2025-09-14 15:20:04The yard of the Darkveil Clan glowed with lantern light.
The Awakening Ceremony came only once every decade. It was the day the clan’s youths revealed their fates, tested their roots, and secured their place in the hierarchy of the clan.
Bright banners snapped in the wind. Elders with sharp eyes stood in a half-circle with expectations. The stone altar in the center vibrated faintly with ancient qi. The stone was ready to measure meridians.
All the children lined up in ceremonial attire. They looked nervous, eager and trembling with dreams of glory.
Arin Darkveil stood among them. His small fists clenched inside his sleeves.
His hands were pale, cold and trembling. He rubbed his thumb over a hidden scrap of cloth stitched with a broken-spoke symbol which was his mother’s last gift.
The cloth gave him strength. But not enough to silence the murmurs around him.
“There’s the cripple.”
“Why let him take the test?”
“He’ll shame us all over again.”
Arin kept his head bowed. His ears burned with every word.
The first child stepped onto the altar. A shimmer of green qi rose around her body. The elders nodded approvingly.
Another boy followed. Sparks of lightning danced across his arms. The crowd applauded.
Excitement built with each awakening. The clan roared louder and prouder.
And then…. Kael Darkveil walked forward.
He was tall for his age and already broad-shouldered. Kael wore arrogance like a cloth. His red robe shimmered with threads of gold, marking him as the favored son of the Second Elder.
He placed his palm on the altar. For a moment, the yard fell silent.
Then fire erupted.
Flames burst into the sky, coiling upward like dragons, roaring so hot they scorched the very air. The stone beneath his hand glowed red. A phantom flame lotus unfolded behind him, burning very bright.
Gasps echoed through the crowd.
“Fire spiritual roots!”
“Such purity! Such strength!”
“A genius is born!”
Kael turned his head slightly, smirking and basking in their awe. His gaze slid deliberately toward Arin.
Arin’s stomach twisted.
The cheers felt like thunder pressing him into the dirt.
“Next,” an elder barked.
Arin’s legs felt heavy as he stepped forward.
Every eye turned to him already laughing at him and hungry for his failure.
He reached the altar. His palms were sweaty. He pressed his hand against the cold stone.
For a moment, he hoped and he prayed.
Maybe this time… maybe the heavens would grant him mercy.
He focused, forcing every ounce of will through his crippled meridians.
The stone pulsed faintly. And then, there was actually nothing.
The silence lasted only a second before the laughter began.
The laughter started like a wave, crashing over him.
“Pathetic!”
“Still crippled!”
“Can’t even awaken a flicker!”
Arin’s ears rang. His chest hollowed. His hands trembled against the stone.
The elders exchanged cold looks. One shook his head in disgust.
Another sighed. “A disgrace to the bloodline.”
Arin withdrew his hand. His face was pale as ash.
Kael stepped close. His voice was low enough for the crowd to hear.
“You thought the altar would recognize trash?” He sneered. “You’ll never be anything, Arin. You’re just a shadow dragging the Darkveil name into filth.”
Laughter spread among them. Children pointed and adults smirked.
Arin stood frozen. His fists clenched so hard his nails cut his palms. Blood welled but his hand was hidden beneath his sleeves.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to strike.
But his crippled body betrayed him.
All he could do was bow his head and swallow the shame.
Inside, though, something else stirred. “I will change this fate, no matter what it takes me.”
The ceremony ended in celebration for Kael and humiliation for Arin.
The clan feasted. Lanterns glowed brighter and songs rose into the night.
But none of it reached Arin.
He sat alone by the edge of the yard. His knees drawn up, staring at the altar where his shame had been announced for everyone.
The embroidered cloth pressed against his heart. His mother’s words echoed faintly, “You are not a curse. You are my son.”
But even those words felt far away.
Because every face he saw reflected the same truth that he was only a curse.
The yard emptied. The feast waned.
Moonlight spilled across the Darkveil compound, Arin slipped away to the training yard.
The wooden dummies stood in silence, scarred from the fists of countless clan youths. Arin touched one with trembling fingers.
He imagined himself striking it, breaking it and proving them all wrong.
But his body was weak. His meridians are broken. His punches were nothing but hollow slaps.
Frustration swallowed him. He hit the dummy again and again until his knuckles split and blood smeared the wood.
“Why… why am I so weak?” he whispered to the empty night.
A voice cut through the silence. “Still pretending you belong here?” Arin froze.
Kael stepped out of the dark, flanked by two older boys. Their smirks gleamed under the moonlight.
Kael’s eyes burned with cruel delight. His red robe swayed as he crossed the yard.
“You embarrassed me today,” Kael said coldly. “Your failure makes our bloodline look like rot. I won’t allow it.”
Arin backed away with his heart pounding. His fists clenched, though his body shook.
“Go back,” he said quietly. “I don’t want trouble.”
Kael’s laugh was sharp. “You are trouble. You should have died with mother. Instead, you keep clinging on like a parasite.”
The words stabbed deep, twisting in wounds that never healed.
Arin’s breath caught. His eyes stung.
The other boys spread out, circling him and cutting off all escape routes.
Kael’s fist clenched. Flames flickered faintly around his knuckles.
Arin’s pulse roared in his ears. His body trembled.
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Seventy-one hour war
Arin felt the Dragon Vein thrumming louder, not from defiance now but from recognition; the vein had found the tunnel’s old wards and answered them, and the resonance in his chest promised one more thing — a way through that was not wholly escape: a path to return.He stepped forward and met the Elder’s gaze. “You think yourselves saviors,” he said. “But your hands are just the same as the ones that once broke our doors open to steal grain and name.”The Elder laughed, a cold rasp. He gestured, and the courtyard filled with a shimmering lattice — not the Temple’s gold but the clan’s own binding marks, centuries-old magics reforged into instruments of control. “Then be bound as we see fit.”Arin’s body turned into motion. He didn’t plan a fight — he made one. It was not for trophies but for breaths. He caught the first binding thread in his palm and let the resonance shiver through it, then folded that power and flung it outward. The thread burned like paper and snapped. The Elder’s ey
Darkveil defiance
Arin didn’t wait for the envoy’s final decree. The courtyard was a pressure cooker of fear and fury; if he hesitated the Second Elder’s purge would swallow more than pride. He scanned the faces — some broken, some feverish with triumph — and made a decision that surprised no one who had ever watched him choose a blade over a bargain.“Scatter!” he barked, voice like iron. The command carried, because people still heard what they feared and what they loved in him.Lyra slid beside him, frost singing along her blade. “We hold them back. You get the innocents to safety,” she said, already moving like someone who didn’t like to ask permission.Arin’s palm met the earth. The Dragon Vein answered, a low hum under the skin of the world: a map not of roads but of old places where walls were thin and secrets older than the clan slept. Golden scales crawled across his forearms. When he moved they left brief afterimages, like burned calligraphy in the air.A shout rose — the Second Elder himself
War with the Darkveil soul
The wind blows with a lighting of situations, everyone got set for the show of the night. The clan ground that was once thrummed with celebration now lay uneasy and silent. There above the rooftop, gather much heavens themselves who are ready to witness the event.“ They have thought evil against me. Even the Darkveil which seems to be my path.” Arin who had sat with his legs crossed on a cold stone overlooking the courtyard.Then comes the faint blue light of the system which hovered before him, pulsing like a heartbeat. Incoming Events: Stormfang Clan Retaliation: within 72 hours. Heavenly Temple Summons: active for 7 days. Optional Directive: Survive both encounters. Reward: Path Advancement Spirit Core Ignition.He exhaled slowly. “Seventy-two hours,” he murmured. “So the storm comes early.”Behind him, footsteps approached—soft, deliberate.“Still here?” Lyra’s voice was quiet but carried a weight of concern. Her silver-lined robes swayed with the wind, and her dark hair
Duel & Thrones Cracking
The tournament grounds shook with the roar of the crowd. Sunlight was bright across the martial arena. It glinted off already clean weapons and the gilded through thrones where the clan elders sat in judgment.Youth after youth clashed upon the sand. Each duel was a combat of qi and sword. Cheers rose when fire erupted and when blades hit one another.Arin stood silent at the edges, cloak drawn, watching. His turn had not yet come, but people talked about him wherever he went.“That’s him, the exile.”“He dares fight in the tournament?”“Maybe he’ll collapse before he even takes a stance.”They sneered. But their voices trembled faintly now, for some had already seen his controlled strikes in the early rounds where he dispatched opponents without wasted movement.Arin never revealed the full breadth of his strength. Yet each clash carried a weight that made the crowd gasp in shock. His fists struck like dragons hidden in mist and his footwork impossibly fluid for a boy once branded cr
Return & Tournament Omen
The wind howled across the barren ridge as two figures made their way along the frozen path.Arin walked with steady strides now. He was no longer the broken youth who had left his clan’s gates in humiliation. His qi flowed smoother and his meridians no longer felt like chains of fire tearing through his flesh. Instead, his body pulsed with faint power, subtle and yet undeniable.Beside him walked Lyra Frostwind. Her pale cloak fluttered like a shard. She said little, but every so often her icy gaze drifted toward him, as if measuring the changes in his stance and the growing strength in his aura.The wilderness had carved him anew.Days bled into nights. Their journey toward civilization became a crucible.At dawn, Arin drilled Dragon Vein Fist until his knuckles split. The system chimed relentlessly, issuing quests that rebuilt him.“Ding! Daily Training Quest: Perform 500 Dragon Vein Strikes.Reward: Dragon Vein Fist Proficiency +5%.Penalty: –2 years lifespan if failed.”His arms
Wilderness and Lyra
The wilderness was merciless.Arin stumbled through a tangle of thorn-bushes. His breath ragged and his ribs ached from another close encounter. His clothes were torn and streaked with blood. The moon hung cold above him. Silver light poured over a land teeming with beasts.Every direction was like death itself Yet, the system would not let him stop.“Ding! Survival Quest Update.Objective: Endure wilderness trial, Shelter, food, water secured within 24 hours.Time Remaining: 2 hours, 17 minutes.Penalty: –10 years lifespan.”Arin’s pulse hammered. He had secured water from a muddy stream, but food and shelter? He had seen nothing. His stomach clawed at itself in hunger.If he failed and if the timer struck zero, he would lose years of his life in an instant.He staggered onward. Growls echoed in the distance. Every rustle of leaves whispered in the darkness. “Is this how they expect me to die?” he muttered, clutching his mother’s cloth at his wrist.The night deepened, getting cold
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