Luck has never been on my side.

Not in the body I was given, nor the family I was born into. And certainly not in my so-called grace—if you can even call it that.

I’ve always been the weak one, the one who had to fight twice as hard just to stand in the same space as the others. To them, I was just another body taking up space—someone who had no business trying to be among the strong. They never had to say it outright—people like them rarely do. But the looks, the whispers, the dismissive glances… they spoke louder than words.

And that was enough. I knew my place.

But I never stopped fighting.

Not because I thought I could catch up or that I'd ever stand on the same level as them. But because I refused to be crushed under the weight of their expectations.

I may be weak, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stay this way.

---

The metallic hum of the training room vibrated through me, each pulse of the energy barriers around the sparring area matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. Overhead, sterile fluorescent lights flickered, casting harsh shadows that glinted off the polished floors, while the scent of sweat and worn mats hung heavily in the air—a scent that felt both comforting and nauseating all at once. The steady drone of bodies in motion, the brush of shoes across the floor, it all blurred together, leaving nothing but the sound of my own ragged breaths.

I didn’t belong here. Not with them. But here I was.

Elijah’s breath came in ragged gasps, sweat tracing paths down his temples, his body crouched and tense, struggling to stay upright. He was drenched, his black training suit clinging to his skin like a second layer. His fists were tight, trembling as he steeled himself for the next round.

Across from him, Aiden stood tall and relaxed, arms folded casually across his chest. He hadn’t broken a sweat. A bead of moisture slowly trailed down his temple, but that was the extent of his exertion. His red eyes gleamed with barely contained amusement, a grin tugging at his lips as he surveyed Elijah.

The air between them thickened as Aiden exhaled loudly. “Jeez, aren’t you overdoing it? You want to improve, I get that, but doesn’t this feel a little much?”

Elijah wiped the sweat from his brow, his body visibly straining as he tried to mask his exhaustion with a snarl. “Unlike you, Mr. Number One, I don’t have talent or genes on my side.” He leaned forward, jaw set in frustration. “And my grace? Not exactly fight material. So yeah, if I want to keep up, I have to overdo it."

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For a moment, Aiden just stared at him, his face hardening, the playful facade slipping. His voice lowered, serious and almost cold. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Elijah didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked back at him, eyes cold and biting. “Oh, great, now that’s motivating.”

Aiden’s expression softened, but only for an instant. He rolled his shoulders, pacing slowly around him like a predator circling a wounded prey. “You think you’re weak because you don’t have some flashy grace?” His voice dropped a little, enough to make Elijah stop and take notice. “You’re focused on the wrong thing. Power isn’t everything. You’re wasting your potential trying to play the game they’re game, instead of making your own rules.”

Elijah’s eyes flashed, something dark flickering beneath his skin. “What, am I supposed to pretend talent doesn’t matter?” His voice was low, but the edge to it made the words hang in the air.

Aiden stopped, one step away from him now. Silence settled between them, and Elijah’s body, exhausted and frustrated, seemed to sink under the weight of it. The tension stretched long enough to become palpable, before Aiden placed a knuckle lightly against Elijah's temple.

“If all you do is compare yourself to the ‘chosen ones,’ then yeah,” Aiden’s voice was quieter now, measured. “You’re setting yourself up for failure.” He leaned in slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Talent will only carry you so far. But stubbornness… stubbornness? That’ll outlast the rest. And your stubbornness? It’s the only thing that made me break a sweat in our last duel.”

Elijah let out a half-laugh, disbelief tangled with the weary exhaustion in his voice. “Wow. Mishal. That’s almost encouraging. Are you feeling okay?”

Aiden scoffed, looking away. “Shut up. I take it back.”

For a moment, Elijah stayed silent, breathing through the weariness that clung to him, letting Aiden’s words settle. There was a truth in them that hit harder than any physical blow, something that stirred uneasily in his gut.

It’s not enough, Elijah thought, his shoulders sagging despite himself. Isn’t it obvious? All the stubbornness in the world won’t change the fact that I’m not… enough.

The quietness between them deepened, and Aiden’s voice interrupted, raw but steady. “No. It won’t be enough if all you do is look at what you don’t have. You’ll always feel like you’re losing the race.”

That hit harder than expected. Not because it was new—no, it was the truth, and the truth had a way of holding you hostage when you weren’t looking. Elijah’s chest tightened.

He opened his mouth to argue, but for the first time, he found himself hesitating, the words caught in his throat.

Aiden sighed heavily and flicked a towel at Elijah’s face. “Take a break, idiot.” His voice dropped back into that familiar tone, light with a hint of amusement.

Elijah barely caught it, irritated but too worn out to care. “Fine, yeah. Let me hit you once before I die.”

Aiden waved him off with a smirk, barely glancing back. “Sure. After I’m done not filling out extra paperwork for the medics.”

Before Elijah could respond, a figure caught his eye at the far wall of the room. Leaning casually against it was Raphael Vance, arms crossed, his face impassive but his eyes sharp and aware.

“Making sure your prized pupil doesn’t self-destruct?” Elijah quipped, wiping his face with the towel.

Raphael’s voice was low, steady—infused with experience. “He’s not the problem,” he said, eyes locked on Elijah with a heavy, quiet intensity. “You are.”

Elijah’s brow furrowed, heart skipping a beat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Raphael’s movement was slow, deliberate, and in a breath, he stood in front of Elijah. “Balance. It’s something you’ll understand better when you stop seeing your weaknesses as liabilities. If you’re bad at one thing, it means you’ll excel at another. You just have to find that thing.”

Elijah tilted his head, clearly confused. “What does that have to do with me?”

Raphael smiled, a slow, knowing grin. But there was no mockery in it—only truth. “You’re smart. Not just in tactics. You’ve got creativity.” He paused, eyeing him, coaxing, prodding. “Tap into that. Stop looking at what you’re missing and think about what you already have.”

Raphael’s gaze intensified, urging Elijah to reflect deeper, to consider what was right in front of him. “Your strength won’t come from brute force, Elijah. It never will. But the one thing you have that no one can take away?” He placed a hand on Elijah's shoulder. “That’s where your power lies.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Elijah exhaled and let his shoulders relax.

[End of Chapter]