Chapter Four
The First Scam
After an hour of relentless climbing—legs burning, lungs aching from the altitude—Robin’s legs finally gave out.
Not gradually. Just… stopped working.
He collapsed beside a crystal-clear stream cascading down from the heights above, his body hitting the ground hard enough to jar his teeth. Not a controlled rest. A collapse. Complete exhaustion.
The path had vanished somewhere in the last mile, leaving him to scramble upward over smooth stones slick with moss, through patches of mountain grass that offered no grip, pulling himself up by exposed roots and jagged rocks.
He lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky through the canopy of ancient oaks.
How long have I been climbing?
Half a day? Time felt strange here. Fluid. Like the mountains existed outside normal rules.
The air was getting colder. His breath misted in front of him in white clouds. The afternoon sun slanted through the trees at a sharp angle—later than he’d thought.
Robin forced himself to sit up, every muscle protesting.
The stream burbled beside him, clear and cold. He crawled to it on hands and knees—too exhausted to care how pathetic that looked—and splashed water on his face.
So cold it made his teeth ache.
When he opened his eyes, his reflection stared back at him from a still pool.
Know thyself, the archway had said.
Robin looked at his reflection. Forty-two years old. Stubble darkening his jaw. Dark circles under his eyes from too many 3 AM nights. Wool tunic stained with dirt and sweat. Hands bleeding from climbing.
This is what sixteen years of failure looks like.
“Sixteen years,” he said aloud to his reflection, his voice echoing off the rocks. “Sixteen years of trying different things. And I’m still failing.”
Arts and crafts at fairs. Real estate flips. Network marketing teams that dissolved. Stocks. Forex. Each one a completely different skill set.
“And I’m still a complete beginner at THIS.”
Whatever THIS is. Online marketing. Internet business. Whatever you want to call it—I don’t even know the language yet.
Robin closed his eyes, shame washing over him.
Jennifer.
That warm, friendly voice. The promise of mentorship. The money he’d lost.
“Real sharp, Thompson,” Robin muttered to the stream. “Absolutely brilliant.”
He looked up at the sky, at the mountains rising around him, at the amazing beauty of this place that couldn’t exist but did.
“God,” he said aloud, his voice carrying across the water. “I need help. Real help, not just… not just more of the same.”
He paused, then continued—louder now, more insistent. Like the Psalms he’d read where David argued with God, questioned Him, demanded answers.
“I’m trying to do this right. I’m trying to be honest. I refused to scam people even when I was desperate—that has to count for something, right? But I need to see what I’m missing. I don’t want to be like Jennifer. I don’t want to prey on people. But I can’t keep failing like this either.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“Show me the path. The REAL path. Not another scam. Not another shortcut. Just… show me what actually works. Please.”
He closed his eyes, waiting. Hoping for… something. An answer. A sign. Anything.
Silence.
Just the wind and the water and his own breathing and the cold settling into his bones. A sound came from the trees above him. Not a bird. Something moving. Branches shifting. Heavy. Deliberate.
Robin looked up sharply. “Hello?”
Silence.
Then, on the other side of the path, another sound. Rustling. Like something—or someone—was paralleling his route, staying just out of sight in the shadows between trees.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Is someone there?” he called, his voice echoing off the rocks.
No answer. Just wind through branches.
But he could feel it now—the sensation of being watched. Not threatening exactly. But not friendly either. Like something was evaluating him. Measuring him.
Robin turned slowly, scanning the trees. Nothing moved. But the feeling didn’t go away.
His hand went to a heavy branch near the stream’s edge. Not much of a weapon, but something.
“I know someone’s there,” he said, trying to sound braver than he felt.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then—
“Easy, friend.” A man stepped out from between the ancient oaks, hands raised, palms out. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Robin’s grip on the branch didn’t loosen. “Who are you?”
The man was maybe forty, with a weather-worn face and practical traveling clothes—wool cloak, leather boots, a walking stick in one hand and a pack slung over his shoulder. He looked… normal. Like someone who belonged on this path.
But Robin hadn’t heard him approach. No footsteps. No warning.
Just… there.
“Name’s Grayson,” the man said, his voice calm, friendly. “I work these paths—help travelers, guide people who get lost, that sort of thing.” He gestured to the stream. “Came for water. Heard you talking and didn’t want to interrupt.”
Robin’s face flushed. “I was just—”
“No judgment.” Grayson’s smile was easy, sympathetic. “This path gets to everyone eventually. Makes you talk to yourself. Question everything.” He moved closer slowly, carefully. “Mind if I fill my water skin?”
Robin relaxed slightly, lowering the branch. “Go ahead.”
Grayson knelt at the stream’s edge, filling a leather water skin. He glanced at Robin’s hands. “Those look painful. How long have you been climbing?”
“I don’t know. Hours? A day?” Robin realized he had no idea.
“You’re doing better than most, then.” Grayson stood, securing his water skin. “Most people turn back before reaching this stream.” He paused, studying Robin with an expression that seemed genuinely concerned. “Where are you headed?”
“Up.” Robin pointed toward the peaks hidden in mist. “To the Land of Time Freedom.”
Grayson’s expression didn’t change—no mockery, no skepticism. Just a slight nod. “That’s a long climb. Difficult path.” He hesitated. “I live down by the lake—not far from where you came in, actually. Lake house on the shore. My wife works at the Iron Gate Inn in Haven’s Rest. I make the journey between the lake and the village regularly—bring supplies, help travelers who need it.”
“That’s a long commute,” Robin said.
Grayson shrugged. “A day’s journey each way. But someone needs to be out here. There are dangers on these paths—the hunter, the weather, people getting lost. I’ve made the trip so many times I could walk it blindfolded.” He paused. “Besides, I get paid well for the work. The village council and… other benefactors appreciate having someone who knows these mountains, someone who can guide travelers safely.”
Something about the way he said “other benefactors” made Robin’s skin prickle slightly.
“I’m heading to Haven’s Rest now,” Grayson continued. “I could use the company if you’re interested in walking together for a bit. Our paths split in a few miles—you’d continue up, I’d head down. But we could talk while we walk.” He patted his pack. “I’ve got some bread and cheese if you’re hungry. My wife’s the head baker at the Iron Gate Inn—I get the perks. Fresh honey bread from this morning. She always sets aside a loaf for me when I’m in town.”
Robin’s chest tightened.
Company.
Someone to walk with. Someone to talk to.
He’d been so alone.
“I’d like that,” Robin said, surprised by how much he meant it. “Company sounds good.”
Grayson’s smile was warm, genuine. “Excellent. The path gets easier around the next bend.”
The Walking
They walked together, and Robin felt something loosen in his chest. The crushing weight of loneliness lifting.
After a few minutes, Grayson reached into his pack and pulled out a small cloth bundle. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a piece of honey bread—golden, dense, still slightly warm.
He broke off a corner—just a corner, maybe two bites’ worth—and handed it to Robin. “Here. You look like you need this.”
Robin hesitated, then took it. The moment he bit into it, his eyes nearly closed. Sweet. Dense. Buttery. Hints of cinnamon and something else—cardamom maybe? The best thing he’d tasted since… since before this mountain. Since before the arch. Since before everything changed.
It was gone in two bites.
His stomach immediately cramped with want. More. Please, more.
“Good, isn’t it?” Grayson said, wrapping the rest of the loaf back up carefully and tucking it into his pack. “My wife bakes fresh every morning at the Iron Gate—this was from today’s first batch. That honey recipe is her grandmother’s secret. People come from all over Sanctuary Island just for her bread.”
Robin’s mouth watered, watching that bundle disappear into the pack. “How often do you see her?”
“Every week or two, depending on how many travelers need help.” Grayson’s voice held a note of weariness. “It’s not ideal, being apart. But the work pays well—better than anything else I could do. And someone needs to be out here. Too many people get lost, hurt, or worse.”
He glanced at Robin. “That’s why I make the offer to everyone I meet. Come down to Haven’s Rest. Rest at the Iron Gate. Eat. Be safe. Some people listen. Some don’t.” He shrugged. “Either way, I sleep better knowing I tried.”
They walked in silence for a moment, Robin savoring the memory of that honey bread, his stomach demanding more.
“So what brings you up here?” Grayson asked conversationally. “Most people I meet on this path are heading down, not up.”
“I can’t give up,” Robin said. “I’ve tried too many times. Failed too many times.”
“How many times?”
And before Robin could stop himself, he was talking.
“Forty-one different attempts. Sixteen years total. Arts and crafts. Real estate. Forex. Network marketing. Each one completely different.”
“That’s persistent,” Grayson said.
“Or stubborn. I’m not sure which.”
“What are you trying now?” Grayson asked. “What’s different this time?”
“Online marketing. Internet business.” Robin’s voice got harder. “But it’s nothing like what I’ve done before. Real estate taught me patience and analysis—walking properties, calculating repairs. Forex taught me charts and patterns. Network marketing taught me to recruit and build teams.”
“And online marketing?”
“Completely different language.” Robin grabbed an exposed tree root to pull himself up a steep section. Grayson matched his pace easily. “This is about capturing attention in seconds. Building email lists. Creating funnels that convert strangers into customers without ever meeting them. Writing copy that sells.” He shook his head. “I’m a complete beginner at this. Might as well be learning a foreign language.”
“Sounds challenging,” Grayson said.
“It is. And the worst part—I finally got what I always wanted. Time.” Robin’s voice cracked slightly. “Three months ago, the school lost funding. They gave me three months of severance. I thought—finally. Finally I can focus full-time on building something instead of squeezing it into nights and weekends.”
“And?”
“And I got scammed in the first week.”
Grayson glanced at him but didn’t interrupt.
Robin found himself telling the whole story. How he’d posted on Craigslist—back when you could post business opportunities for free. How Jennifer had responded within an hour. His first subscriber.
“I called her immediately,” Robin said. “So excited. My first potential customer. She was friendly, asked questions about my business. But then she smoothly shifted to her opportunity. Said she’d quit her job in three months. Offered to mentor me for two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“And you paid it,” Grayson said quietly.
“Same day. Money I really didn’t want to lose—out of three months of severance, that was a nice chunk.” Robin’s throat tightened. “I thought she could show me the ropes. I finally had time to implement what she’d teach.”
“What did you get?”
“A training manual. Generic lessons about posting links on free sites. ‘Post everywhere. It works if you work it.’ That was the strategy.”
“And when it didn’t work?”
“Two weeks later—zero sales, zero sign-ups, zero results—I called her for help.” Robin’s jaw tightened. “She tried to sell me ‘reverse marketing software’ for another two hundred and fifty. Tools to do to others exactly what she’d just done to me. Turn me into the next scammer.”
Grayson was quiet for a moment. “Did you buy it?”
“No.” Robin’s voice was firm. “I refused. I wasn’t going to scam people just because I’d been scammed.”
“What did she say?”
“She remained pleasant. Professional. Pointed me back to the training manual and wished me luck.” Robin’s voice got bitter. “But when I asked for specific strategies beyond ‘post everywhere,’ she had nothing. No real answers. No actual help. Just—‘Follow the system. It works if you work it.’”
“Because her business wasn’t teaching marketing,” Grayson said.
“Exactly.” Robin looked at him. “Her entire business was finding desperate people like me and selling them that software. She wasn’t building anything real. She made money by recruiting victims, not creating value.”
They climbed higher. The path grew steeper.
“The worst part,” Robin said quietly, “isn’t the money. It’s that I should have known better. Sixteen years in business—I should have seen through it.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Robin thought about that. “Because I wanted it to work. I finally had time—full-time focus, no more teaching. I was desperate to make it count. And that desire…” He paused. “It overrode my judgment.”
“Desire without discernment,” Grayson said quietly.
Robin’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Just something I’ve heard. That desperation makes people vulnerable. They see what they want to see instead of what’s actually there.”
Those words hung in the air between them.
Robin felt something shift in his chest. Not warmth—not the presence from the archway. Something else. A warning.
Where have I heard that phrase before?
“You seem to know a lot about this,” Robin said carefully.
Grayson shrugged. “I meet a lot of travelers. You start to see patterns. People running from something. People chasing something. People who’ve been burned by scams like yours.” He paused. “That’s another reason Haven’s Rest exists. People need a place to recover. To rest. To figure out their next move without pressure.”
They walked in silence for a while, Robin’s mind churning.
“The Iron Gate serves more than just bread,” Grayson said after a while, his tone casual. “They have a venison stew that’ll make you weep. Slow-cooked for hours with root vegetables, herbs, red wine. Served in a bread bowl—you eat the bowl when you’re done.” He glanced at Robin. “When’s the last time you had a real meal?”
Robin’s stomach growled audibly. He couldn’t remember. Before the arch? Days ago? It felt like years.
“They have roasted chicken with crispy skin and rosemary,” Grayson continued. “And my wife’s berry pie—blackberries and raspberries, still warm from the oven, with fresh cream.” He paused. “If you want the bread truly fresh—warm from the oven, butter melting into it—you have to be there for breakfast. She pulls the first loaves out around dawn.”
Robin’s mouth was watering so badly he had to swallow. That tiny corner of honey bread had awakened something savage in his stomach. He was ravenous now. The thought of venison stew, roasted chicken, berry pie—
“You’re welcome to join me,” Grayson said, his voice gentle. “I’m meeting some people there for dinner tonight. There’s always room for one more at the table. Good food, good company. You could rest, eat a real meal, sleep in a real bed. Then decide in the morning whether you want to keep climbing.”
Just one meal, part of Robin’s brain whispered. What’s the harm? You need food. You need rest.
“That’s… generous,” Robin managed, his voice tight. “But I need to keep going up.”
“Of course.” Grayson’s tone held no judgment. “But if you change your mind, the Inn isn’t hard to find. Just follow the path down to Haven’s Rest. Stone building with a red door—you’ll smell the bread baking from three streets away.”
They walked in silence for a moment, Robin trying not to think about food, failing completely.
“There’s something else you should know,” Grayson said after a while, his tone shifting to something more serious. “About these paths. About why someone needs to be out here helping travelers.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s danger up here. Real danger.” Grayson’s expression grew grave. “The Dark Lord—his name is Malthus—he doesn’t want visitors to these Sky Islands. He has a hunter. A man he pays very well to make sure travelers turn back.”
Robin’s blood ran cold. “A hunter?”
“Tracks people on the mountain paths. His job is simple—get them to turn around. However he has to.” Grayson’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Warning them is the first method. Scaring them. But if that doesn’t work…” He let the sentence hang.
“If it doesn’t work?”
“Then he uses more permanent methods. The Dark Lord pays him well. Very well. Enough that the hunter doesn’t care what he has to do to earn it.”
Robin thought about the rustling in the trees. The feeling of being watched.
“You think he’s following me?” Robin asked quietly.
“Maybe. Or maybe you got lucky and he’s tracking someone else today.” Grayson glanced back at the path behind them. “Either way, these paths aren’t safe. That’s why I work them. That’s why I live at the lake house—close enough to intercept travelers before they get too far, help them understand what they’re walking into.”
“And you guide them to Haven’s Rest.”
“Where they’re safe. Where the hunter can’t touch them. It’s neutral territory.” Grayson looked at Robin. “I keep a rowboat at the lake for travelers—helps them cross faster, gets them to safety quicker. You could be at The Iron Gate in a few hours if we head there now, over the next mountain by nightfall, in Haven’s Rest before the hunter even knows you’re here.”
It was tempting.
So tempting.
Venison stew. Warm room to rest. Safety from a hunter who killed people. Fresh bread at dawn.
But something was wrong.
Robin looked at Grayson—really looked at him. The friendly smile. The concerned expression. The reasonable offers.
The Grey Questioner.
The thought came suddenly, unbidden. A book Robin had read years ago—Sir Knight of the Splendid Way. An old story, written in the 1800s, like Pilgrim’s Progress. About a knight trying to reach a glorious city, and along the way he met a character called the Grey Questioner.
The Grey Questioner never said anything obviously wrong. He just asked questions. Raised doubts. Offered reasonable alternatives. Left travelers in complete uncertainty about whether the Splendid Way was even real.
Robin stared at Grayson.
Grey son.
The Grey Questioner.
A chill ran down his spine.
Am I living in that book? Is this real? Am I actually meeting him?
And that phrase: Desire without discernment.
Where had he heard it before?
Not from Grayson first. From her. From the voice at the archway.
And Grayson had used it.
How did he know those exact words?
Unless…
Unless he’d been watching. Listening. Knowing exactly what to say to manipulate Robin’s doubt.
“You said benefactors pay you,” Robin said carefully. “The village council and… others. Who are the others?”
Grayson’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, you know. People with resources who care about these mountains. They fund the work of keeping travelers safe. I don’t ask too many questions—the pay is good, the work is honest, and I get to help people.”
I don’t ask too many questions.
That phrase hung in the air.
“Does Malthus pay you?” Robin asked quietly.
Grayson’s expression didn’t change. “I help travelers get to safety. That’s all. Whether the Dark Lord or the village council or the Watchers themselves fund that work—it’s all the same to me. People need help. I provide it.”
“By getting them to stop climbing.”
“By getting them to survive.” Grayson’s voice was still calm, still reasonable. “You want to know the truth? Most people who keep climbing die. The hunter kills them. The weather kills them. They fall. They starve. They go mad from isolation.” He gestured up at the mountains. “You think you’re the first person who’s tried to reach Time Freedom? I’ve met dozens. Know how many made it? None that came back to tell about it.”
“But you’ve never climbed it yourself.”
“No.” Grayson’s voice was firm. “Because I’m not a fool. I found my path to Time Freedom. A lake house. A wife I love. Work that pays well. I get to be separated from her for weeks at a time, yes. But I’m alive. I’m provided for. In a few more years, I’ll have saved enough to retire. We’ll be together full-time.” He looked at Robin. “That’s Time Freedom too. Just a different path to get there.”
Robin’s stomach twisted.
A different path.
Compromise instead of conviction.
Safety instead of faith.
The Fork
They reached a fork in the path.
Left led down—easier terrain, lower elevations, the direction toward Haven’s Rest and with it, food and rest.
Right led up—steeper, harder, disappearing into mist.
Grayson gestured left. “The Iron Gate is maybe three hours that way. We could be there by nightfall. My wife’s stew will be ready. Warm meal, safe roof, and in the morning—fresh bread at dawn. Then you can decide. Keep climbing, or try a different path.”
Robin looked at both paths.
Down: food, safety, company, warmth. Everything his body was screaming for.
Up: more pain, more exhaustion, more isolation. And possibly a hunter who would kill him.
But—
That warmth. That presence. That knowing.
Time Freedom wasn’t down.
“I appreciate everything,” Robin said slowly. “The bread. The company. The offer. Really. But I need to keep going up.”
Grayson studied him for a long moment. No anger. No disappointment. Just… assessment. Like he was calculating whether Robin was worth another attempt.
Finally, he nodded. “I understand. Some people need to climb. Need to see it through themselves.” He extended his hand. “Safe travels, Robin. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Robin shook his hand. Grayson’s grip was firm, professional. No threat in it. No warning.
“If you change your mind,” Grayson said, “the lake house isn’t hard to find. Just follow the path down. And if you make it to Haven’s Rest, ask for the Iron Gate Inn. Stone building, red door. Tell them Grayson sent you—they’ll take good care of you.”
“Thank you.”
Grayson gave a small nod, then turned and walked down the left path. His footsteps were steady, unhurried.
And then—grey mist.
Not the natural mountain fog Robin had seen before. This was different. Thick. Unnatural. It rolled up from the valley like smoke, like something alive, wrapping around Grayson until Robin couldn’t tell where the man ended and the fog began.
Within moments, Grayson had disappeared completely. Swallowed by grey.
The mist lingered for a moment longer, then retreated back down the path like it had never been there.
Robin’s skin crawled.
That wasn’t natural.
Whatever—whoever—Grayson really was, he wasn’t just a helpful traveler heading to see his wife.
He was something else.
Something grey. Something that belonged to the mist and the in-between places where light and dark blur together.
Robin stood alone at the fork.
The Grey Questioner.
Desire without discernment.
Grayson.
Was he imagining connections that weren’t there? Or was this real? Was God showing him something through an old book he’d read decades ago?
Did I just make the right choice?
His legs were shaking. His stomach was empty—already missing that honey bread, already imagining venison stew and fresh bread at dawn. And somewhere up that path, there might be a hunter who would kill him.
Maybe he should have—
Warmth.
It spread through Robin’s chest suddenly—gentle, unmistakable, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
The same warmth from the archway.
Robin gasped.
He hadn’t realized until this moment, but—
The warmth had been absent the entire time he’d walked with Grayson.
Hours. All those hours. No warmth.
But now, alone on the path, it was back.
And with it came words—gentle, clear:
Desire without discernment brings deception.
Robin closed his eyes, understanding flooding through him.
That’s where he’d heard that phrase. Not from Grayson first. From her. From the presence. From the voice at the archway.
And Grayson had used it.
How did he know those words?
Unless he’d been listening. Watching. Knowing exactly what to say to manipulate Robin’s doubt.
He’d used Robin’s desire for company.
He’d used Robin’s hunger for food.
He’d used Robin’s fear of the hunter.
He’d even used Robin’s desire for Time Freedom—just offered a “different path” to get there.
Everything calculated. Everything designed to redirect.
Not with threats. Not with obvious evil.
With influence. With reason. With grey alternatives that sounded better than the brutal path ahead.
“Thank you,” Robin whispered to the warmth, to the presence, to the light whose name he didn’t yet know.
The warmth pulsed gently. Affirming.
Robin opened his eyes and looked up the right path.
Steeper. Harder. Lonelier.
Possibly deadly, if the hunter was real.
But right.
He could feel it. Not with logic. Not with his exhausted body or his ravenous stomach. But with that warmth. That knowing.
“Alright,” Robin said to the mountains. “I chose this. Let’s see it through.”
He started climbing.
Behind him, the left path where Grayson had disappeared was filled with grey mist—thick, impenetrable, unnatural.
And Robin never looked back.
That tiny piece of honey bread had been a mistake. Now his body knew what it was missing. Now it was demanding more.
But he kept walking. Up. Not down.
Even as his stomach screamed at him that he was an idiot.
Even as the shadows grew longer and the air grew colder.
Even as something rustled in the trees behind him—following, watching, measuring.
Robin climbed.
And the warmth stayed with him.
Real-World Marketing Takeaway
The “Grey” Trap
This is the most dangerous phase for a beginner. Once you survive the “Jennifer” scam, the “Grayson” redirectors show up. They don’t want your money; they want your focus.
The Weapons of the Redirector
They use your own good intentions against you. “Don’t you want to be safe for your family?” “Isn’t it wiser to rest first?”
The “Reasonable” Lie
Grayson offered Time Freedom through compromise. In business, this is the “job” that pays well but kills your soul, or the “side hustle” that is just another form of grinding.
The Absence of Warmth
If you are pursuing a business opportunity and you feel relief because it’s easier, but you’ve lost that glow of purpose—you are being redirected.
Ask yourself: Am I following the reasonable path, or the right path?
The Reasonable Path
- Fresh bread and warm beds
- Safety and comfort
- “Different paths” to the same goal
- Relief from struggle
- Sounds wise, feels easier
The Right Path
- Mountains and hunters
- Sacrifice and faith
- One narrow way up
- Peace in the struggle
- Sounds crazy, feels right
The reasonable path might keep you alive. The right path leads to Time Freedom. Choose.
The Professional Redirector
Desire Without Discernment Brings Deception
Robin got scammed by Jennifer because he wanted success so badly, he didn’t ask the right questions. Then he almost got redirected by Grayson for the same reason—he wanted company so badly he didn’t notice the warning signs.
But Grayson was different from Jennifer. Jennifer was obviously a scam once you stepped back and looked clearly. She sold him empty promises and disappeared when he didn’t convert. Grayson was subtler. More dangerous. Because Grayson wasn’t selling anything. He was offering help.
The Pattern
He worked the path professionally. His job was to intercept travelers and redirect them to Haven’s Rest. He got paid well for it—by “benefactors” he didn’t ask too many questions about. He wasn’t evil. He was grey. He had a wife. A lake house. A life. He was working toward his own version of Time Freedom—just through compromise instead of conviction. And that made him believable.
The Weapons He Used
- Robin’s loneliness (offered company)
- Robin’s hunger (gave him a taste, made him want more)
- Robin’s fear (warned about the hunter)
- Robin’s desire for Time Freedom (offered a “different path”)
- Robin’s own words (used “desire without discernment” against him)
Everything designed to make turning back sound reasonable. Not threatening. Not harsh. Just… redirecting.
The Real-World Version
In business, the “professional redirectors” are everywhere:
- Friends who say “just get a real job” (sounds reasonable)
- Family who say “you’ve tried enough times” (sounds caring)
- “Gurus” who offer “easier paths” (sounds helpful)
- Your own exhaustion whispering “maybe there’s a better way” (sounds wise)
They’re not evil. They’re grey. Not that there’s anything wrong with getting a job—hey, it’s important to survive, right? But that doesn’t mean you have to give up your dream. And grey is more dangerous than dark, because you can’t see it clearly.
The Warning Signs Robin Almost Missed
- He used Robin’s exact vulnerability (loneliness) as the hook
- He knew things he shouldn’t know (“desire without discernment”)
- He offered comfort but led away from Robin’s goal
- He got paid by unnamed “benefactors”
- He didn’t ask too many questions about who funded his work
- The warmth—the presence—was absent the entire time
The Test
Real guidance brings peace. False guidance brings relief that masks unease. Robin felt relieved walking with Grayson. But Robin didn’t feel peace. The warmth returned only when Robin was alone again—only when Robin chose up instead of down. That’s discernment. Not logic. Not analysis. Just a deep knowing that says “this way” or “not this way.”
The Lesson
Grayson offered Robin Time Freedom through compromise. Comfort instead of climbing. Safety instead of faith. A “different path” that led away from the goal. And it sounded SO reasonable. That’s how the professional redirectors work. They don’t attack. They don’t condemn. They just offer alternatives that sound better than the brutal path ahead.
P.S. — The Bread Is Still Haunting Him
That tiny piece of honey bread? Robin’s stomach is STILL demanding it. That’s how good manipulation works—it gives you just enough to make you hungry, then walks away with the rest. Don’t let someone else’s “free sample” redirect you from your goal. The bread is delicious. The mountain is still up. But Time Freedom isn’t found in the valley. It’s up the mountain. Even when you’re hungry. Even when you’re alone. Even when there’s a hunter in the trees.
Trust the warmth. Not the reasoning.
~ Albie
The Story Continues…
Robin chose the steep path—the cold one, the one that vanishes into mist. Ahead lies a place where nothing is what it seems, and the ones who turned back are not as safe as they believed.
Continue to Chapter 5: The Land of the Deceived →