A Strongest Warrior Of All Time

Eric's tone softened as he rocked back, his eyes glued not to John but to some lost recollection that nobody else was privy to.

"You see, John… Elsa's gift wasn't made in comfort, but in hurt. With every scar she healed on others, she carved an invisible scar into herself. Healing is a price—something stolen from the healer, paid to the injured. But she paid it without complaint. That is why, when I look at her, I do not see just a child, but the hope of a whole generation."

John sat in silence, his small fists clenching of their own accord on the cool, slimy surface of the table. He had known Elsa all his life. They'd played among the palace gardens when they were children, run down the village streets, shared secrets in whispers under the stars. To him, she'd always been his friend—loving, gentle, obstinate at times, but still just a child. Now, with his father's words finding home in his heart, she seemed something else altogether.

A princess.

A healer.

A light.

"Father…" John spoke slowly, attempting to find the words. "Do you mean. she absorbs other's burdens within her? Every time she heals?"

Eric nodded gravely. "Yes. Every time, she sacrifices a part of herself. That is why I brought her here again tomorrow. Not just for me—but for you. You have to see, John, what it is to carry such a gift.". You are a son of a soldier. You are born to order men to fight battles where steel and blood will reign supreme. You will be relying one day on someone like her, perhaps even on her herself, to hold your people together when all else fails."John's chest tighted as he heard his father. He wanted to object, to remind his father Elsa was merely his friend. That it was unfair to put such enormous expectations on her shoulders. But then a recollection had occurred to him—yesterday's attack in the jungle. The recollection hit him like a storm. He had been with the warriors, tracking game in the thick forest when the atmosphere changed. A biting gust of cold wind, unnatural and biting, hurtled through the trees. Then the sound came—growls, great and deep, none that belonged to any animal he had ever known.

Before they could even react, a foul beast emerged from the shadows. Its body twisted with scales of black, eyes of warm coals, and a breath that would set leaves aflame. A magical beast, one that the old tales told about but few men had ever laid eyes on in the flesh.

John had unsheathed his sword, the warriors at his back, and battle had been initiated. The monster's claws cut through armor as through paper. Its bellow shook the earth. John remembered the ferocity of its breath, the sear of its claws on his shoulder. Blood had flowed down his arm, but he had kept on fighting, blade flashing with every remaining ounce of strength in his frame.

At last, they had chased it off, but at what cost. Three of their fighters were dead, and John himself had been overwhelmed, hardly able to support himself on his legs. His own body had severe cuts—wounds that would remain with him for the rest of his life.

And Elsa had appeared. Her fingers glowing, her words whispering gentle phrases of magic, she had removed the pain as if it had never happened.

That memory still sent shivers down John. He could never have made it up without her.

John looked up at his father. "She rescued me, Father. I was convinced I was strong, but that moment all the strength didn't count. Without Elsa…" His voice faltered, but Eric raised a hand.

"I know," Eric responded firmly. "That is why I tell you she is greater than what you see. You, John, are the lord of warriors. She is the light that will heal what war destroys. Together… you could be unstoppable."

John's brow creased, restless under the burden of those words. He was but a boy of eleven, still yearning to spar with swords and dream of questing. Marriage, duty, fate—these were chains he was not yet ready to wear. But deep inside, he could not help but sense the truth: Elsa was already destined to shape his life, even when she did not intend to.

The next day was sunny and bright. The palace courtyard echoed with the soft trill of birdsong as Elsa appeared, dressed in a simple yet beautiful white and gold gown. Her hair glinted in the sunlight, and though she was no more than John's age, there was a sense of serenity to her movements that her years belied.

"Good morning, Lord Eric. Good morning, John," she said with courteous but warm tones.

Eric grinned. "Happy to have you, Elsa. Today I require your help again. Those old wounds still hurt."

Elsa slid onto her knees next to him. She placed her hands gently upon his arm and closed her eyes. A heat began to radiate from her palms, weaving itself into the ancient scars that scored Eric's flesh. The air about them grew warm, bright, as if the very sun had been pulled in upon her hands.

John watched, his heart pounding. He had seen it before, but now, watching so closely, he noticed everything—the calming of her breath, the quivering of her fingers, the white tension on her young face. And then, as before, the scars disappeared, replaced by unbroken, smooth flesh.

Eric breathed a slow sigh, his face suffused with relief. "Thank you, Elsa. You are certainly a blessing to all of us.".

But John's eyes did not leave her. He wanted to ask—how is it? Hurts? Makes you tired? But words stuck in his throat.

Instead, Elsa smiled at him weakly. "And you, John? Do your wounds still hurt?

John hesitated. His recovered shoulder still ached slightly when he moved it, but beyond that, he needed to see again. The light. The unimaginable power she wielded.

"Yes," he said softly. "They do."

Elsa stepped closer, her eyes softening. "Then let me help."

She rested her hands on his shoulder. For the second time, warmth coursed through him, erasing the pain, calming away the last trace of hurt. But this time, John wasn't just comforted—he felt something else.

He felt her.

A fleeting spark, unmistakable, as if a part of her had grazed against him. He stood transfixed for an instant, regarding her as if he were seeing her for the very first time.

When it was over, Elsa stepped back a pace, her cheeks pale but her smile unwavering. "There. Better?"

John swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes. Better

Eric watched the two children closely, his heart racing with unspoken thoughts. He saw the way Elsa's eyes clung to John, the way John struggled to avoid them. They were young, too young, but Eric was a man who saw many years ahead. He knew his son would be a war leader, and he knew no ordinary woman would ever be his own.

But Elsa… Elsa was no ordinary girl.

As the children giggled together, Eric reflected to himself in secret: Perhaps fate has already chosen their destiny. Perhaps the blade and the light will walk as one.

But suddenly..