Chapter 26 – The Choice at the Crossroads
The desert had a way of swallowing sound.
Ivar marched with a convoy through Helmand province, boots grinding into sand, eyes scanning endless ridges. Soldiers joked, cursed, smoked — the usual rhythm of men who feared death but would never admit it. Ivar kept his silence. The prophecy from Delphi was still etched into his skull, the Oracle's words whispering behind every gunshot, every scream in the distance.
That night, when the camp slept, he walked beyond the perimeter, into dunes where the stars drowned out firelight. He needed distance. He needed to breathe.
Instead, he found Hermes waiting.
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The Trickster Appears
The god leaned casually against a rock that hadn't been there a moment ago. He wore desert fatigues, a cigarette between his fingers, his grin sharp and knowing. His eyes reflected starlight with mischief that could topple kings.
"Well," Hermes said, flicking ash into the sand, "you've danced for my siblings. Faced Ares' fury, endured my sister's judgment, heard my brother's prophecy. Now it's my turn."
Ivar crossed his arms, expression flat. "What is it you want?"
Hermes' grin widened. "Not want. Test. You're at a crossroads, storm-born. And I am the god of such things. Let's see if you can walk true."
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The Crossroads Appears
The desert shimmered. The stars bent, the dunes twisted, and suddenly Ivar no longer stood in Helmand.
He was at a crossroads. Four paths stretched from where he stood — each leading to a different horizon. Each shimmering with promise and threat.
Hermes gestured, his cigarette now a staff, tapping the sand like a guide. "Four choices. Four futures. You may walk only one. Choose wisely, Ivar, because choice is what defines you — not strength, not storms, not survival. Choice."
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The Four Roads
The Path of Power
The first road shimmered with gold. At its end stood a throne of iron, armies bowing, banners bearing his name. Ivar saw himself older, clad in armor, kings kneeling before him.
Hermes' voice slithered in his ear. "Take what's yours. You are son of Jupiter, grandson of Poseidon. You could rule this world. Empires would bend to you. Wars would end at your word. No more survival. Domination."
The Path of Peace
The second road glowed green. It led to a cottage by the sea, waves lapping gently at the shore. A woman's laughter drifted in the air, children running barefoot in the sand.
"You've seen too much war," Hermes whispered. "Lay down your blades. Walk away. Live. Love. Die a man, not a storm."
The Path of Death
The third road burned black. It led to a battlefield choked with corpses, flames rising higher than the sky. Ivar saw himself standing at the center, his swords drenched, his eyes hollow. Everyone he had ever cared for lay dead at his feet.
Hermes' tone hardened. "This is the road if you keep walking blindly. Power without balance. War without end. Storm without meaning."
The Path of Storm
The fourth road shimmered with lightning and water. It twisted endlessly, showing no destination, only storms unending. But Ivar saw himself walking it — scarred, bloodied, unbroken. Gods walked beside him. Mortals fought behind him. And at its end, far and faint, was choice.
Hermes' grin returned. "This one is the hardest. No throne. No peace. No finality. Only walking. Always walking. Until the world itself ends."
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The Temptation
Ivar's fists clenched at his sides. Each road tugged at something deep in him.
The throne tempted his pride. The cottage tempted his heart. The battlefield filled him with dread. The storm… the storm felt like truth.
Hermes watched, amusement never leaving his face. "So. Which will it be? Shall I crown you king? Let you rest as a man? Or let you burn like every fool who thought he could master war? Or…" Hermes' eyes gleamed, "will you accept the storm you were born for?"
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The Choice
Ivar closed his eyes. He thought of Spartacus, nailed to a cross yet still defiant. He thought of Cleopatra, her laughter fading with poison. He thought of Pompeii, of Stalingrad, of Saigon, of New York's towers falling into dust.
Everywhere he walked, war followed. Every time he tried to rest, the storm returned. Every time he fought, he survived.
He opened his eyes. "The storm. Always the storm."
Hermes' grin sharpened into something almost reverent. "Ah. The hardest path. The only true one. You refuse crown, hearth, despair. You choose endurance."
Ivar's jaw tightened. "I choose survival."
Hermes chuckled, snapping his fingers. The other roads vanished, leaving only endless desert. "And that is why the Fates still whisper your name."
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The Gift
The god stepped closer, his hand briefly touching Ivar's chest. For a heartbeat, lightning raced through him — not the storm of Jupiter, but something swifter, sharper.
"Take this," Hermes said. "A blessing for the road you chose. Speed when the storm grows too heavy. Wit when the battlefield blinds you. Luck when even gods turn their faces away."
His grin softened into something almost human. "And remember, storm-born — every choice you make is another crossroad. Every one counts."
With that, Hermes vanished.
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The Return
Ivar stood alone in the desert once more. The campfires of mortal soldiers flickered in the distance, their laughter faint. He walked back slowly, the prophecy of Delphi still echoing, Hermes' words weaving into it.
Sword for gods, or sword for man.
Every choice is a crossroad.
He whispered thanks to the night sky, as he always did. For survival. For endurance. For the storm that still carried him forward.
And in silence, he returned to the world of men — a storm walking roads no mortal could see.
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Do you want me to close the Quest Arc here and move Ivar directly into Chapter 27 – The Iraq War (2003), or would you like a short epilogue-like scene where all four gods (Ares, Artemis, Apollo, Hermes) briefly appear together to acknowledge that Ivar has passed their tests before releasing him back into mortal wars?