Chapter 5

Robin’s throat tightened. He thought about what Grayson had said. There’s a hunter. The Dark Lord pays him to make travelers turn back. Warning them is the first method. But if that doesn’t work… he uses more permanent methods.

The hunter, Robin realized, his heart starting to hammer. He’s real. And he’s following me.

Robin forced himself to keep walking. Faster now. Eyes scanning the trees.

Should I have gone to the Iron Gate? The thought came unbidden, unwelcome. At least I’d be alive. Compromise can’t be worse than dying, can it?

Another sound behind him. Closer. Branches breaking under weight.

Robin’s pace quickened. Not quite running. Not yet. But close.

Grayson warned me. He tried to help. And I just kept climbing like an idiot.

More footsteps. Heavy. Methodical. Getting closer.

Robin’s breathing came faster now. Shallow. His hands were shaking.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die out here alone.

A bird call—three sharp notes. Deliberate. Clear.

Not random. A signal.

Robin’s skin crawled. Someone’s coordinating. Multiple people? How many are following me?

Then—movement. Just ahead, between the trees.

A shadow. Tall. Dark cloak rippling. Face hidden.

Robin’s blood turned to ice.

The figure stood perfectly still. Watching.

The hunter.

They stared at each other through the trees—predator and prey.

The figure took a step forward.

Robin RAN.

No thought. No strategy. Pure panic.

Full sprint. Blind terror.

He crashed through the underbrush, branches whipping his face, thorns tearing at his tunic. His walking stick caught on a root—he abandoned it, didn’t look back.

Just RAN.

Leaping over rocks. Stumbling. Catching himself. Running again.

He’s going to kill me. He’s going to catch me and kill me.

Keep moving. Keep moving. Don’t stop.

His lungs burned. His legs screamed. But he kept running, jumping, scrambling up slopes, sliding down the other side.

Behind him—footsteps. Heavy. Steady. Not hurrying.

Because the hunter didn’t need to hurry.

Why didn’t I go to the Iron Gate? Why didn’t I listen to Grayson? Living is better than dying—even if I have to compromise, right? RIGHT?

Branches ripped his tunic. Thorns scratched his arms. Blood ran down his face from a cut above his eye.

He didn’t care. Just kept running.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. This is it. This is how it ends.

The footsteps behind him never quickened. Never slowed.

Just… coming.

A boulder appeared in his path—too late to stop—Robin jumped.

He landed hard on the other side, pain shooting through his ankle.

Wow!

He’d almost sprained it. Almost. One wrong landing and it would be over. The hunter would catch him and kill him. And then—like a voice cutting through fog—a memory.

The sailboat. The storm. Waves towering over him. Winds screaming at seventy knots. Elena below deck, terrified, praying.

And him at the helm, hands shaking on the wheel, thinking: I’m going to die. We’re going to die. The boat’s going to capsize and we’ll both drown.

But then—his instructor’s voice in his head: Panic will kill you faster than the storm. The ocean doesn’t care if you’re scared. It won’t understand. Make calm decisions. One at a time. Do one thing. Then the next. One step in front of the other.

He’d survived thirty-five storms by NOT panicking. By doing one thing. Then the next. Then the next.

Calmly.

This is exactly like that, Robin realized, still running but slower now, more controlled. Panic will kill me. The hunter won’t understand. The mountain won’t care. I need calm decisions. One step at a time.

His breathing steadied slightly. His pace slowed from blind sprint to deliberate run.

One foot. Then the other. Watch where you step. Don’t jump blindly. Think.

♦ ♦ ♦

And then he heard it.

A deep, thunderous roar that vibrated through the ground beneath his feet.

Robin burst through the trees and stopped dead.

A raging river.

Massive. Churning. White water crashing over dark rocks in furious descent. This wasn’t the gentle stream he’d been following. This was power. Raw. Ancient. Unstoppable.

The sound was deafening—a constant roar that filled the air and drowned out thought.

Robin stood there, chest heaving, face bleeding, tunic torn. Behind him—somewhere—the hunter. Ahead—the river.

Cross it, a voice screamed in his head—panicked, desperate. It’s your only chance! He can’t follow you through that! GO ALL IN! BE BOLD!

Robin took a step toward the raging water.

The mist rose where water slammed into rock—thick, cold, soaking through his already torn cloak. The water looked alive. Twisting. Churning. Hungry.

Dark rocks lurked just beneath the surface, invisible until foam briefly parted to reveal their waiting edges. One wrong step and the river would sweep him away. Drag him under. Smash him against those stones.

Do it. Cross it. You have to. He’s coming.

Robin’s foot hovered over the water.

Behind him—footsteps. Getting closer.

I have to. There’s no other way—

But then—

This is not your path, something whispered—not audible, but clear. Like wisdom rising from somewhere deep. Not yet. Not like this.

Robin pulled his foot back.

He stared at the massive river. Somewhere on the other side was… what? Faster progress? The shortcut everyone else had found?

No.

Just death.

Maybe that’s why you keep failing, the dark voice whispered. Because you’re not bold enough. Not willing to take BIG risks. Real winners don’t play it safe. They COMMIT. They go ALL IN.

But Robin had heard that voice before. That was the same voice that told him to pay Jennifer $250. The same voice that said “upgrade, upgrade, upgrade” hoping MORE would fix what UNDERSTANDING couldn’t.

That wasn’t wisdom. That was desperation.

Every instinct screamed danger. This river could kill him.

He thought about the smaller stream he’d been following—gentle, manageable, winding through meadows and stones. Not impressive. Not powerful. Not fast.

But navigable.

Robin made his choice.

Then he saw it.

Beyond the meadow, nestled at the base of the mountains, lay a lake. Not a pond or pool—a true alpine lake, perfectly round and unbelievably still. Its surface was like polished glass, reflecting the peaks and sky with such clarity that Robin couldn’t tell where water ended and reflection began.

Robin approached slowly, almost afraid to disturb the silence.

The water was so clear he could see smooth stones at the bottom, even twenty feet from shore. Worn round by time. Resting in depths that looked shallow but weren’t.

He knelt at the edge.

Then the surface began to shimmer.

Not dramatically. Just... a ripple. Like something stirring beneath.

Robin leaned closer.

His reflection stared back. But something was different.

His face looked... brighter somehow. The dark circles under his eyes were gone. His stubble was trimmed. His hair looked clean, styled.

That’s not me, Robin thought. That’s how I WISH I looked.

But the reflection smiled—and it WAS him. Just... different. Rested. Healthy.

The image rippled again.

Now he was wearing a shirt—soft blue, nice quality. The kind Elena would pick out at that store on Colorado Boulevard, the one they always walked past because a single shirt cost what they spent on groceries for a week.

But in this reflection, he was wearing it. And his shoulders were relaxed. No tension. No guilt about the price. Just... ease.

Where am I? Robin wondered, staring at this impossible reflection.

The image expanded, pulling back like a camera zooming out.

Behind him—palm trees. Swaying gently. And beyond them—sand. Beach. Ocean.

What?

The reflection-Robin looked down at something in his lap. A laptop. Open. He was working—typing, creating something. But he was ON A BEACH.

And beside him—Elena. Reading a book. Laughing at something he’d just said.

Robin’s chest ached. This is what I want. This is what I’m trying to build.

♦ ♦ ♦

The vision shifted again.

Now he saw his reflection checking his phone. Notifications filled the screen:

“You’ve made a sale - $247”

“New commission earned - $500”

“Monthly recurring payment processed - $97”

“You’ve made a sale - $1,200”

Money flowing in. Not while doing nothing—while he LIVED. While he worked on things that mattered. While he sat with Elena.

Not magic money. Income from SYSTEMS he’d built. Work he’d done once that kept paying. Leverage. Real leverage.

He saw himself teaching a webinar from his home office while the kids played in the next room. A hundred people attending. Learning. Thanking him. Buying his course because it actually helped them.

$3,000 in one evening.

He saw his email list—10,000 people. 20,000. 50,000. People who trusted him. Who opened his emails. Who bought what he recommended because he’d proven he cared about their success.

He saw himself creating a course once—investing weeks into making it excellent—then selling it for years. Residual income. Leverage. Compound growth.

Time Freedom. Not because he wasn’t working, but because he was working on HIS terms. His schedule. His way.

This was the dream. The legitimate dream.

Robin’s chest ached with wanting it.

Yes, he thought. This is what I’m working toward. Real business. Real freedom. This is possible. This is REAL.

♦ ♦ ♦

But then his reflection in the pool darkened.

The beach disappeared.

And in its place...

Robin saw himself clicking.

Clicking for ad credits. Clicking to view other people’s ads. Clicking, clicking, clicking for hours while earning nothing.

His back ached. His eyes burned. And still, no sales came.

Click. View ad for weight loss tea. Click. View ad for Bitcoin investment. Click. View ad for someone else’s “make money online” program.

Day 47 of clicking. Still zero sales. But hey, at least he’d seen every weight loss tea ad on the internet. That was... something.

Rinse. Repeat. Forever.

Robin’s throat tightened. He’d spent HOURS on that. Days. Weeks.

After Jennifer’s program failed, he’d become desperate. Upgraded to the next tier. Better tools would bring better results, right? Another $100 gone. Another two weeks of setup.

Same result: zero sales.

His daily routine became mechanical:

Wake up. Breakfast. Click 100 ads to earn credits. Post his link. Check stats: 47 views, 10 clicks.

Click 100 more ads. Post link somewhere else. Check stats: 63 views, 12 clicks, 0 sales.

Repeat for eight hours.

After two months: $0 earned.

Six hundred dollars spent. Gone. Poof. Like it had legs and walked away.

Elena was going to love this conversation. “Honey, remember our savings? Well, funny story...”

But the leaderboards showed SOME people succeeding. The testimonials. “I made $500 this week!” “Three sales in one day!”

So Robin kept clicking. Kept posting. Kept believing that if he just did MORE—more credits, more ads, more platforms—eventually something would break through.

“Just be consistent!” the training said. “Success comes to those who don’t quit!” “It works if you work it!”

So he didn’t quit. He just kept clicking.

You’re pathetic, that dark voice whispered. Look at you. Clicking like a trained monkey.

You’ll never make it. You’re a failure.

But another voice—quieter, steadier—said something else:

This isn’t working. Something has to change. Not just effort.

Method. You need different skills.

Robin could tell the voices apart now. One was tearing him down. The other was pointing toward growth.

♦ ♦ ♦

The pool’s water went still, and Robin saw only his own tired face staring back.

Imagination is powerful, that gentle knowing whispered—not audible, but clear. But there’s a difference between fantasy and vision. Fantasy shows you magic. Vision shows you mastery.

Robin didn’t fully understand. But he felt the truth of it somewhere deep.

The beach laptop wasn’t fantasy—not the way he’d first imagined it. Working from the beach WAS possible. Thousands in sales WAS real. Leverage WAS achievable.

But not through magic. Through mastery of skills he didn’t have yet.

Fantasy was thinking he could click his way to freedom.