The room trembles with the echoes of destruction. Shards of glass litter the floor, and the once-beautiful furnishings now lie in pieces, broken beyond recognition. Your chest heaves with each breath, hands trembling from the chaos you’ve wrought.

Your fists are bloodied, breath erratic—a reflection of the madness inside. One swing, then another. The vase shatters, the walls shudder. Everything is falling apart. And still, you strike. The fire inside you has no place to go, and the only way to release it is to destroy. To break. Aldric stands at the door, unmoving. His gaze never wavers from you, but his face is cold, controlled.

With a final, violent swing, you pause, breathing heavily. Your left hand is a mess of cuts, the blood dripping onto the stone floor, but you don’t care. Not now.

The fury subsides, but only to be replaced by something far more dangerous. Weakness. It’s a crushing, suffocating weight.

Aldric doesn’t move, doesn't speak. He simply watches, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Do you think I’m weak?” The words are rasped, almost strangled, like something born of desperation and rage. The knife in your hand gleams, its edge sharp, taunting.

Aldric’s jaw tightens, but he remains silent. There’s no answer to give, not one that will satisfy you.

The room is thick with tension. The blade in your hand shakes, but your eyes don’t waver from Aldric’s.

“I’ve built everything with my hands. Everything!” You stagger forward, the knife rising with every word, your voice cracking like shattered glass. “And you… you stand there, watching me fall apart. Do you think I’m weak?”

Aldric doesn't flinch. His voice is steady, unwavering. “No, I don’t.

The knife presses against his throat.

Your smile is broken, twisted, as though it hurts to form the expression. Your eyes flicker with something almost… desperate.

Slowly, he kneels, not caring whether the knife cuts him or not. He tilts his head up to look at you.

"If you are weak, then let me bear it for you." he whispers.