The weak will always suffer

The weak will always suffer. Their days are filled with gnawing fear, their nights with restless sleep. They are prey for every petty tyrant, toy for every whim of fate. Their suffering never ends, for weakness calls suffering as carrion calls the vulture.

But there is another path. To take upon yourself the iron burden of hardship. To bleed in effort, to sweat beneath the sun, to endure the cold and the hunger willingly. This suffering is not endless, it is a forge. It strikes the body, the will, and the soul until they are made unbreakable.

Yet not all are tempered in the forge of chosen hardship. Some are cast into a darker crucible, ravaged by sickness, crushed by tragedy, or dragged to the brink of death. In ages past, shamans were often born this way, stumbling back from fever and visions, remade by suffering. Others are hardened by grief, betrayal, or the loss of all they held dear. Such ordeals either break a man or burn away all weakness. If he endures, he emerges with iron in his spirit, proof of the ancient law: what does not kill a man makes him stronger.

Choose then which pain you will embrace: the ceaseless torment of the weak, or the sharp, cleansing trials that make you strong. For the strong suffer, yes, but only for a season. And when the trial passes, they rise. They stride through the world as men, not prey.