The Weight of Inadequacy

Life is a journey that teaches us through our experiences. Every day brings new challenges and choices, shaping who we are and how we understand the world. It's common to seek happiness, but true growth often comes from facing difficulties. When things are tough, we learn valuable lessons about ourselves and our strength.

Relationships with others are also important. Friends and family share our moments of joy and pain, helping us feel connected and understood. By opening up and sharing our stories, we find support and create deeper bonds.

It's essential to notice our feelings as well. Whether we feel joy, sadness, anger, or fear, each emotion is a part of being human. Accepting all these feelings helps us experience life fully and find meaning in even the smallest moments.

In the end, life is about balance. It's about embracing both the highs and lows, understanding that each part plays a role in our growth. By reflecting on our experiences and learning from them, we can navigate our path with greater wisdom and compassion, allowing us to appreciate the beauty and complexity of life.

***Remius POV***

It's been almost a year since that fateful day on the lake. I'm now nine years old, and I don't want to talk about the constant rowing, the near-death experiences, and the endless torment that seemed to be reserved just for me. I'm not sure what it is with my luck—ranked as a solid 10—but I'm beginning to wonder if it's some sort of cosmic joke. I don't believe in luck anymore, not when I've been its so-called "beneficiary."

Every ounce of my frustration, my fear, and my pain has been poured into my diary. Maybe someday, someone will find it. Maybe then they'll understand just how much I've suffered, how close I've come to breaking. My heart feels like it's been frozen stiff, encased in an ice that grows thicker with each passing day. And why wouldn't it be? My stats haven't changed. Not a single one. I'm still stuck at F-rank, still the weakest among us.

Meanwhile, Liora, my sister, and Lysander, my brother, have both reached E-rank. Their entire beings have changed. It's not just their strength that's different—they're different. They've tried to explain it to me, how the world feels new to them, how their senses are sharper, their reflexes quicker. It's like they've stepped into another dimension, one where everything is just… more. And here I am, stuck in this mundane reality, watching them from the sidelines as they become something greater.

I'm this close to giving up. But there's still one more year left. One more year of this grueling training, and then maybe—just maybe—I'll finally see some change. Please, let me increase my strength. Please, let something happen. I don't know how much longer I can keep going like this.

Another day begins, and we arrive at the training ground, as we have so many times before. The sun is already high in the sky, beating down on us with unrelenting heat. The air feels heavy, thick with the weight of expectation. Liora and Lysander stand beside me, both of them radiating a quiet confidence that I can't share. They've grown so much over the past year, and it shows in every movement they make, every word they speak.

We wait in silence as our instructor approaches, her cold face as unreadable as ever. Her gaze sweeps over us, taking in every detail, every flaw. She stops in front of us, her arms crossed over her chest, and I can feel the tension in the air grow thicker.

"Have you improved?" she asks, her voice sharp and cutting. "I don't see how you could survive out there with such meager strength. It's embarrassing!"

Her words are like daggers, each one finding its mark with cruel precision. I know she's right. I haven't improved. I'm still as weak as I was two years ago, and the thought of surviving out there—wherever "out there" is—feels like an impossibility.

But her words seem to hit Liora and Lysander harder than they hit me. I can see it in their faces, the way their expressions harden, the way their posture stiffens. They've worked so hard, and yet here she is, belittling their efforts, making them feel small again.

Lysander, always the more outspoken of the two, raises his hand in defiance. "My sister and I have reached E-rank!" he says, his voice filled with a mix of pride and frustration. "Are we really that weak?"

For a moment, there's silence. The instructor's gaze shifts to Lysander, her eyes narrowing as she takes him in. There's no warmth in her expression, no sign of approval or acknowledgment of his achievement. Instead, there's only apathy, a cold indifference that sends a shiver down my spine.

"You think you're strong?" she asks, her voice laced with a cruel edge. "You start to quiver when I only release C-rank aura, and you think you can survive?"

With that, she releases her aura—a suffocating wave of energy that crashes over us like a tidal wave. It's overwhelming, pressing down on us from all sides, making it hard to breathe. I can see the strain on Liora and Lysander's faces, the way they grit their teeth and clench their fists, trying to resist the crushing weight of her aura. Their faces turn red with effort, and I can see their pride faltering under the pressure.

It's a harsh reminder of just how far we still have to go.

For a moment, I allow myself to feel the full weight of my own inadequacy. Here I am, barely able to withstand even the remnants of her aura, while my siblings struggle against it with all their might. They've grown stronger, yes, but even they are still so far from where they need to be. And me? I'm still at the bottom, struggling just to keep my head above water.

The instructor lets out a low chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. "Strength is not something you claim just because you've ranked up," she says, her voice dripping with disdain. "It's something you prove. And so far, none of you have proven anything."

Her words hang in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating us with their weight. I can see the doubt creeping into Liora and Lysander's eyes, the way their confidence wavers under her harsh scrutiny. They've worked so hard, and yet here she is, tearing them down with nothing more than a few well-placed words.

But as much as it hurts to see them struggle, I can't help but feel a strange sense of relief. At least I'm not the only one. At least I'm not the only one who feels small and insignificant under her gaze. Maybe, in some twisted way, we're all in this together.

The instructor finally withdraws her aura, and I can see the visible relief on Liora and Lysander's faces as the pressure lifts. They straighten up, their faces still red from the effort, but there's a new resolve in their eyes now. They're not going to let her words break them. They've come too far for that.

But what about me? Where do I stand in all of this? Am I going to keep struggling at F-rank while they continue to grow stronger? Or is there still a chance for me to catch up, to prove that I'm not as weak as I seem?

The thought gnaws at me as we move into our next round of training. The instructor doesn't give us a moment to rest—she never does. There's always another challenge, another test of our strength and endurance. Today is no different.

We're back at the lake again, the same one where I nearly lost my life countless times over the past year. The memories of those experiences still haunt me, the feel of the oars in my hands, the burn in my muscles, the looming presence of that monstrous creature lurking beneath the surface. But there's no time to dwell on those memories now. The instructor is watching, her cold eyes following our every move, and I know that any hesitation could be fatal.

The boats are waiting for us, just like they always are. Three small vessels, each one barely large enough to hold a single person. The lake stretches out before us, its surface calm and deceptively serene. But I know better than to trust appearances. Beneath that calm exterior lies danger, waiting for any sign of weakness.

"Row," the instructor orders, her voice as cold as the water itself.

We climb into our boats, the familiar dread settling in my stomach. My hands grip the oars, and for a moment, I feel the weight of the past year pressing down on me. I've done this so many times before, and yet it never gets easier. The fear never goes away.

But I row anyway. What choice do I have?

The water resists with every stroke, the oars cutting through the surface with a dull splash. The strain in my arms is immediate, the familiar burn settling in as I push the boat forward. I can see Liora and Lysander ahead of me, their movements smooth and practiced. They've grown stronger, more confident in their abilities. But for me, every stroke feels like a battle, a struggle to keep moving forward.

The creature doesn't show itself today, but that doesn't make the task any easier. The threat is always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment I falter. I can feel its presence, a constant reminder of just how close I've come to death before.

But I don't stop. I keep rowing, even as my muscles scream in protest, even as my mind urges me to give up. Because I can't give up. Not yet. Not when there's still a chance—no matter how small—that I can change, that I can become stronger.

Finally, we reach the other side of the lake. My arms are trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps, but I made it. We made it. The instructor is waiting for us, her expression as unreadable as ever.

"Again," she says simply.

And so we do it again. And again. And again. The days blur together in a haze of pain and exhaustion, the endless cycle of rowing and training and barely surviving. But through it all, I hold on to one small hope: that one day, I'll be more than just an F-rank. One day, I'll prove that I'm not as weak as I seem.

As we reach the shore for what feels like the hundredth time, the exhaustion is almost unbearable. My arms feel like they're made of lead, my muscles burning with a relentless ache that never seems to fade. Even breathing is a struggle, each breath coming in short, ragged gasps as I try to recover from the endless rowing.

Liora and Lysander are faring better than I am, of course. They've adapted more quickly, their increased strength showing in the way they handle the oars with far more ease than I can muster. But even they are visibly worn down, their faces flushed with exertion, their movements slower than usual.

The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light across the lake, but none of us can appreciate the beauty of it. We're too tired, too drained to care about anything other than the relief of having made it through another day. But that relief is short-lived, as the sound of our instructor's voice cuts through the stillness.

"Today is the last session for training via rowing on the lake," she announces, her voice sharp and devoid of any warmth. There's a certain finality in her tone that makes my heart skip a beat. I glance at my siblings, and I can see the same tension mirrored in their eyes. None of us dare to hope that this will be a respite.

The instructor's gaze sweeps over us, cold and calculating, as if she's judging every ounce of effort we've put in over the past year. Her expression remains unreadable, but there's an underlying air of disappointment in the way she carries herself, as though she's never been satisfied with our performance.

"We will move on to a more grueling task," she continues, her voice dropping lower, almost ominous. "One that will mentally and physically challenge you in ways you've never imagined. Worse than what you've been doing so far."

My heart sinks at her words. Worse? How could anything be worse than this? The endless rowing, the constant threat of danger lurking beneath the water, the exhaustion that never seems to leave? But there's no doubt in her tone, no hesitation in the way she delivers the news. Whatever she has in store for us, it's going to push us even further than before.

"Running," she says, almost casually, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "It's easy. You can shut down your mind, and your body will still keep going."

The words hang in the air like a challenge, but there's something unsettling about the way she says them. Easy? That doesn't sound right. Nothing about this training has been easy, and I doubt this will be any different. My legs, already tired from the strain of rowing, seem to protest at the mere thought of it.

She continues, her voice unyielding. "Rowing may have allowed you brief periods of rest when you picked up speed, but this next task? There will be no rest. No breaks. Just constant, unrelenting movement."

I swallow hard, the knot in my stomach tightening. The way she describes it sends a shiver down my spine. I can already picture it—hours, days, weeks of endless running, the ground beneath my feet never giving way to the brief relief of stillness. My mind races with the possibilities, each one more daunting than the last.

And then, for the first time in all the months we've spent training under her, our instructor smiles. It's a cold, unsettling smile, one that doesn't reach her eyes. There's something almost predatory about it, something that makes my blood run cold.

"But don't worry," she says, her tone suddenly light, as if she's discussing the weather. "I will pray to the elements for you."

The words send a chill through the air, and I can see the unease spreading through my siblings as well. The way she says it, that mocking smile still on her face, it feels more like a curse than a blessing. It's as if she's already resigned to the idea that we won't make it through this next phase of training unscathed.

Her smile lingers for a moment longer before it fades, and the cold, detached expression returns to her face. "Rest up tonight," she says, her voice returning to its usual harshness. "Tomorrow, your real training begins."

She turns on her heel and walks away, leaving us standing there, too stunned to move. The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air, pressing down on us like the suffocating aura she had unleashed earlier.

Liora is the first to break the silence, her voice quiet but tinged with a hint of fear. "Running… How bad do you think it will be?"

Lysander clenches his fists, his jaw tight. "Worse than rowing, apparently," he mutters. "I just… I don't get it. Why does it always have to be like this?"

I stay silent, my gaze fixed on the ground. I don't have the answers. I don't know why our instructor pushes us so hard, why every task seems to be designed to break us. But what I do know is that tomorrow is going to be even worse than today. And the day after that? I don't even want to think about it.

As we make our way back to our quarters, the reality of what's coming begins to settle in. I can feel the exhaustion in my bones, the weight of the past year pressing down on me with every step I take. But there's no escape from it. There never has been. All I can do is keep moving forward, one painful step at a time.

That night, sleep doesn't come easily. My mind is too restless, filled with thoughts of what's to come. The fear, the uncertainty, the constant, nagging doubt that I won't be able to keep up. That I'll be the one who falls behind, the one who can't endure the next grueling task.

And then, as if to make matters worse, the memory of the instructor's smile haunts me. The way she had looked at us, as though she knew something we didn't. As though she had already seen what would happen, and it didn't bode well for any of us.

I pull the blanket tighter around myself, trying to chase away the chill that seems to have settled deep in my bones. But no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the feeling of dread that has taken root in my chest. Tomorrow is coming, and with it, the beginning of something even worse than the endless rowing.

For now, all I can do is pray to the elements myself—not for strength or endurance, but for survival.