The morning light barely touched the courtyard, casting long shadows across the stone ground as Aric stood in the corner, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. He could hear the sounds of laughter from the training yard, the thud of feet against dirt, the clashing of blades as the others sparred. They were so full of life, full of purpose, and Aric? He was just a shadow, a ghost haunting the edges of a world that never seemed to notice him.
Today was no different than the others. He'd been here for months now, and each day, the weight of his failure seemed to grow heavier. He couldn't keep up. He couldn't lift a sword without shaking. He couldn't defend himself, let alone anyone else. He was nothing but a burden, someone who didn't belong.
As he stood there, watching the others move with confidence, with grace, it felt like the ground beneath him was pulling him deeper, suffocating him, reminding him of everything he wasn't.
"Look at this guy," a voice called out, snapping him from his thoughts. It was low, mocking, dripping with disdain.
Aric froze. His heart began to race, his palms sweating. He knew exactly who it was.
Jorran.
The biggest of the men, the strongest, the one who looked at Aric like he was a joke. Jorran, who had never once spared him a kind word, who had never once looked at him with anything but contempt.
Jorran stepped into the corner of the courtyard where Aric stood, his broad chest puffed out, the smirk on his face stretching wider as he saw Aric's discomfort. The others followed, their laughter echoing in the cold air.
"Aric, you still here? Thought you'd be off hiding in a corner somewhere, waiting for us to forget you exist," Jorran taunted, circling him like a wolf sizing up its prey.
Aric swallowed, his throat dry, his heart hammering in his chest. "I'm not hiding," he whispered, but his voice was so faint, it barely registered.
Jorran chuckled, low and cruel. "Oh, but you are. You've been hiding since the day you showed up. Hiding from the truth. Hiding from the fact that you'll never be one of us."
The words stung more than Aric cared to admit. But they were true, weren't they? He wasn't like them. He wasn't strong. He couldn't fight. And every time he tried, he failed.
Jorran leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low growl. "You're nothing, Aric. No one wants you here. You think you're one of us? You'll never be one of us."
Aric's stomach churned. He wanted to say something, to fight back, to tell them they were wrong. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he stood there, frozen, his fists clenched at his sides. He couldn't even stand up for himself.
"Come on, Aric," Jorran goaded, stepping closer, pushing his chest against Aric's. "Do something. Show us you're not as useless as you look."
Aric's breath hitched in his chest, his knees trembling. He didn't know how to fight. He didn't know how to make them stop. He could feel their eyes on him, the pressure mounting, suffocating him. The ridicule, the laughter, the whispers—it was all too much.
With a trembling hand, he reached for the sword at his side. His fingers were cold, slick with sweat, and the sword felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in his grasp. His hands shook violently as he held it, the blade wavering in the air, far from the confident, graceful movements of the other men.
Jorran laughed again, loud and mocking. "Pathetic," he spat. "You think you can fight me? You can't even stand still without shaking like a leaf."
The others joined in, their laughter like daggers in Aric's chest. He wanted to run. He wanted to escape, to disappear, to never have to face their cruelty again. But he couldn't. Not now.
"Come on, Aric," Jorran taunted again. "Show us what you've got. Prove you're not a joke."
The world seemed to close in around him, the sounds of their laughter drowning out everything else. His mind raced, heart pounding, his hands trembling so violently that he could barely hold onto the sword. He was useless. He was weak. He couldn't even protect himself. How could he ever protect anyone else?
With a shaky breath, Aric swung the sword.
It was a feeble attempt, a desperate one, fueled more by the need to do something than any real hope of success. The sword cut through the air, missing Jorran entirely as it crashed into the dirt.
More laughter. The world around Aric felt like it was spinning, his vision blurring, his chest tightening as he fought to breathe.
"See? I told you," Jorran sneered, his voice full of derision. "Pathetic. You don't even belong here. You never will."
Aric dropped to his knees, the sword slipping from his grasp as the weight of Jorran's words crushed him. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't keep pretending that he was something he wasn't. He was weak. He was useless. And he always would be.
The laughter faded into the distance, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing in the silent courtyard.
"I don't belong here," he whispered to himself, the truth sinking in like a dagger to the heart. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't worthy. He never would be.
The courtyard seemed even colder now, the weight of his own failure pressing down on him with suffocating force. He wanted to disappear, to vanish into the darkness where no one could see him, where no one could judge him.
But he stayed.
Because he had nowhere else to go.