The sun was setting on the plains of Altea, and Marth found himself standing at the edge of the training field, his gaze fixed on Kris, who was diligently practicing combat maneuvers. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he admired Kris' form, their unwavering dedication, and a sense of unease settled in his chest.

In the quiet of the evening, Marth approached Kris, his feet barely making a sound against the grass. Holding the hilt of his Exalted Falchion, he cleared his throat, ready to voice the doubt that had been gnawing at his heart.

"Kris,"

he began, his voice just above a whisper.

His blue eyes met theirs, and he continued,

"I've been thinking... about our journey, about the weight of the responsibilities that I carry. I find myself... questioning my choices, my abilities. I've been given so much faith, and yet... I doubt. I doubt myself, my worthiness to lead."

His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, a silent symbol of his resolve.

"I see you train every day, never faltering, never doubting. How do you do it, Kris? How do you push past the doubts, the fears? How do you keep faith in yourself?"