Kael steadied his breathing, forcing the sting of their words to fade. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his temple, but he lifted the practice sword once more. The weight of it was familiar, heavy not from wood but from everything it represented—his weakness, his failures, the shame of his clan.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, recalling the polished swords his peers carried, forged steel glowing with enchantments, blessed by their clans' spirit contracts. His weapon was nothing but splintering wood, worn down from years of use. Still, it was his, and until he earned better, it was all he had.
With a grunt, he swung.
Crack!
The sword split mid-strike. The jagged edge snapped, the tip spinning into the dirt with a dull thud. Kael froze, staring down at the fractured hilt in his hands. A cold silence settled over the yard, broken only by the fading laughter of the bullies in the distance.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the useless fragment of wood. His fingers clenched around the broken hilt, splinters digging into his palm. Rage bubbled up inside him—not at the sword, not even at his bullies, but at himself.
"Even this…" His voice was hoarse, nearly a whisper. "Even this can't hold out for me."
The reality struck hard. He wasn't strong enough to protect a sword, let alone wield one. He let the pieces fall from his hand, clattering onto the stone floor. His knees threatened to buckle, but he forced himself upright.
The courtyard was empty. No mentor would step in to encourage him. No classmate would offer help. He had always been alone here, chasing strength that refused to answer him.
And yet… he couldn't give up. Not now. Not ever.
He clenched his fists and whispered to the fading sunlight:
"One day, I'll prove them wrong. One day… I'll make them see me."
The words carried no power, no magic, no proof. But for Kael, they were a vow.