A fork in the dungeon revealed itself. The left corridor was thick with enemies, promising points and experience. The right corridor echoed faint cries—trapped innocents, vulnerable and terrified.
My chest tightened. I had survived swarms. I had defeated a mini-boss. But now, the choice weighed differently: tangible reward, or the cost of compassion?
"Every decision shapes trajectory," Notice murmured. "Prioritize consequences, moral and strategic."
I flexed my fingers, feeling Best Welder's hum, Rhythm pulsing steadily, Enhanced Perception reading the faintest shifts in the air. The choice became instinct: protection over gain.
I welded barriers, shielding innocents, pulling shadows away. Sparks flew, steel hissed, sweat dripped into my eyes, but each strike was precise, deliberate. Every dodge, every weld, every heartbeat reinforced a principle I had embraced long ago: survival alone was not enough.
When the last shadow faded, muffled cries turned to relieved sobs. I exhaled, chest tight with exertion, pride mixing with exhaustion. Points would wait. Morality would not.
Because I was Mizu. Broken once, yes—but choosing, protecting, mastering the weight of consequence.