In a simple courtyard, a young boy was practicing his swings on a wooden post and each time he swung out, the tranquil atmosphere set by the empty and ill-maintained courtyard would disperse as a thump sounded out whenever his wooden sword smacked against the post.

The wooden sword had numerous notches and grazes; it was jagged to a state that it was now unwieldy and impractical to use. It was very worn down that it would make one wonder on why he was using it still but to the boy, the wooden sword was all he had. He looked weak but his grip on his sword was firm.

His stance and posture were completely unrefined, with each swing leaving him unbalanced and unstable, and most times would cause him to stagger forcing him to regain his footing. By then, he would resume his stance and strike at the post again with all the strength he had. In this empty courtyard, he silently continued to practice his swings.

Ever since that day, he had done this routine countless times in order to come closer in fulfilling his dream, no matter how small the progress was. He was weak and devoid of talent --he knew that himself. With how he was, it seemed impossible in becoming what he wanted to be but he persevered still –hoping that through sheer willpower and repeated training, he would succeed. Like a scholar engrossed in his studies, he focused intently in perfecting his swings –believing that all would not be for naught.

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When dusk came, he was splayed beside the wooden post, heaving and gasping for air and in his hand was the wooden sword being grasped tightly. His training for the day had finally ended and on his face was a soft smile.

“Tomorrow is the day--” he spoke to himself as he stood up, “--when I will be one step closer to my dream.” His body was hurting all over from the exhaustion, and when he tried to prop himself up, he lost balance from the unexpected pain and fell. But before he could mull over the simple lost, he immediately stood back up with a soft shout as if to spite the minor setback that it could be overcome.

With the sword as a makeshift crutch, he stood up. “I won’t let all the effort I did be in vain,” he said as he hobbled slowly to the exit of the courtyard. “Tomorrow, I will pass the Order’s exam,” he spoke to boost his confidence. “By then, I will prove that all of them were wrong!” Excited and anxious, he trod the unpaved path back, with his figure exuding a lonely but unyielding will. It was a slow and painful trek, but each step brought him closer to town.