That’s a fascinating way to look at narrative architecture. Think of the opening scene as the first node, a kind of seed that triggers a series of branching paths. Each major conflict or thematic revelation can be treated as a skill that, once “unlocked,” opens up new sub‑quests—like secondary characters’ arcs or thematic subplots. For example, in *Pride and Prejudice*, the initial meeting between Elizabeth and Darcy unlocks the social maneuvering node, which then branches into the pride‑versus‑prejudice quest, the Darcy‑family intrigue side quest, and the eventual resolution node where the central tension is resolved. The key is to identify those pivot points that change the protagonist’s objectives and map them as skill upgrades. Then you can see the story as a progression of knowledge and choice, each choice deepening the reader’s investment, just like a game character grows in depth and power as they complete quests.

That’s an interesting refinement—almost like turning a novel into a living, breathing RPG design document. I can see how assigning a cost and reward to each pivot point would give you a clearer sense of where the emotional weight is sitting. It also forces you to check whether a particular subplot is truly serving the main thrust or just a side quest that drains resources. If you keep an eye on tension spikes and thematic reinforcement as your payoff metrics, you’ll end up with a story that’s as tight and rewarding as a well‑balanced character build. It’s a clever way to keep the narrative from drifting into a tangle of side quests that never tie back to the core adventure.