The training hall was buzzing with energy as students sparred, their movements fast and fluid. The clang of wooden swords and the rhythm of feet shuffling across the floor echoed through the space. But amidst the bustle, Zeke stood frozen, his sword in hand, eyes unfocused.
One more swing. Just one more.
His body was aching, exhausted, but he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when the pressure to keep moving was all he had left. He tightened his grip on the sword, willing himself to swing again.
Focus.
His limbs were heavy, his muscles screaming for rest. But he wasn't about to give in. The others were still training, still moving, and he couldn't afford to stop. Every time he did, the sensation lingered—the feeling that he was being pulled back into something he didn't want to face.
"Zeke, seriously," a voice broke through his haze of exhaustion.
He turned to see Eliza standing a few paces away, arms crossed, watching him with concern. Her eyes searched him, and Zeke immediately felt a pang of irritation. He didn't need her worry. Not now. Not when he had a goal to reach.
"I'm fine," he muttered, barely meeting her gaze. His breath was heavy, his chest tight. "I'm just training."
Eliza raised an eyebrow, stepping forward. "You've been at it for hours. You're not going to get any better if you keep pushing yourself like this. You need to rest."
Zeke clenched his jaw, his grip on the sword tightening. "I'm fine," he repeated, his voice sharper this time. "I need to keep going. Just leave me alone."
"But you're exhausted," Eliza pressed, her voice softening. "If you don't take a break, you're going to hurt yourself. You've been going non-stop."
"I said, I'm fine!" Zeke snapped, his frustration boiling over. His sword shot forward with force, slicing through the air with a loud swish, but it was as much to push her away as it was to get back to training.
Eliza didn't back down. She stepped closer, her eyes not leaving his face. "You're not fine, Zeke. I can see it. You're barely holding it together. And you know I'm right. If you don't take a break, you're going to collapse."
Zeke's heart was racing, his mind spinning. She was right. His body was beyond tired, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't give in. If he stopped, even for a moment, it would feel like... like he was losing control. Like he was letting everything slip through his fingers.
"I don't need you to tell me what to do," he growled, voice full of frustration.
"You don't get it," Eliza said, her tone shifting to something softer. "I know you're pushing yourself because you're trying to forget, but this isn't the way. You're just going to break down, Zeke. You need to rest. Please."
His chest tightened. He couldn't let her in. He couldn't let her see how broken he felt, how much the weight of everything was pressing down on him. He had to keep moving. He had to keep training. If he stopped now...
"I'm fine, Eliza. I'm fine," he muttered, almost to himself, as if repeating it would make it true.
Eliza stepped even closer, her voice lowering. "You're not fine. And it's okay to not be okay."
Zeke snapped.
"Please! Don't bother me!" His voice rang out louder than he meant, startling even himself. The anger, the frustration, everything boiled over in a surge of emotion he couldn't contain. He felt the sting of it in his throat as his body tensed.
His eyes locked onto Eliza's. "I said leave me alone!" He shouted, his voice rough. "I don't need you to pity me. I don't need anyone's help!" He turned away abruptly, his boots thudding loudly on the floor as he walked toward the door, his fists clenched at his sides.
Eliza didn't say anything. She didn't follow him. He didn't expect her to.
He needed space. He needed to be alone.
Zeke's breath came in ragged bursts as he stepped into the cold night air. The training hall behind him seemed a distant memory, the sound of it fading the farther he walked. He had to get away. He had to clear his head. The city streets were quiet at this hour, with only a few people walking here and there, minding their own business. Zeke didn't pay attention to them. He couldn't afford to. He needed to focus, to shut everything out.
He pressed a hand against his forehead, willing away the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him. Every fiber of his being was telling him to stop, to let his body rest, but he couldn't. Not after everything. Not after everything he'd lost.
Just keep moving. Just keep training.
That's all he knew how to do anymore. He could bury the pain in the movements, in the strike of his sword, in the sweat and effort it took to push his body to its limits.
But the pain didn't go away. It never did.