The Cost of Want, the Weight of Choice
The garden had vanished.
His daughter, the gravestone, the false future — all gone.
But the weight remained.
Koda stood still amid the ruined chamber, his chest rising and falling with slow, careful breath. His eyes stung — not from dust, nor from battle, but from the salt of silent tears still streaking down his cheeks.
The ache in his chest was real. Raw. Not pain. Not victory.
Release.
His fingers curled around the hilt of his blade again, as though the metal itself had been waiting for him.
Before him, the ruin of Greed's draconic body twitched one last time.
A great carcass — scales dulling, wings fractured, bones steaming with residual corruption. The once-pulsing green fire within its chest now a dim ember. No roar. No scream. Just the rattling breath of a beast out of time.
Koda stepped forward.
The wind had gone still. The others were somewhere behind him — scattered, broken, healing. But this moment was not theirs.
It was his.
He stood before the throne's broken platform, boots crunching over cracked gold and bone dust. The air shimmered with the last of Greed's divine essence, its core still pulsing faintly — a dark jewel embedded deep in the hollowed ribcage.
Koda's hand rose.
No flourish.
No fury.
He reached forward — palm open, breath steady — and closed his fingers over the dying core of Greed.
It trembled. The power inside shivered, resisted, pleaded.
But Koda's grip tightened.
And he crushed it.
The sound wasn't thunder.
It was glass — the shatter of divine ambition unmade.
A final breath of energy surged up his arm, into his chest, and the system answered.
DING.
LEVEL UP — 40
Alignment stabilized. Divine trait acquired: CHARITY
Koda gasped.
Not in pain.
In clarity.
The storm was gone.
And something new had taken root.
His system opened before him with a hum — soft, resonant, like the first note of a hymn long forgotten.
----
Koda of the Eternal Guide
Level: 40
Patron: The Eternal Guide
HP: 240 / 660
Mana: 640 / 660
Stamina: 378 / 660
Stats:
Strength: 44 (+22)
Vitality: 44 (+22)
Agility: 44 (+22)
Intelligence: 44 (+22)
Wisdom: 44 (+22)
Endurance: 44 (+22)
Traits:
Balance (Divine): All stat increases apply equally to all attributes. Harmony is growth.
Temperance (Divine): "Power not taken, but earned. Strength not dominant, but in harmony."
Temperance grants a 50% boost to all abilities, stats, and efficiencies—but only when all core stats are within 1 point of each other.
Charity (Divine): "To give without keeping. To heal without fear."
Charity allows the user to transfer their own life force directly to another, converting HP at a 1:1 ratio.
Skills:
Blade of Conviction – Active: Summon a weapon forged of pure will. The more clarity and purpose you hold, the stronger the blade. Willpower and Wisdom affect damage.
Mantle of Echoes – Passive: Passive aura forged from experience. Strength scales with Wisdom. +Minor Fear (enemies), +Minor Focus (allies)
Unbroken Vow – Passive: You do not fall. You do not yield.
Non-lethal wounds close at a slow pace even during battle. Bleeding is reduced. Pain is dulled. Healing effects on you are moderately more effective.
------
Koda let the window fade.
He exhaled.
And for the first time in a long, long while…
He didn't feel like he was falling.
Koda turned from the ruin of the dragon.
The echo of the system's final tone still rang in his chest, but the battle's fury was gone. The pain, the rage, the voices—silenced.
And in their place… only Maia.
She lay where she had fallen. Her body draped across a mound of melted gold and scorched velvet, broken in posture, motionless. A few feet from her, the remains of Thessa's flame still smoldered in blackened arcs across the floor.
She hadn't moved.
Koda approached in silence, each step heavier than the last. Not from exhaustion. Not from pain.
From fear.
She had always been the light that followed him into the dark.
Now it was his turn to pull her free.
He knelt beside her gently.
Her face was pale, lashes singed, a streak of dried blood at the corner of her mouth. Her breathing was shallow—barely a flutter beneath her cracked ribs. Her hand twitched once as he reached for it, then stilled.
Koda pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.
"I'm here," he whispered.
He slid his arms beneath her—one behind her shoulders, the other beneath her legs—and lifted her with care, holding her close against his chest. She weighed almost nothing now, but the feel of her—wounded, vulnerable, real—cut deeper than any wound Greed had managed to land.
And then, without fanfare, he called upon it.
The divine trait that had risen from the ashes of his broken will.
Charity.
It didn't explode into light.
It didn't roar or sing.
It simply began.
A warmth moved from his core, slow and steady—his life force separating from his body, wrapping around Maia like a second skin. The moment he allowed it, he felt the cost.
HP: 240 → 228… 212… 205… 196… 187…
He didn't flinch.
The drain continued, and with it, a strange light began to build around her — not bright, but soft. Like sunlight filtering through sheer curtains. Her chest rose slightly.
HP: 172… 164… 156…
He could feel her responding.
Her heartbeat, once faint, was strengthening. Her color returning, her skin warming. Her wounds no longer bleeding. Her ribs knitting slowly, the bruises fading to yellow at the edges.
HP: 149… 135… 122…
His knees buckled, and he dropped to them, still holding her against him.
She stirred.
Her eyes fluttered—not open, not fully—but enough.
"Ko…" she whispered, barely audible.
He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her temple.
"Don't speak," he said, breath shallow now. "Just stay."
HP: 110… 98… 87…
He could feel his own body weakening. The divine magic didn't numb the sensation—it allowed him to feel it. The gift was not power. It was choice.
And Koda chose her.
HP: 77… 67… 58…
Maia gasped—a fuller breath this time.
Her hand clutched weakly at his shirt.
She was waking.
Alive.
HP: 49… 40… 32…
His vision blurred.
The trait responded.
The flow slowed.
Stopped.
Maia stirred again. Her eyes fluttered fully open.
And they locked with his.
"Koda," she whispered again, clearer now.
He smiled—barely.
Then his body slumped forward, resting against her shoulder, his arms still around her.
"I told you," he murmured. "I'd never leave you behind."
Koda didn't move.
His body, cradled against Maia's lap, had gone slack in her arms. His skin was cold. His breath shallow and slow, almost imperceptible. She could still feel the echo of his heartbeat—stubborn, steady—but distant, like it was struggling to find its rhythm again.
"No—no, no, no—" Maia's voice cracked as her hands lit up with healing light. "You don't get to do this, not now—stay with me—Koda—!"
The light poured into his chest.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
But nothing changed.
"Come on…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, hands trembling. She was burning through her mana with each cast, but his reserves—his massive pool—drained the spell like water to dry earth.
Junen knelt beside her, face pale but composed. "What's happening?"
"He's not bleeding. His body's stable." Maia bit her lip hard. "He gave it all to me. He used something… something new. I don't even—his life force. It's like I'm trying to refill a lake with a spoon."
Deker stumbled to her other side, his robes scorched. "What do you need?"
"Mana. I need mana or I'm going to lose him."
Without hesitation, Wren reached for her belt and passed over a crystal phial.
Maia drank.
The light flared again—stronger now.
Koda's chest rose.
Just barely.
HP: 32 → 48… 61… 76… 88… 95
Then the light dimmed again.
Maia sagged forward, catching herself with one hand. "I can stabilize him," she whispered. "But he needs to rest. He's too far down to bring up any higher without tearing him open again."
Koda stirred—just a twitch.
But it was enough.
Maia pressed her forehead to his and exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "You're not done yet, Koda. Not even close."
Behind them, the throne room fell into stillness.
Greed's massive form remained—slumped and lifeless, the glow gone from its ruined chest. The undead were no more. Only silence remained, broken by the low groans and shifting armor of the survivors.
Terron dropped to sit heavily against a column, blood seeping through the cracked lines of his plate. "Well… that was hell."
No one laughed.
They were too tired. Too worn.
The war was won, but the scar still pulsed beyond the ruined walls. The heart of Greed may have been slain—but the wound he left behind still wept corruption into the world.
"We'll have to seal the scar," Junen said quietly.
Wren nodded. "Later. We need to breathe first."
A long silence followed.
Until Thessa stood.
Her hands clenched at her sides, robes torn, eyes haunted.
"I need to speak," she said.
The others looked up slowly, warily.
Maia held Koda close, but lifted her head.
Thessa stepped forward. Her voice trembled, but she didn't stop.
"When Greed reached for us, I saw something. A vision. Not what I wanted. Not peace. Not love. I saw myself standing over cities. Holding fire in my hands. Everyone was kneeling. Everyone."
She swallowed hard.
"I thought it wasn't real. I told myself I didn't want it."
Her eyes found Maia—and the shame was unmistakable.
"But I did. Some part of me did. When I struck you, I was already too deep. I didn't know who I was aiming at. I just needed to burn what stood in front of the throne."
No one spoke.
The silence was heavy, but not cruel.
Thessa dropped to her knees.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know words aren't enough. But if you want me gone when this is over… I'll go. I should go."
Maia didn't answer right away.
She looked down at Koda.
Then slowly up at Thessa.
"You'll stay," she said, her voice calm. "You'll carry it. Like the rest of us."
Thessa wept.
Not loud.
But the kind of tears that came from deep, carved places.
And no one interrupted her.
Not that night.