked my new Class for me. And then there was Aunt M. She never said, be a hero. But she had said, make your life count for something. And now I think I finally understood what she meant. It wasn't about being righteous. It was about being the one who stays. Who takes the hit. Who does the right thing not because it's fun or flashy, but because someone bloody well has to.

And that's what being a Tank in Bayterran was, wasn't it? Not sneaking out the side door. Not ghosting through the mission. Staying in the middle of it, taking the weight of the world on the chin and keeping your people upright while you did it.

That knight, the one the Maker dangled in front of me, he wasn't my future. He was the warning. The consequence of duty without soul. Order without choice. A tank, sure. But one that had forgotten what it was shielding, and who for.

Because if I were going to be Guardian of the Threshold, then I'd do it my way. And my way? Didn't involve forgetting who I was just to fit the script.

The knight's shadow seemed to stiffen as it moved, like it was reacting to my thoughts. The prompt above it was glowing brighter, almost insistently, as if it were urging me to give up on those ideas and take it seriously.

Embrace its strength, and you may find purpose.

"Nope."

The prompt hovered, flashing off and on in the neediest way I have ever seen. Seriously. Did this God not get enough attention from all its own adherents?

I addressed myself to the shadow knight. "Look, no offence, mate, but you look absolutely miserable. And if that's supposed to be what the purpose is about? Then count me out."

I looked over at the second of the shadows, the farmer with their sickle cutting through an invisible harvest.

Role Unlocked: Provider of Sustenance Endless in labour, tireless in dedication. To toil is to be virtuous, to sustain the greater good. Value lies in the act, not the recognition. Your hands are the unseen engine of Order.

Don't know about anyone else, but I'm sensing a theme.

In fact, each of the little shadow puppets had a little blurb above it about its ideal role in the perfect little society the Maker clearly wanted to fit me into.

This was basically an entire dungeon dedicated to showing me how super it would be if I acted like a good little person and became a cog in the machine, wasn't it? In fact, I got the sense that there would be any number of rewards available if I felt it in me to bend over.

Choose your place, join the balance, and you will find fulfilment.

"Don't you think it's funny how everyone seems to want me on their team. The Elders. The Rebellion. The Empire. You. Even Scar, to a certain extent. Just for form's sake, though, what happens to me if I'm just not interested in your oh-so-subtle shadowy social roles?"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The shadows on the wall froze, and the entire cavern seemed to grow colder.

There is no path outside the roles. Fulfilment requires submission to form to purpose. Without purpose, one is lost.

"Oh, yeah! Sell it, baby," I said. "But here's the thing. What you're offering here are shadows. Pretty as they are, they're still just copies of the real thing."

To deny the shadow is to deny the path of Order. True power lies in alignment with design. It is only through being Made that we are free.

I blew the sloppiest of raspberries and studied the figures again, all moving in their endless patterns, each one performing its task as if that's all it would ever be. Anyone who was trapped in this cave would think that those shadows, the options they gave, were the real thing because they didn't know any better . . . But they weren't for me.

"Right. In case this hasn't been painfully obvious, I'm not here to join your little pantomime of virtue," I said, staring out at the faceless shadows and their eager roles.

"I know exactly who I used to be. On Earth, I stayed alive by being invisible. Slipping between cracks, not filling them."

I paused, remembering a moment I hadn't thought about in years, sitting cross-legged on Aunt M's cluttered carpet while she read Pilgrim's Progress aloud.

"A man there was who bore a burden on his back, but would not put it down. For it was his, and he would not leave it to another."

"I didn't get it at the time," I said. "Didn't want to, maybe. I thought responsibility was just another word for being dragged into someone else's mess. But now, well. Turns out that being a Warden doesn't mean being told what to do. It means choosing to stand when it's easier to sit. Taking the burden not because someone hands it to you, but because no one else will."

I looked at the roles laid before me. Endless toil. Absolute obedience. Blind strength. All of them dressed up as virtue. None of them mine.

"I'm not playing your game. But I'm done pretending I've got nothing to carry." I smiled, just a little. "Turns out, I'm choosing here. At the Threshold. My way."

The cavern shuddered, and the shadows on the wall flickered as if struggling to hold their shapes. Then, with a surge of energy, a new shadow appeared, a perfect outline of me, hands in pockets, leaning back with a bored expression.

The shadow's gaze was locked on mine.

To escape, confront the true essence of self. Reflect on purpose or remain bound.

I stared at the shadow for a moment, watching as it mimicked my movements. An echo of the real thing, designed to fit in a box.

"Nope," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "I've never been a fan of looking at myself in a mirror. I mean, who needs that kind of negativity? Every time I look, it's like, 'Oh, hey, there's that guy who promised to take his training seriously, but still thinks pizza is a food group. Frankly, I prefer to keep my delusions of grandeur intact."

The shadow began to change, morphing into a series of increasingly desperate forms: a warrior with a sword, a scholar with a book, a merchant with a bag of gold. Each one flickered into being, reaching out toward me, begging me to pick a role, to settle down, to just fit.

The cavern's voice turned stern, edged with warning.

Without a Made form, there is no substance. Without substance, there is no legacy. Accept the role or fade into insignificance. Be Made!

"Well, considering you asked so nicely . . . Look, maybe I'm not here to be a shadow on your wall. Maybe, just maybe, I'm here to find my own way. You know, without a script."

The room seemed to recoil at that.

A life without structure is a life without meaning.

"Or," I said, "maybe meaning isn't something you can just print out and hand over. Maybe it's something you figure out as you go. Ever think of that?"

The shadow stilled, the entire cavern pulsing with a low, uneasy hum, as though struggling to process my rejection. And then, finally, a new message flashed:

[System Notification – Challenge Override Initiated]

Essence of Self: Accepted

Classification: Anomalous Deviation Recognised

Objective Updated: Forge a Path Beyond Form

New Directive: Reject inherited structure. Articulate a self-defined purpose.

Advisory: No further guidance will be provided.

Proceed as only you can.

The shadow on the wall shivered, its edges blurring, and slowly, very slowly, it began to dissolve, as if collapsing in on itself. The cavern lightened, the walls no longer pressing in with the weight of expectations. The illusions faded, leaving just the empty cave and me.

A single door appeared in the stone wall, glowing faintly, as if resigned to let me go.

Before I stepped through, I heard a final message

A form unshaped is a form untamed. Beware the chaos you invite, for not all will bow to such insolence.

"Thanks for the heads-up. But it's not like that's not anything I've heard before."

[Insight Gained] True freedom lies in forging a path beyond designated forms. Essence Recorded: Identity through defiance. Purpose through choice.

For some reason, that made me unaccountably angry. "True freedom?" I said, my voice echoing loudly through the empty space, surprising even me with how aggressive I sounded. "Oh, right, because I'm just some clueless little cog who needs to be shown the way, is that it?"

My anger hadn't risen; it had detonated. Not all at once, but like pressure in a boiler, hissing up through cracks I'd been ignoring since the day I got thrown into this tidy little existential tax office of a world.

"I know exactly who I am! Always have. That's never been the problem."

The words spilt fast, louder than I'd meant, and I suddenly felt like I was too far gone to care. "You think some dungeon with puzzles and metaphors is going to break news to me about myself? I've lived me. I've had front-row seats, thanks."

I pointed at it. At him. At them. The Maker. Griff. Forsyth. Mum and Dad. Aunt M. Whoever else might be watching and judging in this rigged little theatre of a test.

"My whole life has unravelled this year. First, a woman I thought I loved left me because I wasn't enough. She didn't say it like that, obviously. She said, 'It's not about blame, Eli. You just never really... arrive, do you?'" I could still hear her. Like a ringtone that wouldn't stop playing.

I kept going, unable to stop. "First, that and then I started making silly mistakes. Not big ones. The kind of error the connected kids get to make on yachts in the Med and call a 'learning experience.' But I wasn't one of the special 'connected' ones, was I? No. So what I get is a week or so of radio silence and then two bullets to the chest."

My hands were fists now. Not clenched for a fight, clenched to keep the fury from spilling over entirely. "And now I'm here. In a world where the Systems judge your worth by how neatly you tick boxes. Where Class defines identity and Duty trumps desire. And you, whatever you are, expect me to smile through it, nod along, be grateful I was given some divine do-over?"

I stepped closer to the Form's silhouette, close enough to see the fake eyes it didn't have. "You think this is the part where I break down and find enlightenment, yeah? That I'll thank you for the lesson? Sod that. Sod your duty, your Forms, your sacred rhythms and your bloody tests."

I straightened. "You don't get to tell me who I am. I do. And right now? I'm someone who's done listening."

The silence that followed felt like it had corners. Sharp ones. Then the chime came. Not triumphant or soothing. More like an elevator ping in a hospital corridor. The Dungeon wasn't impressed, but it wasn't angry either.

It sounded... sheepish.

Dungeon Complete: The Well of Ascension Against expectation, you have shown resilience without compliance. You have resisted the shaping hand, yet emerged shaped on your own terms. Class Subclass Options Unlocked:

Bulwark of Bad Decisions

Because the best defence is making yourself impossible to ignore.

You never planned to become a wall. But walls don't plan, do they? They just stand. And when the world throws fire, blame, or poorly-considered consequences, you're the one who holds the line. Not because you're righteous. But because someone bloody has to.

Abilities:

Stubborn Momentum:

For every hit taken without falling, gain stacking Resolve, boosting mitigation and taunt radius.

Crash Tackle [Enhanced]:

Convert movement into impact, knocking enemies off balance based on your current Stamina deficit.

Spite Reserves:

When reduced to critical health, temporarily restore Health and Endurance based on the number of enemies focused on you.

Thorned Standard

A Warden leads. Even when bleeding. Especially then.

You've stopped running. Now others follow. Whether you like it or not, your stance matters—because people stand where you stood. The Thorned Standard doesn't bark orders; it bleeds conviction. You absorb the worst of the world so others can rise.

Abilities:

Line in the Sand [Enhanced]:

Designate a defensive perimeter. Allies inside gain increased resistances, while enemies crossing it suffer bleeding and slowed movement.

Martyr's Signal:

When taking damage, emit a morale surge that slightly heals nearby allies and increases their Aggro generation.

Endure and Inspire:

Upon surviving a lethal blow, rally nearby allies with bonus stats for a short duration. Cooldown resets if an ally drops within range.

Lodestone of Regret

Some anchors hold others. Some drag them down with you.

You don't just carry your mistakes—you weaponise them. The Lodestone is for those who've done damage they can't undo, but still choose to stand. It's heavy, ugly, and undeniable. You're the warning sign and the fallback plan. The embodiment of: "Not this time."

Abilities:

Gravitic Shame:

Enemies that damage you have a chance to become Slowed and Weakened, drawn in by the weight of your presence.

Hindsight Barrier:

Every mistake—missed taunt, failed dodge, overexertion—feeds into a temporary damage shield.

Deadweight Drag:

When immobilised or staggered, lash out automatically. Damage and taunt radius increase with every failed dodge in the past two minutes.

Choose wisely. Each path is not just a Class—it's a statement. You've begun to disrupt the world. Now decide what you become when it tries to push back.

The funny thing is, I didn't even bother reading them before I dismissed the notification and pushed open the door.

"Keep it. This isn't for me."

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