A cold breeze swept through the training grounds as Clint swung his sword, the early morning light barely breaking the horizon. His breaths came ragged, each swing more labored than the last. It was then he became painfully aware of his lack of stamina—every movement drained him, his muscles aching, lungs burning with each desperate gasp for air.
With the first rays of the sun bathing him in a golden warmth, Clint grit his teeth and pressed on, forcing his body to comply. Swing after swing, he continued, the weight of the sword becoming heavier in his hands. But as the minutes dragged on, fatigue began to aff him tightly, his strength wavering. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
People began to gather, filling the once-empty grounds, their murmurs rising like the tide.
"Look at him..."
"Poor guy..."
"Nobles will always be superior..."
"This is pointless."
"He's less than a commoner, isn't he?"
"Is he even from here?"
The words cut deeper than any sword. Clint's already fatigued body felt the weight of their disdain as if it had seeped into his bones. Each sneering comment echoed in his mind, amplifying his frustration and exhaustion. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the heavy burden of inadequacy they had so casually placed upon him.
Trying to drown out the whispers, trying to block the stares. His pride urged him to stay, to prove them wrong, but his body—his betraying, aching body—had other plans. With a low grunt, he forced himself to his feet, shoulders slumped with the weight of his failure, and left the grounds in silence.
"Just a little longer..." he whispered to himself, eyes hardening. "Just a little longer, and i will definitely pass the Examinations"
"Where did he go? Did he tell you?!" Will's voice rang out, laced with worry, as he stood by the reception table, his hands gripping the edge tightly. He had been speaking with the innkeeper, he rushed outside when he realized Clint was gone. The older woman gave a shrug, offering no help beyond a soft smile.
*The door creaked softly.*
Will's head snapped towards the sound. His breath hitched as he saw his brother, Clint, slowly pushing the door open, his posture hunched, shoulders drooping. His face was pale, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Clint moved as though the air itself was weighing him down.
"Where have you been?!" Will shouted, his voice cracking as he rushed over. "It's so early in the morning!"
Clint looked up, a faint smile crossing his lips, though it did little to hide the fatigue. "I apologize. You just seemed to be sleeping so well, I didn't want to disturb you." He chuckled softly, but even that sound was thin, weak.
Will's eyes narrowed, concern bubbling in his chest. He studied his brother carefully—how his legs trembled ever so slightly, the way his breathing was shallow. This wasn't just exhaustion from a bad night of sleep. Will's worry deepened, but he forced himself to calm down. He took a deep breath, softening his tone.
"Clint," he began, quieter now,
"you can't just leave without telling me. This isn't home. It's a strange place for us... What if something happened? What if a group of men blocked your way when you're like this? Can you even fight back?"
Clint's smile faltered for a moment. He opened his mouth to respond, but Will's words had struck something deep. He knew his brother was right, but admitting that weakness stung more than any wound.
"Next time," Will continued, more gently now, "just let me know, alright? You don't have to do everything alone."
For a moment, Clint said nothing, his gaze lowering to the floor. Then, with a weary nod, he finally muttered, "I will. I promise."
But even as he spoke, the weight on his shoulders remained—one not so easily lifted by words alone.
"What's with all the noise this early?" Shin muttered, rubbing his face and yawning as he stumbled out of bed.
"Your buddy Clint here," Will nodded towards Clint, "looks like he just came from the training grounds. Just look at him—completely wiped out."
Shin's brow furrowed as he took a closer look at Clint, who stood hunched, drenched in sweat, and breathing heavily.
"Don't push yourself too hard, Clint," Shin warned, his voice firm but concerned. "You won't reach your destination if you can't even move.
As Clint tried to walk past him, Shin instinctively reached out, grabbing his arm. "What happened?" he asked, his tone now more serious, eyes filled with curiosity.
Will, noticing the tension in the room and the worry in his brother's face, stepped closer. "Yeah, Clint. Tell us. What's going on?"
Clint swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their stares. Sweat trickled down his temple as he avoided eye contact.
"Remember the nightmare I had the other night?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"I think it's trying to warn me... about something."
—
Ten minutes earlier:
Shin moved slowly, his body heavy with fatigue, when a pure white cat crossed his path. Its fur gleamed unnaturally in the dim light. Without thinking, he reached out to pat its head, but the moment his fingers made contact, everything went black.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself elsewhere. A shallow gust of wind circled him, chilling him to the bone. Faint, eerie footsteps echoed from all around, though nothing could be seen. The air felt thick, oppressive, as the voice of a woman—the same one from his nightmare—began to fill his mind once again.
"DIE, YOU DIED, YOU DID NOT, YOU DID NOT DIE, DEAD, YOU'RE ALIVE—DEAD!"
The voice was fractured, its tone deranged and accusatory.
"You... are... a..."
Suddenly, with a loud bang, everything went silent. In the dark, a figure appeared—a grotesque, child-like face, twisted into a grin. Its eyes gleamed, soulless, as it giggled with menacing delight.
"You... are... a... TROUBLE!"
Clint snapped back to reality, breathing heavily. He found himself still standing, hand resting on the head of the cat. But as his vision cleared, he noticed something horrific—the child-like figure was no longer a figment of his nightmare. It stood in the distance, holding the body of the cat, headless, blood dripping to the ground in an unnatural silence.
The figure's grin widened, and in a chilling, mocking tone, it spoke to someone and whispered:
…..
"That guy canceled my sorcery"
…..
"He really is powerful.. Isn't that right? CLARA?
…..