“I see their faces,” I told him. “I see the people who died in the explosion. I feel the humiliation from when my parents knew it was me. They’re not stupid. And when I understood that they knew, I wiped their memories of me and fled.”

  “So it sounds to me like you need to confront these memories. At least on your own. Your parents don’t know what you did, right?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head.

  “And they don’t have to. You’re not planning on doing something like that again, are you?”

  “Don’t need to. I have enough points to finish, now. I plan on restricting or banning what I was able to do so no one else does that.”

  “Good. It sounds to me like you’ve at least learned from your past. Because of the time travel, would the people you killed then be alive today?”

  “Certainly,” I said. “You’re here, and you would have been dead then. I was the only one left when I turned back the clock. No animals, no plants… nothing. Just me.”

  “Sounds lonely. What happened then?”

  “I wandered around until I couldn’t take the hunger anymore. That’s when I went back in time. I was waiting as long as I could to make sure I got as many of the points as I could, you know?”

  “Makes sense. So what are you doing now?”

  “Finishing up the last few changes I want to make while preparing the world as much as I can. If you see books or shows about magic systems popping up in the next couple of years, that was probably my doing. That’s the best I can do to educate everyone without going on some globe-trotting expedition only for random governments to either not believe me or arrest me for what I’m doing.”

  “Smart! I see you’ve really thought it through. What will you do when you’ve done those changes and the word is out?”

  “I… don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t really thought too much about that. And honestly, it scares me. I’ve been focused on this so long…”

  “Well, it seems you have two things to think about. Perhaps seeing someone you killed as being alive might help you work past the nightmares—or at least attenuate them. The second thing would be trying to find a hobby. If you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re done with your goal, that’s what I’d suggest. It’s the same thing many people who retire struggle with.”

  “Right. Any suggestions?”

  “I wouldn’t start with I’ve tried nothing and I’m all out of ideas,” Jack laughed. “Think back to what you used to enjoy and see if you still like those things. Since you can do magic now, maybe you can incorporate magic into what you are doing as well?”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “Good. Our time is coming to a close, so I’ll walk you back to your mother. Will you come back soon?”

  “At least for now,” I said. “Let’s see how it goes.”

  Jack nodded and opened the door for me. We walked back to the lobby where Mom was seated, face buried in her phone.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said.

  “Oh, hi Eddy,” she said, putting her phone away. “How did it go?”

  “Good,” Jack said. “We talked about what is bothering him and he has a few things to try before the next time he comes here.”

  “So you’re going to keep going? That’s wonderful! Thank you for helping, Jack.”

  “You’re most welcome. I’ll see you next time, Eddy.”

  He waved as Mom and I left. We got into her car and began driving away.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Mom asked.

  “Not really,” I said. “I do need to go to the port, though. Jack thought it might be a good idea and help with the nightmares.”

  “Strange, but alright. We can go tomorrow if you like?”

  “Mm.”

  It wasn’t exactly a yes. Just the thought of going there raised my heart rate substantially. Yet, I knew deep down I would have to face it. Ignoring the issue wasn’t going to make it go away—no matter how much I wished that would happen. The whole nightmare situation was like a bandage that needed to be ripped off. All I could do was hope that going to the scene of the crime would help me deal with it better.

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  Mom and I left her apartment after rush hour was over. I hadn’t slept well at all the previous night. The nightmares were as strong as ever—with special care taken to remind me of the burning port. And even when the nightmares didn’t show up, my heart didn’t still long enough for me to sleep more than a couple of hours in total. To say I was exhausted was a significant understatement!

  There comes a time when someone is so tired that they simply do not have the energy to care anymore. It was in that foggy state that I napped on the car ride to the port. The noise of the road beneath the wheels and the gentle bumping and swaying of the car were comforting. When Mom shook me awake at the port, I felt a little better—still exhausted, if mostly functional.

  Unlike the last time I had seen the port—on TV—it was a bustling center of activity. A line of ships were docked for loading and unloading by giant cranes with more ships far out on the horizon waiting their turn. There was no fire. No dead bodies. Nothing like I saw in my dreams.

  I sat on the gravel and leaned back against one of the car’s tires. The slight discomfort of the rocks felt right, as did the smell of warm rubber and the last fumes from the car’s exhaust pipe. I sat in silence, watching the people move about their business. In a way, it was calming. I almost fell asleep—a combination of my exhaustion and the gently, warm breeze blowing against my face.

  This was it, I reminded myself in my head again and again. What had been before was a ghost—a memory. Nothing more. Even if I saw their faces and killed them once before, those were clones and not the real thing. What I saw here in front of me? That was real. If it wasn’t, then what had everything I’d done been for? My mind would not let me consider anything else. To do so would mean I was wrong. Sanity—the little I had left—demanded I was right in my assumptions.

  I closed my eyes. I let the sun and wind wash over me. It was peaceful—as far as an industrial port could be, that was. I sat there for a long time, letting my thoughts run wild. A bit of self-hypnosis was warranted. It was somewhat effective, too. Just as it had helped me dig into myself and solve the mystery of how skills and the system worked, it was now helping me to figure out myself.

  When I decided I’d had enough, I opened my eyes and stood back up. My legs were cramping after sitting for so long. I jumped up and down to get the blood flowing in them again.

  “Do you need to do anything else?” Mom asked while I brushed the gravel off of my pants.

  “I’m ready to go home,” I said. “Let me walk around for a minute, first. My legs are sleeping.”

  “Ok.”

  I walked around for about ten minutes before I went back into Mom’s car for the trip back home. During the car ride, I silently considered where I was. Going to the port had been a good idea, no matter how scary it had felt ahead of time. I finally felt some peace now. I didn’t doubt that I’d still have the occasional nightmare, but I was hopeful that there would be fewer of them now.

  The problem now was figuring out what the hell to do with myself that wasn’t system-building related. Sure, I still had a lot of loose ends to clean up, but I still had another five years before I would have to kick off the tutorial if I wanted Grandpa Joe to live a while longer. So what could I do with myself until then?

  Then I remembered the things I had wanted to learn during the first loop that had been too dangerous. Woodworking and smithing. The same was true with learning how to fight with real weapons. The martial arts I’d learned had been so far in the past that I might as well not have. Yes, I understood the basics, but the muscle memory was long gone.

  At the same time, I needed to remember what Jack said. It wasn’t enough to just do different things. I had to find things I genuinely enjoyed. Even if that enjoyment was fleeting, stepping out of what I knew was the path forward. If crafting—woodworking and smithing—weren’t for me, I resolved to try other things. When the apocalypse hit, I would be asked to choose a profession. Might as well get a jump on figuring out what suited me—and find one that I enjoyed.

  The only question was which to start with. I could boost my level—and thus my strength—to make smithing easy, but I wanted to grow first. The more I leveled, the longer I would remain a child… and the longer I would have to deal with puberty when it came. Better to grow while it was easy. That meant holding off on smithing until I was closer to kicking off the tutorial.

  Instead, I decided to try both fighting and woodworking at the same time. I wasn’t actively going to school, and yet education was important. I knew all of the baseline things—arithmetic, literacy, history, civics, and more. Learning woodworking and fighting was the perfect preparation for what was to come. And hopefully, I would enjoy it!

  “Mom,” I said when I had made up my mind.

  “Hmm?”

  “I was thinking about picking up a hobby. It’s part of what Jack—the therapist guy—suggested.”

  “Oh? Any ideas?”

  “Yeah. I have three, though I’m postponing one for a few years to try other things.”

  “So what are the two you want to try now? If that’s what you meant.”

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “I’m going to hold off on smithing until I’m a bit bigger. In the mean time, I want to try woodworking and fighting with weapons.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” Mom said. “Especially the weapons part.”

  “With the monsters coming in a few years, I want to get a leg up, you know? Better to learn what I’m good at now—while everything’s peaceful—than have to learn it when my life is on the line. It’s better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.”

  “Right. Maybe I should join you?”

  “You’re welcome to. Though I suspect the lessons will be one-on-one so you might have to find your own instructor. Wouldn’t hurt to know, just in case.”

  “Mhm. Well, I’ll talk with your father and I’m sure we’ll come to an agreement. As for the woodworking, that sounds like a wonderful idea. Do you know what you want to try to make?”

  “Not yet. I know essentially nothing. I know there’s a branch of it for constructing buildings and there’s a branch for making furniture and stuff like that. I think I’ll just start with the basics and see where it leads. If I don’t like it, I can always try something else.”

  “Good idea,” she said. “Have you considered sewing?”

  “I already did that one. It’s not half bad, but it wasn’t my favorite. I could do it if I had to, but I’d much rather leave it to the professionals unless I have a particular project in mind.”

  Mom and I chatted more on the way home. I was still wary of her—given her history—but I was willing to ignore it some as long as she didn’t have access to my money, which she did not. That was Grandpa Joe’s domain.

  That night was the first time in years that I slept soundly. I still slept a shorter time than I had when I was a child several lifetimes ago, but it was a marked improvement over the nightmare-filled slumber I was used to.

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