I swing my sword left, right and center I feel like the clang against the wood as shocks ripple through my arms I am used to it. I feel my bones quake and my muscles tremble day after I day I must train, I must fight and I must live if I could I would bathe in the sun and fall in love. But alas because I have the nickname "Lower class" I can not feel the warmth of the light or the touch of a woman but I can feel the dark mist rising in the forest the cold bitterness of the leaves growing old and falling. I must train to succeed, power is the only thing valued in our society that and the people that birthed you. Life is not decided by skill or personality but purely by raw power and the wealth you hold in the world, Yet I find myself everyday swinging my sword and trying to beat the odds to overcome this wretched place that people call a utopia of freedom and prosperity. I have nothing but my blade and the ruined tree that stands in front of me.
