The days bled into one another, a blur of pain and silence. Aric spent his mornings in the courtyard, watching the others train, listening to the clash of swords, the grunts of exertion, and the triumphant cries of those who were better, stronger. The same cycle, every single day. He knew he couldn't keep hiding. He couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine, because it wasn't.
It was late in the afternoon when he found himself wandering through the empty halls of the keep, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. It was a quiet place—too quiet for him. The walls seemed to press in on him, closing him off from everything. He didn't want to face anyone. He didn't want to see their pitying glances or hear their cruel words. So, he wandered, aimlessly, trying to escape the truth he couldn't ignore.
His thoughts kept circling back to that moment in the courtyard. The way Jorran's laughter had sounded as it pierced through him like a blade. The way his hands had trembled as he swung his sword, and the way the others had looked at him, not with hatred, but with a kind of quiet dismissal, as though he was already a lost cause.
Aric stopped in front of a large mirror at the end of the hall, staring at his reflection. His face was gaunt, pale from days spent indoors, his eyes hollow with exhaustion. His frame was thin, his clothes hanging loosely on his body like they were meant for someone else. He didn't recognize the person in the mirror. Who was he, really? Who had he become?
"You're nothing," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the silence. "You're just a broken piece."
A noise broke the stillness behind him, and he spun around to find Darius standing at the entrance of the hallway. His face was unreadable, his expression hard.
"What are you doing here?" Aric asked, his voice more strained than he had intended. He didn't want to face anyone. Not now. Not like this.
"I could ask you the same thing," Darius replied, his voice steady. "You've been avoiding everyone. What's going on with you?"
Aric turned away from the mirror, feeling his chest tighten. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to let Darius see how weak he truly was, how hopeless he felt.
"I'm fine," Aric muttered, though even to his own ears, it sounded hollow, false.
"Don't lie to me," Darius said, his tone softer now, though still firm. "I've known you long enough to see through that."
Aric clenched his fists at his sides, trying to keep the anger from bubbling up. "I'm not like you," he said bitterly. "I can't be strong. I can't be anything but weak. So just leave me alone. I don't need your pity."
Darius was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost like a warning. "You're not weak, Aric. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you're not. You just have to stop thinking that way."
Aric laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "How am I supposed to stop thinking that way when everything around me tells me I'm useless? You, Jorran, everyone else—they're all right. I'm not strong. I'm not like them."
"No," Darius said sharply, stepping forward. "You're not like them. And you shouldn't be. You're not meant to follow in anyone's shadow, Aric. You're meant to forge your own path. But you're too busy hiding from who you really are. You're stronger than you realize, but you'll never find that strength if you keep running away from it."
Aric stared at Darius, the words sinking in slowly. For the first time, he felt like someone was actually seeing him—seeing beyond the weak, trembling figure he had become.
"I don't know how to be strong," Aric admitted, his voice small. "I don't know how to fight. I don't even know if I want to fight anymore."
Darius's expression softened, his voice gentler now. "Strength doesn't always come from fighting, Aric. Sometimes, it comes from just standing up. From facing what scares you. From accepting who you are, even when it feels impossible."
"I'm scared," Aric confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He hadn't said it aloud before, but now that the weight of it was out in the open, he felt like a thousand pounds had lifted off his chest. "I'm scared that I'll never be enough. That I'll always be weak. That no matter how hard I try, I'll never be what everyone else expects me to be."
Darius took a deep breath, stepping closer to Aric. "You don't have to be what anyone else expects you to be. You only need to be the person you are, the person you're meant to be. But you can't find that person if you don't stop running from yourself."
Aric looked down at the floor, feeling a swell of emotion rise in his chest. He wanted to believe Darius. He wanted to believe that there was a chance for him, that he could change, that he wasn't stuck in this pit of self-doubt. But it was hard to see a way out when every path seemed blocked by his own fear.
"Maybe I'm not ready," Aric whispered, barely audible. "Maybe I'll never be ready."
Darius's voice was firm, but not unkind. "It doesn't matter if you're ready, Aric. What matters is that you keep trying. Every day. Even when it feels impossible."
For a moment, they both stood in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them like a quiet promise.
Finally, Darius spoke again. "You're not alone in this. Not anymore. If you want to change, I'll be here. But you have to take the first step."
Aric nodded, though uncertainty still clouded his mind. He didn't know what the future held, or if he could ever become the man he wished to be. But for the first time in a long while, he felt like there might be a flicker of hope. A flicker that, with time, might just become a flame.
"I'll try," Aric said quietly, more to himself than to Darius.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure if it was the wrong thing to say.