Chapter 9: Lessons in Failure

The ground beneath The Boy was cool and unforgiving, the dirt clinging to his skin as he lay there, defeated. His body throbbed with pain, and his mind felt sluggish, fogged by exhaustion. The words haunted him still: "You're not ready for the pit, but you're getting closer."

Each time the overseer said it, it felt like a reminder of just how far away true readiness was—an endless horizon he was chasing but could never reach. Today, those words echoed louder, mixing with the ache in his bones and the sting of his pride.

He wasn't sure how long he had been lying in the dirt. The yard had grown quieter, the sound of wooden swords clashing fading as the other boys finished their training for the day. The Boy forced himself to push up onto his knees, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain coursing through him, but he knew he couldn't stay on the ground any longer. Staying down meant giving up, and despite everything, he wasn't ready to do that yet.

You have to stand back up. The thought flickered through his mind, fragile but insistent. His body might be broken, but his will hadn't shattered. Not yet.

With great effort, The Boy rose to his feet, swaying slightly as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. His vision swam, and for a moment, the world tilted dangerously. He took a deep breath, grounding himself, forcing the dizziness away. When he finally looked up, he saw the overseer standing at the edge of the yard, arms crossed, watching him.

The overseer's face remained unreadable, but his eyes held something other than the usual cold detachment. It was almost as if he had been waiting, watching to see what The Boy would do next.

"You didn't stay down," the overseer remarked, his voice calm but cutting through the silence like a blade. "That's something."

The Boy remained silent, unsure of whether to feel proud or embarrassed. His body was trembling, the pain still fresh from the brutal training, but he had stood back up. It was the only thing he had left to cling to.

The overseer stepped closer, his gaze never leaving The Boy's face. "You think this is the worst of it?" he asked, gesturing toward the yard where the training dummies still stood, untouched by the brutality of the lesson. "This is nothing compared to the pit."

The pit. The Boy had heard stories, whispers from the older trainees who had already faced it. They spoke of the blood, the violence, the unrelenting pace of the fights. The pit wasn't a place for those still learning—it was a place for those who were ready, or at least thought they were.

The overseer's eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped, low and firm. "The pit will not be kind to you. When you're in there, the only thing that matters is how much you can endure. Not how clever you are. Not how quick. Just how long you can survive when everything in your body is telling you to stop."

The Boy flinched at the truth of the words. He had seen glimpses of that today. No matter how much he had tried to push through the pain, his body had its limits. The chains had dragged him down, Urek's blows had broken him, and all he could do was hold on for as long as possible.

The overseer glanced toward the wooden dummy that still stood across the yard. "You're not ready to face real opponents, not yet. But you're not weak. That's why you're still here." He turned back to The Boy, his eyes hard and unrelenting. "I've seen boys stronger than you crumble under less. They stop fighting when the pain becomes too much."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment, weighing heavily between them.

"You didn't stop," the overseer continued, his voice softening slightly. "But you haven't learned what to do with that yet. Standing back up is one thing. Turning that pain into a weapon is something else entirely."

The Boy stared at the ground, his mind buzzing with the overseer's words. It wasn't just about surviving—it was about finding strength in survival. But that lesson still felt distant, just out of his grasp. Every time he thought he was learning, something else knocked him back down.

You're not ready for the pit, but you're getting closer.

The words dug deeper into him now, less a taunt and more a grim truth. He wasn't ready. Not yet. But the overseer hadn't given up on him, and that meant there was still time.

The overseer sighed, breaking the silence. "Tomorrow, we start again. Slower this time. You need to build the strength to withstand this, bit by bit."

The Boy swallowed hard, nodding. He wasn't sure how much more his body could take, but he didn't have a choice. Not if he wanted to survive. Not if he wanted to one day step into the pit and walk back out.

The overseer turned and started walking back toward the entrance of the yard, but after a few steps, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "There's one thing you need to understand."

The Boy looked up, meeting the overseer's gaze.

"No matter how much you train, no matter how hard you push yourself, there's no guarantee that you'll make it out of the pit alive. The pit doesn't care about potential. It only cares about blood."

The Boy nodded, his throat tightening. He had known this all along, but hearing it so plainly felt like a slap to the face. The pit wasn't just a test of skill or endurance—it was life or death. And the overseer's reminder was clear: most didn't survive it.

But then, the overseer added, almost as an afterthought, "But if you do make it out, it's because you've learned something the others never did."

With that, the overseer turned away and disappeared into the shadows of the stone corridor, leaving The Boy alone in the empty yard.

The Boy stood there, the weight of the overseer's words settling over him like a cloak. He was still standing, despite everything, but the words haunted him, replaying in his mind like a warning. You're not ready for the pit, but you're getting closer.

Would he ever be ready? Would all this pain, all this training, be enough?

He didn't know. But tomorrow, he would return. Tomorrow, he would fight the wooden dummies again. Tomorrow, the overseer would push him harder, and he would keep standing up until his body refused to move.

Because he had no other choice.

The Boy wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles trembling with the effort of simply staying upright. He looked at the training dummies one last time, their wooden frames looming in the dying light of the day.

The pit was coming for him. One day soon, the overseers would decide he was ready, whether he believed it or not. And when that day came, he would have to fight for his life, just like every boy before him.

I'm not ready, he thought, the words echoing through his mind. But I have to be.

With a final deep breath, The Boy turned and made his way back to the stone barracks, his footsteps heavy but determined. The pain of today's failure still burned in his muscles, but tomorrow would be different. It had to be.

Tomorrow, he would get closer.

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