We talked for a long time, walking the narrow path through the dark, twisted forest. I pondered for a long time that I was now at an age where I was more of a burden than a help to the village. Soon it would be time for me to go on my final journey into the forest.

"I'm no longer needed," this thought echoed in my mind.

I had achieved everything I could—it's time to give up. All those thousands of hours of learning and practice in IT, all the knowledge and information from books, comics, games, and movies—it's all for nothing now. It seems that in this game, there is no main quest; I can only do side quests until death, which must be just around the corner, based on the lifespan statistics of the natives. A rather pessimistic outlook.

I had played many games, particularly enjoying RPGs and war games, where I was always the main character, the entire story revolved around me, I was the one doing the most important task and changing the course of history. I developed my character, helped others solve problems—I was the most important in the game. In books, I identified with the main characters, followed their adventures, and rooted for them. The common trait was always that the main character was special. They always had some advantage, special skills, were liked and respected—they were the heroes, and the story was about them. Often, while reading a book, I imagined myself in the place of Geralt of Rivia, Vuko Drakkainen, Winnetou, Genno Laskolnyk, or Kenneth Lyw Dyrewitt. Life in a fantastic world seemed very appealing to me, full of dangerous adventures but always ending happily.

My dream came true, I am in a fantastic world, but there's one catch. I am not the hero, no one knows me, I have no special skills, I am an ordinary man, and on top of that, too old to actively help the natives. I am essentially just another ordinary, unnoticed NPC in this game.

I drifted so far into my thoughts that I lost track of the conversation with my young traveling companions. The situation I found myself in and the pessimistic thoughts swirling in my head began to bring back earlier problems, and I felt I was losing the will to live. Suddenly, I slipped on the muddy path and hit the back of my head hard.

I regained consciousness lying on the wet ground, my pants and shirt completely soaked. White Finger and Butterfly were leaning over me, trying to wash my face with dew. My head hurt, I saw stars, and my left hand was numb. White Finger smiled broadly when he saw that I opened my eyes.

"You're alive!" he shouted joyfully.

Butterfly held my head, signaling me not to get up yet. I reached with my good hand behind my head and tried to feel the spot where I had hit. My fingers found a puddle of sticky blood. My heart began to beat faster as I realized I had a head wound and was in the forest with two kids, without a phone to call for help. Adrenaline started pumping through me. I checked my numb hand, tried to move it a few times, and found that it was fine; I had just been lying on a crushed basket slung over my shoulder, causing the numbness. Slowly, I massaged my left hand and asked the boys:

"How big is the wound on my head?"

"One finger," Butterfly replied quickly, showing the tip of his finger, then added, "The blood isn't flowing as fast now."

"You fell luckily!" White Finger said, still smiling. He reached beside my head and picked up two large sharp stones, showing them to me, "You hit the smallest rock and you're alive."

It seemed that if I had fallen a few centimeters further, onto one of those rocks, I would have ended up with a pierced skull. I took out my small knife and cut a strip of fabric from one sleeve of my linen shirt, then asked the boys to help me sit up. One grabbed my hand while the other supported my head, helping me get up. The headache persisted, and the wound throbbed intensely. I rolled a piece of the cut fabric into a ball and pressed it against the wound, then wrapped the rest of the fabric around my head. It wasn't a professional bandage, but it stopped the bleeding and covered the wound from omnipresent flies and other insects. After a few minutes of sitting, I tried to stand up. Surprisingly, I didn't have much trouble. I still had a headache, and the wound throbbed, but I didn't feel dizzy, nor did I have any other injuries. I moved my arms and legs, did a few bends and squats, everything seemed to be in working order. I think I'm ready to continue the journey.

White Finger looked me in the eyes and said with a sincere smile:

"I'm glad you're alive because you're our friend." After a moment of pause, he added, "You haven't told your stories at dinner yet, and I know you know many interesting tales."

His sincere expression reminded me of my son. This moment helped me make an important decision. Maybe I'm not the main character in my game, maybe I'm just a meaningless NPC, but as long as there's someone I can help, my life has meaning. Even if I won't be noticed, appreciated, or liked, from this moment on, I will strive to do everything to help others. Maybe one of these boys is the main character in this story?

Filled with positive thoughts and new hope, I picked up my basket, slung it over my shoulder, started down the path, and shouted to the boys:

"We have a mission to complete. Welcome, adventure!"

They looked at me in astonishment, then at each other, and followed me.