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Ardyn's chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his mind a swirling fog of confusion and rage. The sharp pain that had gripped him moments before slowly ebbed away, but his body was still frail and unresponsive, a far cry from the powerful vessel he once inhabited. He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him, pity and mockery in their gazes, but there was something else too—something softer.
Elyra knelt beside him, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch his shoulder. Her fingers were light, tentative, as if she feared he might shatter beneath her touch. Ardyn's heart clenched at the sight. He had once been the one to protect her, to stand as a pillar of strength. Now, he was the one who needed saving.
"Ardyn… What happened to you?" Elyra's voice was barely a whisper, the shock evident in her tone.
"I... I don't know," Ardyn croaked, his voice weak and foreign. "I was... I was tricked. My body, my power… it's gone. They stole it from me." His words came out in fragments, as if even the act of speaking was too much for him.
Elyra's face was a mask of disbelief. She glanced around, wary of the growing crowd, and motioned for him to stand. "We can't stay here. You'll be seen as mad… or worse."
With Elyra's help, Ardyn managed to rise to his feet, though his legs shook with every step. He felt the weight of his own body—a body that no longer obeyed him as it once had. The humiliation of it gnawed at his very soul.
Elyra guided him through the crowded streets, her face set in determination. She led him to a narrow alley, then into an old building tucked away in the shadows. It was a modest place, far from the opulence of the noble estates Ardyn had once known, but there was a strange sense of peace within its walls.
"This is where I live now," Elyra said quietly, closing the door behind them. "It's not much, but it's safe. You can rest here."
Ardyn barely registered the surroundings as he collapsed onto a worn cot in the corner of the room. The exhaustion was overwhelming, and for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to let go. His mind swirled with memories of his former life—the grand halls of the castle, the people who once bowed to him, the battles he had won, and the love he had shared with Elyra. And then, everything shattered. The betrayal, the curse, the loss of his body—it was all too much.
"I don't understand," Elyra said softly, her voice breaking through his thoughts. "You were... You were the greatest swordsman in the kingdom. How could this happen to you?"
Ardyn closed his eyes, turning away from her gaze. "I was a fool. I thought I was untouchable. I let my pride blind me." He clenched his fists, the anger rising within him once more. "I'll find them. I'll make them pay for what they've done to me."
Elyra shook her head. "You're in no condition to fight anyone right now. You can barely stand." She paused, her tone softening. "You need to heal. You need to accept what's happened before you can do anything else."
Ardyn's gaze turned cold. "I'll never accept this."
Elyra sighed, sitting down next to him. "I understand. But you can't keep going like this. You need to regain your strength, your mana... if it's even possible."
"I'll find a way," he muttered darkly.
For the next few days, Ardyn rested, though his mind never stopped racing. His body felt weak, helpless, and each day he struggled to remember the techniques he had mastered—the complex sword forms, the spells that once flowed so easily through his veins. They were fragments now, broken pieces of a past he couldn't fully reach.
Elyra, ever patient, remained by his side. She tended to his needs, making sure he ate and slept, and she listened to his rants and frustrations without judgment. There were moments when he almost felt as though he could allow himself to trust her again, but the weight of his fall still loomed too large. He could not afford to be weak, not even in front of her.
But then, on the fourth night, something changed.
Elyra had come to him with a simple request: "Let me teach you something."
Ardyn had scoffed. "What could you possibly teach me? You're hardly a swordswoman."
She didn't flinch at his harsh words, instead looking at him with a quiet resolve. "I may not have your strength or your skills, but I know how to survive. I know how to fight with what I have."
Curiosity tugged at Ardyn, despite himself. "Survive? You? I remember you as nothing but a noblewoman with little talent. What could you possibly know about survival?"
Elyra's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You've never truly seen me, Ardyn. You've never seen the lengths I've gone to in order to survive after my family fell. The skills I've learned—on the streets, in the shadows—are the only things that have kept me alive. And I've survived far longer than many of your noble peers ever could."
Ardyn was silent for a long moment, her words sinking in. He had never truly seen her—not beyond the sheltered life of the noblewoman he had once been so enamored with. He had always assumed she was weak, but now... now he wasn't so sure.
"You're right," he said finally, his voice soft but firm. "Show me."
The next morning, Elyra began teaching him a series of basic survival techniques—how to use his surroundings to his advantage, how to focus his remaining energy when fighting, and how to sense the smallest shifts in the air, the kind of tricks that could help a person survive even without mana. They were simple, yet effective, and each lesson left Ardyn feeling a little stronger, a little more grounded in his new reality.
But it wasn't just physical training. Elyra also began teaching him something more profound: the importance of adapting. She spoke of the harsh realities of the world, the people who had been forced into the shadows, and the art of understanding others.
"It's not just about strength, Ardyn," she said one evening as they sat by the fire. "It's about using what you have to find a way forward. Strength can be a burden if it's all you rely on. Adapt, learn, grow. And you'll find a new path."
Ardyn couldn't help but be intrigued. In his previous life, he had relied solely on his strength, his mana, and his prowess with the sword. But now, those things were gone. Perhaps Elyra was right. Perhaps the only way forward was to adapt, to change his thinking.
For the first time in weeks, Ardyn allowed himself to believe there was a way forward.
Days passed, and slowly but surely, Ardyn regained some of his strength. He no longer felt like a broken man—he felt like a warrior in the making, albeit one who had to start from the beginning. Elyra's teachings had helped him in ways he couldn't yet fully comprehend.
But with each passing day, a new realization began to take root in Ardyn's mind: his true enemy was not just the man who had stolen his body, but his own pride. He had thought himself above all others, and it was that arrogance that had led him to this point. Now, he would have to rebuild, not just his body, but his very soul.
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