Ballister stumbled through the door, the weight of the day’s training pressing down on him like a thousand bricks. His muscles were sore, his mind numb from the endless hours of drills and lectures. He kicked the door shut behind him and dropped his wooden sword with a thud, barely able to lift his arms any longer.

The room felt colder than usual, the still air pressing against him as he collapsed onto the small chair by the table. His eyes drifted to the tiny cupboard. He hadn’t eaten much that day, just a stale piece of bread, but when he opened the cupboard door, it was empty. Not a single scrap left.

His stomach growled, a sharp reminder that he hadn’t eaten enough to sustain him, and now he had nothing.

Ballister leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair. "Great," he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. "Guess I'll be eating air tonight."

He sat there for a moment, the reality of his life sinking in. Another day of training, another night with nothing to show for it.