The cold wind bit at Aric's skin, but it wasn't the chill that made him shiver. It was the weight of the world pressing down on him, suffocating him, as he stood in the courtyard of the keep. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the clouds still hung heavy in the sky, like the promise of something worse to come. He could barely stand to look at the horizon. There was nothing beyond it for him.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, staring at the empty space before him. He'd long since stopped feeling anything other than numb. His hands trembled at his sides, but he didn't dare move them. He couldn't. Every time he tried to, the world seemed to shift, reminding him that he was nothing, just a shadow of someone who had once been.
The others had left him behind. The war, the fight—it was all too much for him. And yet, here he was, still standing, still breathing, though every breath felt like a mistake. The others were better, stronger. They had purpose. He didn't even know who he was anymore.
"Aric."
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Darius walking toward him, his expression unreadable. Darius was everything Aric was not: confident, strong, certain of his place in the world. The opposite of Aric in every way.
"Still out here?" Darius asked, his voice sharp, but there was something almost… tired about it. "You should be inside, resting. You're no good to anyone like this."
Aric tried to speak, but his throat tightened, his voice betraying him. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt foreign to him, as if he had forgotten how to speak. As if he had forgotten how to be.
"I'm fine," Aric finally croaked, but the words felt hollow.
"Fine?" Darius raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You look like a ghost. No one's fooled by that, Aric. You're not fine, and you never were."
Aric looked away, biting his lip. He couldn't meet Darius's eyes. The judgment was always there, hanging in the air between them. He had never been strong like Darius. He had never been anything but the weak, scared boy that no one took seriously.
The truth stung, but it was a truth he knew all too well. He had always been weak. The others had always known it, had always looked down on him. Even Lysandra, who had once looked at him with something like affection, had eventually realized it. She had left him. She had gone.
"Why do you stay?" Aric's voice was quieter than he had meant it to be. "Everyone else… they've already moved on. They've got their missions, their purpose. I… I don't have anything."
Darius took a step closer, his gaze softer now, though still tinged with the usual frustration. "Because I'm not going to let you waste away, Aric. You're better than this. You've always been better than this."
Aric shook his head, his eyes filled with self-loathing. "Better? How? I can't even carry my own weight. I can't even hold a sword without shaking." He raised his trembling hands, showing Darius the deep scars and cuts that had been poorly bandaged—proof of his incompetence. "I'm not like them. I'm not like you."
Darius's expression softened, though the edge never fully left his voice. "And you never will be. But that doesn't mean you're nothing. You're someone, Aric. You're still here. You're still breathing."
Aric let out a bitter laugh, a sound that didn't feel like his own. "I'm here because I have nowhere else to go. I'm just taking up space, waiting for the end to come. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be fighting for."
"Maybe you don't have to know right now," Darius replied. "But I know this much—you're not weak. You've survived more than most, and you'll survive more. But you can't do it alone. Not like this."
Aric's gaze dropped to the ground. He wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that there was something left in him. But the truth was, every time he picked up a sword, every time he tried to fight, he faltered. He couldn't win. He couldn't even protect himself.
"I'm nothing," Aric said, barely more than a whisper. "I'm just a burden."
Darius stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, firm but not unkind. "You're not a burden, Aric. But you've got to fight for yourself. If you don't, no one else can."
Aric felt a flicker of something deep inside him—a tiny spark of hope, so small he almost missed it. But it was there. Maybe, just maybe, he could still change. Maybe he could find the strength to stand, even if only for a moment.
But he wasn't sure. Not yet.
As Darius left him alone again, Aric stood in the courtyard, his chest tight, his legs shaky. He had no answers. He had no path. He wasn't the hero. He wasn't even a warrior.
But he was still here.
And somehow, that had to count for something.