If you asked me to describe my life, I could do it in a few simple sentences.
Nothing extraordinary. Nothing worth telling twice.
I grew up doing what I was supposed to do. I went to school, did well enough to stay out of trouble, followed instructions, met expectations where I could, and stayed quiet where I couldn't. People would probably say I was responsible, maybe even dependable if they knew me well enough.
But no one ever really asked what I wanted.
And I don't think I ever answered that question for myself either.
My name is Ethan Cole, and for most of my life, I've existed somewhere in between.
Not at the top, not at the bottom. Not the kind of person people notice immediately, but not invisible either. I had friends—real ones, I like to think so. People I talked to every day, people I laughed with, people who would probably say they knew me.
And maybe they did.
Just not completely.
Ardenfall Academy wasn't the kind of place where you could easily disappear, even if you wanted to. It had a way of shaping people without asking them first. The kind of place where your future felt like it was already being written the moment you stepped in.
Everyone there had something they were chasing.
Grades, recognition, approval, something more.
I had… direction, a path solely for me.
At least, that's what I told myself.
My days followed a pattern I stopped noticing after a while. Classes, notes, assignments, conversations that started and ended the same way. I knew where I had to be, what I had to do, and what was expected of me at every step.
And I did it.
Not perfectly, but consistently enough that no one had a reason to question me.
That's the thing about consistency—it makes people comfortable.
It makes them assume you're exactly where you're supposed to be and is correct for some people but it just never fit me and something always felt lacking.
There were moments, though, *small ones.
The kind you don't think about at the time because they don't seem important enough.
A pause before saying something… and choosing not to.
A message typed out… and deleted.
An opportunity standing right in front of you… and letting it pass because it felt easier than dealing with what consequences came after.
At the time, they felt like nothing, not something I should concern myself with but now, they feel like everything.
I remember specific days, but not for the reasons I should, not because something big happened but because something almost did.
A conversation that could have changed how someone saw me, a decision that could have taken me somewhere else entirely.
A moment where I could have been more honest, more direct… more myself.
But I wasn't, I hesitated and that small moment of hesitation is what seperates you from achieving something different, become something different but you hesitated...
And hesitation has a way of becoming a habit if you let it.
There was someone once.
Not in the way stories usually make it sound—no dramatic confessions, no perfect timing, no clear beginning or end. Just… someone who mattered more than I admitted.
I don't think I ever said what I wanted to say.
I told myself there would be time. That I didn't need to rush something I wasn't even sure about. Like what if just go along and ruin everything and never gain it back.
Looking back, I think I was just afraid of changing something that was already… safe.
So I kept things the way they were. And eventually, that choice made itself. People changed contrary to my expectations and I just hesitated.
It's strange how life works like that. You don't always lose things because you made the wrong decision. Sometimes, you lose them because you didn't make one at all.
At Ardenfall, people moved forward. They took risks, made mistakes, figured things out as they went. Some failed, some succeeded, but at least they did something.
I watched more than I acted.
Not consciously, not intentionally—but enough that when I think about it now, it's hard to ignore the pattern. I was always one step behind my own life, always contemplating before even acting on my decisions.
That doesn't mean I was unhappy. I wasn't.
That would be easier to explain.
I had good days, normal conversations, moments where everything felt fine. But even in those moments, there was always this quiet awareness in the background, like something just slightly out of place. Like I was following a version of my life that made sense… but didn't fully belong to me and that one thing began to chew on me.
Sometimes, late at night, when everything else got quiet, I would think about it.Not in a dramatic way, just… honestly.
What would have happened if I had done things differently? Not everything, just the small things. What if I had spoken when I stayed silent? What if I had taken that step instead of waiting?
What if I had stopped thinking about consequences long enough to actually choose something for myself?
I didn't need a completely different life, I just wanted to know how much those moments actually mattered.
But life doesn't give you answers like that. You don't get to compare versions.
You don't get to see what could have been. You live with what you did… and what you didn't.
And eventually, you stop asking. At least, that's what I thought.
Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's this:
The moments that don't feel important when they happen are usually the ones that change everything.
You just don't realize it until it's too late. There's one moment I keep coming back to.
No matter how much time passes, no matter how much I try to move past it, it stays.
Clear. Unfinished.
Like something that was never meant to end the way it did. If I had handled that moment differently…
I don't know what my life would look like right now. But I know it wouldn't be this. And maybe that's the part that bothers me the most. Not that I made mistakes. But that I'll never know which ones actually mattered.
Or at least… I wasn't supposed to.