Everything had led to this moment. The past few months had been rough on him, but in many ways they were also some of the most progressive months he had in years. Many things had been going well for him, and it was impossible not to take them into account. He had met many good friends, he had become close to many guildmates, and he had taken on plenty of missions. He had learned that he was still not strong enough when he had gotten involved in the fighting in Era, and he had learned that he had plenty of room left to grow as he trained and pushed himself. He might have felt tired as he pressed forward, but never did he feel as though he would be unable to go further. There was this idea in his head that eventually, if he was going to hit a wall, he'd feel the impact. He would understand the fact that he had reached the epitome of where he could go, and he would acknowledge it as the best of what he could do. He didn't yet feel that though. Something in his heart throbbed every time he swung his sword. Something in his mind envisioned pastures not yet stepped onto.

He was not physically as capable as he could possibly be. He knew that for a fact, and he knew that he could continue to push himself further in so many aspects. His muscles could dish out more damage, and his body could take more of a beating. His legs could take him faster. He knew that there was still a mountain in front of the molehill in which he had climbed, and yet that wasn't even the entirety of it. As much room as he could grow physically, he felt like his sword skills were still in infancy. He obviously had room to grow with how he handled his weapon, and it meant more for him than it would for others. While weapons could become a vital part of anybodies utilities, for him it was quite literally life or death. He had no magic in which he could trust, nor could he expect his armor to be something that would always come through for him. He remembered the battle he had most recently had with Geb, who was still recovering in his room that was rented here in the Guild Hall. The individual had yet to wake up from their fight, but that was to be expected. The individual had been impaled through the chest with his blade. Regardless of his weird abilities and lack of profuse bleeding, he was still impaled through a vital area. The only truly human part about him seemed to be that he went unconscious from the usually deadly damage.

Everything that he had in his mind with how he wished to use his blade felt blocked when he actually tried to do it. His mind and his body did not seem to work in tandem at all times. It wasn't as if he had seen the peaks of swordsmanship to know what it could or should look like, nor was it as if he himself could know for sure what it was suppose to be. Still, he was a fighter above all other things. he knew what it felt like to be completely at one with his own movements. He had grown up in the woods, where his body felt entirely attuned to the nature around him. He knew the feeling his body gave off when using it for hand to hand without a weapon, and the way that he felt as if he were doing everything right when running among the trees. It was a sort of action one could do without thinking, and execute it flawlessly. It was the ability to know that what he was doing was being performed a step and a half above anyone else who thought they even came close. And yet he wasn't like that with his blade. The slashes felt slow and the stabs felt dull. His reaction to things around him felt weak, and his knowledge of what was to come felt like it could not be properly implemented in battle. Yet he knew what it could feel like if he only gave it time.

How he felt now was proof. He felt a door finally being ripped off its hinges, and for the first time he was permitted to step through it. His arms cried for him to stop and his legs begged for rest but he pushed through the pain. The lifeless mannequin did not fight back, but the training room had been rigged to sap at his mana consistently. The extra pressure tired him even more, and although it was just repetitive motion, he was doing so at an alarmingly high pace. He was engraving the basic actions into his head in a way that combat just couldn't. It was a way to solidify what he could use in combat, and a way to assure he knew what he could not do. Life was about taking the next big step, and he finally was able to do it.

Without warning, he felt it. His muscles had all but failed on him as he stood there, shaking with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. His sword was gripped so firmly in his hand that his calloused hands were white at the knuckles. His breathing came in deep gulps of air and his face poured sweat. Despite him feeling like he'd be doing much better for himself unconscious and on the floor, he knew that he had finally done it. Without a doubt he had finally pressed beyond what he was, and stood in the doorway of what he could be.

For the briefest of moments he was within his own head, a mental image of the metaphor being built up in a way that felt real. To him it was entirely real, something that only he could see and comprehend. Far in the distance, further than he had ever traveled, he saw it. The next door lay there with unseen challenges and monsters standing between him and it. He knew that he'd be able to reach it if he could only push, but more than that he knew at a glance it was not the final door. There was another beyond it, and for as far as he knew, there were even more beyond that one. This would be his chance to finally prove to himself that he could transcend his limits. This was his chance to finally step into the realms that he had always thought he belonged.

This was his chance at a future.

[EXIT]

WC: 1134/948