Among professionals and exceptional beings alike, a particular debate often surfaces, call it an age-old inquiry that never quite fades:
The mind, the body, and the brain.
Which of these three governs the being? Which one holds true precedence over the others? Which leads, and which follows?
So insist the brain is the primary force, the central processing unit governing every thought, every impulse, every decision. It orchestrates cognition and bodily function alike, allowing humans to think, judge, react, and move. Indeed, the brain is the throne of logic and survival.
And yet... There are recorded instances, determined monts in ti where the body moved before the brain could even process a threat. A sudden dodge. A reflexive punch. A desperate leap away from danger. These instinctive actions, often labelled as reflexes, suggest the body sotis moves on its own accord even without an influence from the brain.
So, then, is the body superior?
But where does that leave the mind?
The elusive, abstract mind, intangible, yet present. The wellspring of emotion, morality, and dreams. It is not rely a passenger in the vessel of the body, nor a subordinate to the brain. It questions, reflects, and chooses in ways neither flesh nor neurons can.
And in that chaos of uncertainty, one conclusion begins to form:
None of them truly decides who a person is. Not the mind. Not the body. Not even the brain.
What defines a person is their rationality, the maturity of their decisions, the clarity of their morality, the consistency of their intent. It's not what drives the motion, but what fuels the reason behind the motion.
In Eric's case, the source of his stillness, the reason for his stagnation was not a betrayal of the body, a lapse of the brain, or a collapse of the mind.
No, it was his humanity.
A sense of duty rooted deeper than fear. Deeper than love. A soul-tethering obligation toward the world he lives in.
He told himself his greatest fear was dying and leaving his children behind. And while that fear was sincere and true, it wasn't what ultimately anchored his feet to the ground.
Beneath it, beneath the layers of fatherhood, concern, and personal dread was sothing far heavier.
The truth!
If they failed to neutralise the taratect nest, if even one of those monstrous creatures escaped, what then?
What would happen to the civilians across neighbouring districts? What of the smaller villages, the unguarded caravans, the farrs, the mothers, the children?
What would beco of the weak?
He could imagine it clearly. Taratects pouring out in droves, devouring anything in their path. Fire and ruin, devastation unchecked.
And in that grim forecast, he realised:
His fear wasn't just about dying.
It was about failing to protect the future his children were ant to inherit.
"You see that?" Gerald's voice broke through the swirling chaos of Eric's thoughts, firm yet understanding. "That hesitation you are having right there, it's the very reason why I do what I do."
Eric blinked, pulled montarily from the haze. "What you do?"
"Risk my life," Gerald answered simply, "venturing into death zones, crawling through bloodied fields and cursed wastelands. Not for glory. Not for power. But for that sa hesitation you feel right now."
Eric turned to face him fully. Gerald's eyes, sharp and weathered, stared into his with profound understanding.
"I wasn't always a captain," Gerald continued. "Before all of this, I was just another soldier, one of the unlucky ones ill-fated enough to be deployed to the frontlines. The border between Eldorado and Kaidoral."
The na sent a chill down Eric's spine.
Kaidoral, the land of endless cold and howling winds. The kingdom of the Troll kind said to be a harsh, lawless, barren. A place where the sun dared not shine and life clung to existence by a thread. Most who served there never returned. And those who did… were no longer the sa.
Gerald gave a soft, bitter chuckle. "They called it the 'Last Threshold'. The place where nightmares were born, and hope went to die. That border town wasn't just a line of defence, it was a pit. A nest of cri, banditry, and unrelenting hardship."
Eric knew little of that world. His experiences as a mystic had always been localised. Everything he'd seen, everything he knew limited to the sectors and duties he was assigned. The truth beyond that had always been veiled.
"In that forsaken place," Gerald went on, "I witnessed humanity's worst. Mages turning on mages. Man betraying man. And won—" his voice faltered briefly, pain dancing in his eyes, "—who no longer had the privilege of dreaming."
Eric swallowed hard.
"There was one mont I'll never forget," Gerald said. "A bandit raid. We launched a counteroffensive and managed to capture the entire group. Murderers, rapists, slavers, real scums of the earth, you know what I an."
He paused, jaw tightening.
"We were transporting the captured scums to the nearest garrison when it happened? A Walker, a crawling variant burst out from beneath the frozen soil. Disaster-ranked. Not just any beast, it was a monster capable of levelling an entire city, leaving it all in ruins."
Eric's eyes widened.
"There weren't enough of us to fight it. We would've been slaughtered," Gerald admitted. "But if we released the bandits, ard them, then we could perhaps stand a chance against it. So of them had powers, strength we needed and could use to guarantee our safety."
Eric already knew where the story was heading. And yet… he dreaded the answer.
"So we had to choose," Gerald said. "Let the monster ravage everything or trust our backs to monsters in human form. To gamble our survival on people we knew would turn on us the mont the threat was gone."
He turned to Eric fully, voice heavy with the weight of the past.
"Now tell , Eric Aldaman… if you were in my shoes, what would you have done? Make the worst choice to leave or die knowing you prevented the scums of the Earth from roaming free?
"Answer , Eric! What would you do?!".
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