The days that followed Eldric's intervention felt different to Aric. There was no sudden shift, no miraculous change overnight, but something within him stirred. It wasn't a grand transformation, nor was it an easy victory. But every time he stepped into the courtyard to face the sword again, there was a quiet determination that hadn't been there before. The weight of the blade in his hands was still daunting, but now, with every swing, he felt a small shift—an unfamiliar but growing sense that he might just be able to stand on his own.
Eldric had begun watching him train more closely, though he never offered much advice. He would stand silently at the edge of the courtyard, his sharp eyes taking in every movement, every flaw, and occasionally, he would nod, a gesture that was small but filled with meaning. Aric didn't know if Eldric believed in him, but he wasn't about to ask for reassurance. It was up to him to prove that he was worth the time and effort.
Today, like every day, Aric entered the courtyard with a sense of purpose that he hadn't had before. He was alone, as usual, his only company the distant clatter of swords from the other soldiers. He had learned to ignore the stares, the whispers. They were part of the world he had to navigate now, and he wouldn't let them stop him.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and began his warm-up drills. His movements were still stiff, the form still imperfect, but with every pass, his body felt just a little more fluid, just a little more in sync with the sword. Sweat dripped down his brow, stinging his eyes, but he kept going, determined to push through. He was tired—exhausted, even—but this was the only way forward.
"Not bad."
The voice was quiet but filled with the weight of authority. Aric froze, his sword hanging loosely in his grip as he turned to find Eldric standing behind him, arms crossed. His eyes were assessing, cold, but there was something else there too—a flicker of approval, perhaps.
Aric's heart pounded in his chest. He wasn't sure what to say. He was still unused to having anyone watch him, especially Eldric. But the captain said nothing further, instead gesturing toward the target ahead of him.
"Try again," Eldric commanded. "Focus on your footwork. If your stance is weak, it doesn't matter how strong your strike is."
Aric nodded, trying to ignore the nerves that crept up on him. He repositioned himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground, and swung his sword with a practiced motion. The blade cut the air with more precision this time, the movement smoother than it had been just days ago. But when his strike landed against the target, it wasn't quite right. The swing had been too wide, too predictable.
Eldric sighed, but there was no malice in the sound, only a quiet disappointment. "Better, but not enough. You rely too much on power. You need control."
Aric frowned, sweat beading at his temples. He was trying his best, but it never seemed to be enough. "I don't know how to control it. It feels too... too big for me."
Eldric raised an eyebrow. "Control comes with understanding. And understanding comes with patience. You want to be a warrior, Aric? Then you need to be patient with yourself. The blade will respond when you learn to listen to it."
Aric stared at the sword in his hands. His body ached from the repeated motions, his mind clouded with frustration, but Eldric's words lingered in his thoughts. Listen to it. The sword wasn't just a tool to strike, it was something more—something that required a kind of unity with the person wielding it.
"Let me show you," Eldric said, stepping forward. "This time, I want you to focus on your breath. Don't think about the swing, don't think about the target. Just focus on the rhythm. Move with it, not against it."
Aric hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He was willing to try anything at this point. He inhaled deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs, and exhaled slowly, calming his racing heart.
The first swing was slow. Tentative. But something felt different. His grip wasn't as tight. His movements were less forced. The second swing followed, smoother than the first, and then another, and another. His body was still stiff, but the flow of the movements began to feel more natural. It was as if the sword wasn't just an object—it was an extension of his own will, responding to the pulse of his own rhythm.
He didn't land the perfect strike that time, but it didn't matter. For the first time, he felt in control.
"Good," Eldric said, his voice low and approving. "That's progress."
Aric's chest swelled with a mixture of pride and disbelief. It had been a small improvement, but it felt like a mountain. He could feel the spark inside him flicker brighter. There was potential within him, more than he had given himself credit for. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as hopeless as he had believed.
"Remember," Eldric continued, "this is just the beginning. Strength isn't just physical. It's in your mind, your heart, and your spirit. And it takes time."
Aric wiped the sweat from his brow, nodding, feeling something stir inside him. He wasn't there yet—he knew that. But the path had opened up a little wider, and he wasn't afraid to take the first step down it anymore.
"Thank you," Aric said quietly, his voice full of the gratitude he didn't often express. He hadn't realized how much he had craved guidance until this moment. Eldric didn't have to teach him, but he had.
Eldric simply nodded, his eyes distant for a moment before he looked back at Aric. "Just remember—no one becomes great by standing still. Keep moving forward, even when it feels impossible. Even when you don't think you can."
Aric watched him as he turned to leave, the weight of the captain's words settling heavily in his chest. Keep moving forward. It wasn't just about swinging a sword. It was about more than that. It was about living—about pushing through the doubts, the pain, the fear.
And for the first time, Aric felt like maybe, just maybe, he could.