James trudged through the Mire, his sword hanging loosely at his side, his mind clouded by exhaustion and the overwhelming weight of the Veil. It wasn’t just the battle with the Riftlings that drained him—it was everything. The constant pull of the Veil, the shifting landscape, the endless shadows that seemed to whisper and claw at his thoughts. He was tired. He had done everything he could to fight it, but it felt like it wasn’t enough. Like he wasn’t enough.

He hadn’t noticed Derrin fall in beside him until the boy spoke.

“You’re falling apart, you know,” Derrin’s voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through the thick air between them.

James didn’t respond at first. His eyes were focused on the path ahead, his mind too preoccupied with the swirling thoughts of failure, of weakness. But Derrin’s words rang in his ears, a spark in the back of his mind that refused to be ignored.

“Yeah? And what do you want me to do about it?” James muttered, more to himself than to Derrin. The words came out in frustration, but beneath it, there was a faint trace of shame. “I’m just tired. I can’t keep this up.”

Derrin scoffed, the sound sharp and almost amused. “You’re a Forsyth, aren’t you?” he asked, though the question was more like a challenge than an inquiry. “Is this what Forsyths do now? Give up at the first sign of trouble?”

James bristled at the mention of his bloodline, but he didn’t respond immediately. The name Forsyth—his family, his legacy—carried weight. For a moment, it felt like the very earth beneath his feet was pressing down on him, forcing him to remember. He was supposed to be different. He wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Derrin continued, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “You’ve got honor, James. You’re from one of the most powerful families in this world. Honor. You think it’s just about blood and power? It’s about strength, about standing tall even when everything around you wants to drag you down. You’re not some weakling. You’re a Forsyth. You’re better than this.”

The words stung, but they also resonated in James’s chest, a part of him itching to stand tall, to feel that strength again, even if just for a moment. But the Veil, the Mire, the constant draining feeling—how could he be the man they all expected him to be when the world felt like it was collapsing in on him?

“You don’t get it,” James muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “You don’t know what it’s like. The Veil, the power… it’s not just some challenge I can fight. It’s like it’s eating me alive, Derrin. I’m not the same. I don’t feel like I’m even me anymore.”

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Derrin’s eyes narrowed. He stepped in front of James, blocking his path. “Maybe that’s the problem. You’re so focused on what you’ve lost that you’ve forgotten who you are. You’re James Forsyth, and you don’t get to just fall apart because things are hard. Not unless you’re ready to turn your back on everything your family’s built, everything they believed you could become.”

James’s breath hitched in his chest. The weight of the words pressed against him, and for a brief moment, he wanted to push Derrin away. But Derrin wasn’t done.

“You’ve got a purpose, James. You’ve got power in your blood, and that power is not for you to waste. It’s for something bigger than yourself. You’ve got the chance to do something no one else can. And you’re sitting here, acting like you don’t deserve it. Stop being a wimp. This isn’t about you anymore. This is about the Forsyth name.”

The words burned, not with anger but with something much sharper—truth. The truth that James had been trying to avoid, trying to bury beneath the weight of his doubt. He had been running from it, from the responsibility that came with being a Forsyth, but Derrin was right. It wasn’t just his struggle. It was bigger.

Derrin didn’t give him a chance to respond. He turned, looking James in the eye, his tone changing, softer but still firm. “You’ve got a choice. You can keep wallowing in this... or you can rise up. Be who you were meant to be. Forsyths don’t fall to their knees for anyone—not the Veil, not the Mire, not even the gods themselves. You fight. You stand tall. That’s how you bring honor back to the name.”

James stared at Derrin, his mind racing. The boy was right. It wasn’t about being weak. It wasn’t about being overwhelmed. It was about something deeper. Something stronger than just the fear or the exhaustion. The honor. The legacy.

"I… I can’t just turn it off, Derrin," James said, his voice quieter now, almost tentative. "The Veil’s pulling at me. It’s breaking me."

Derrin shook his head, his eyes sharp, a spark of something fierce in his gaze. "No. It only breaks you if you let it. You’re Forsyth. Honor doesn’t let you break. It keeps you going when you think you can’t."

For a long moment, James just stood there, the words sinking in. It wasn’t easy. Nothing about the Veil, the Mire, or his journey had been easy. But somewhere in the pit of his stomach, that old fire—the one he’d thought he’d lost—began to stir. He wasn’t just James Forsyth by name. He was James Forsyth, and that meant something. He was stronger than this. He had to be.

He swallowed hard and took a step forward. “You’re right,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “I’ve got to do better. I’m not giving up. Not now. Not when it matters.”

Derrin grinned, his expression one of approval. “Good. Now get moving. The Mire’s not going to wait for us to feel sorry for ourselves.”

James felt a strange sense of clarity wash over him. Derrin’s words had hit deeper than he’d expected, and in some strange way, they had reignited something within him. The road ahead was still long and dangerous, but he would walk it with his head held high. He was a Forsyth, and he wouldn’t let the Mire—or anything else—drag him down.

The Mire may have been relentless, but so was he.