The soft glow of dawn had barely touched the sky when Ronan found himself once again on the training grounds. The rhythmic clash of wooden swords echoed as he sparred under the watchful eyes of Mr. Alden. His movements were precise, his footwork disciplined, but his mind... elsewhere.
Mr. Alden frowned, his sharp gaze catching the slight hesitation in Ronan's strikes, the distracted flickers in his eyes. Even when Ronan corrected his stance, there was something missing—a fire that had once burned brightly within him.
By the time training ended, the morning sun had fully risen, casting golden hues across the academy grounds. Yet, Ronan barely registered it as he made his way toward his next session.
In the afternoons, he trained his mana control under Ms. Amara, whose strict methods left no room for error. She noticed it too—how his usually steady mana wavered, his focus fraying like an unravelling thread. She said nothing, only observing with narrowed eyes.
As evening descended, Ronan trudged toward his dormitory, lost in thought. The cobblestone path beneath his feet felt distant, his body moving on instinct while his mind remained trapped in an endless loop of memories. The screams, the blood, the pleading eyes of the villagers—it all haunted him, a relentless storm raging within.
"Ronan!"
The familiar voice pulled him back to reality. He turned to see Mr. Alden approaching, his presence steady and grounding. The older man gave him a knowing look before offering a small nod.
"Good evening. Do you have a moment? We need to talk."
Ronan forced a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Alden. Yes, I'm free."
"Then how about we go to the Ember Hearth Inn?" Mr. Alden suggested. "We can talk while eating."
Ronan hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. "Alright."
The walk to the inn was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Mr. Alden didn't push for conversation, allowing Ronan to settle into his thoughts. The warm glow of the Ember Hearth Inn welcomed them as they entered, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filling the air. Finding an empty table in a quieter corner, they sat down, placing their orders before silence settled between them once more.
It was Mr. Alden who broke it.
"So, Ronan," he began, his voice gentle but firm. "What's on your mind? You've been acting strange these past few days."
Ronan stared at the table, tracing patterns on the wooden surface with his fingers. Where should he even start? He had been bottling it up for so long, trying to push it aside, but the more he ignored it, the heavier it became.
After a few seconds of hesitation, he took a deep breath and spoke. "I... I've been having the same nightmare for days." His voice was quieter than usual, as if afraid to give the words too much power. "Do you remember what happened in Willowshade Village?"
Mr. Alden's expression darkened slightly, but he nodded. "I do."
"That was the first time I saw death up close," Ronan continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "If we had arrived earlier... we could've saved more people. And if I had been stronger, I could have healed more of them." He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "Some of them died while I was trying to heal them. They looked at me with hope, and I failed them."
The sheer weight of guilt hung in his voice, his eyes clouded with turmoil. "I don't know what to do with these feelings. Sometimes I feel sad, sometimes angry—angry at myself for being so weak. And sometimes, I feel this unbearable guilt, as if I could have done more. The more I try to forget, the more it clings to me."
He exhaled shakily. "At some point, I started having dreams where I kept hearing the same questions over and over. 'Why didn't we arrive earlier? Why didn't I try harder? Why wasn't I strong enough?' And every time I wake up, those feelings just intensify." He let out a bitter chuckle. "I don't know what to do anymore."
Mr. Alden listened quietly, his heart heavy with guilt of his own. He should have spoken to Ronan sooner and should have helped him process this the moment they returned from the mission. As a teacher, he had failed to notice his student's struggles until now.
"I'm sorry, Ronan." Mr. Alden's voice was filled with regret. "As your teacher, I should have talked to you about this earlier. I should have noticed."
Ronan opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Alden raised a hand, stopping him.
"Listen carefully, Ronan." His tone was firmer now, but still gentle. "What you're feeling is natural. Guilt means you care. It means you have a kind heart. But there are things in this world that are beyond our control—things we can't change, no matter how much we want to."
Ronan remained silent, absorbing his words.
"That day, we did everything we could. We fought with everything we had. There will always be unexpected tragedies, things we cannot prevent, no matter how strong we become." Mr. Alden met his gaze. "Do you remember what those villagers said before they died?"
Ronan stiffened. The image flashed in his mind—men and women, their bodies broken, yet their gazes were steady, unwavering. They didn't curse their fate. They didn't blame him.
"They were willing to sacrifice themselves to protect the young ones," Mr. Alden reminded him. "They didn't see themselves as victims. They saw their deaths as a way to ensure the survival of the next generation."
Ronan felt his throat tighten.
"You're experiencing this because you've never had to face these emotions before," Mr. Alden continued. "But that doesn't mean you should try to erase them. Don't push them away, don't try to forget them. Instead, let them be a reminder—a stepping stone to empower yourself."
Ronan let out a shaky breath.
"And as for you thinking you're weak?" Mr. Alden's expression softened. "You treat others with kindness, but why are you so harsh on yourself?"
Ronan blinked, caught off guard.
"You are by no means a weak person. You have a strong will. No matter how difficult the struggle, you don't give up. By society's standards, you may not be the strongest, but strength isn't just about raw power. It's about resilience, about the ability to keep moving forward despite everything." Mr. Alden leaned forward slightly. "You are one of the best students I have, Ronan. So stop thinking so little of yourself."
Ronan's eyes widened slightly. He wasn't used to hearing such words except from his elder sister Samantha. For so long, he had viewed himself through the lens of his failures, never stopping to see what he had achieved.
Silence stretched between them for a moment before Ronan exhaled, feeling something within him shift.
"I... understand," he murmured.
Mr. Alden nodded. "Good. Learn from the past, but don't let it chain you down. Keep moving forward. The next time you face something like this, you'll be stronger—not just in power, but in heart."
Ronan looked down at his hands, then back at Mr. Alden. The weight on his shoulders hadn't disappeared, but for the first time in days, it felt... bearable.
And maybe, just maybe, he could turn that weight into something more.
Something that would push him forward.