The Adventurer turned into an azure streak, plunged into the rippling folds of the universe, then disappeared. Meanwhile, inside, Jack felt a chill that woke him up. The easy life, at least compared to when he had been alone against everyone else, had dulled the blade he had been used to facing the world with, along with the keen mind that had been necessary to determine his survival and his prosperity at each step.
Jack exhaled, and walked to the seat on the other side of Lucas to process the unbelievable swamp he had let himself free-fall in. Comfort was indeed a dull but deadly blade when one had decided to not live a common, banal life. Stability was an illusion for those who had decided to not be unambitious.
Being ambitious meant a life of perpetual strife, a life on the edge if one did not want to be brought under the edge unknowingly. Comfort had not made him timid, but it had made him stupid.
