The night should have been quiet. The moon hung high above the mountains, cold and pale, casting silver light over the Ironblade Clan's fortress. Lanterns burned along the stone walls, guards patrolled as they always did, and from the training yard came the faint sound of steel clashing.
For Li Shen, it was just another night. He was fifteen years old, thin but wiry, with a stubborn fire in his eyes. Though only at the first stage of cultivation, he dreamed of one day standing tall like his father, the clan patriarch.
But dreams die quickly.
A scream split the air. Then another. Then the sound of hooves and the crack of breaking gates. The ground shook beneath his feet.
Li Shen stumbled out of his chamber, his practice sword still in hand. The courtyard was chaos. Warriors ran past him, shouting, blood staining their armor. Flames leapt across the rooftops, spreading faster than he could believe.
"What's happening?" he gasped.
"The Seven Peaks Sect!" someone shouted as they rushed by. "They've betrayed us!"
Before he could make sense of it, arrows rained down from the walls. Men fell around him. The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
Li Shen gritted his teeth and ran toward the main gates. His heart pounded with fear and confusion, but one thought filled his head—his father.
The patriarch stood at the gates, his tall figure marked by the long sword in his hands. His white robes were slashed and red with blood, but his back was unbending. Even wounded, he cut down enemies one after another, his blade a storm of steel.
"Father!" Li Shen cried.
The man turned, eyes burning with both fury and sorrow. "Shen! Why are you here? Run!"
"I can fight!" Li Shen raised his sword, though his hands shook.
"Foolish boy!" his father roared. His voice was hoarse, strained. "They came for our techniques! They will not stop until every Ironblade is dead! Go, Shen! Live!"
Before Li Shen could answer, a spear tore through the night. It pierced his father's chest clean through.
Blood burst from his lips. The patriarch staggered, dropped to one knee, and fell.
"Father!" Li Shen screamed, rushing forward.
He didn't make it far. A shadow loomed before him. A tall figure in black robes, face hidden by a silver mask, stepped over the patriarch's body. His aura pressed down like a mountain, suffocating.
The masked man looked down at him as though at an insect. "The last seed of Ironblade?" His voice was deep and cold. "What a pitiful sight."
He moved faster than Li Shen could see. A heavy boot slammed into the boy's stomach. The impact lifted him off his feet and threw him to the ground. His ribs cracked. His sword slipped from his hands.
Li Shen coughed blood. Pain blinded him, but he still reached for his weapon.
The man chuckled, a low cruel sound. "Do you still think you can fight?"
He raised a broad saber, the blade glinting in the firelight. With one swift strike, he brought it down.
Li Shen's world became steel and sparks. His weapon met the blow—and shattered.
The sword that had been passed down through his family for generations, the blade he had sworn to master, split into jagged pieces. The fragments scattered across the ground, sharp and broken.
The force of the strike tore open his arm. Blood sprayed across the dirt. His hands trembled as he stared at the broken steel.
"No…" His voice was hoarse, choked with despair.
The masked man leaned closer. "This is the fate of trash." He kicked the broken sword aside. "Your clan is nothing. You are nothing."
Li Shen's body refused to move. His vision blurred. His ears rang with the sound of flames and screams. His heart ached worse than his wounds.
He wanted to stand. He wanted to fight. But his strength was gone.
As darkness closed in, he heard the man's final words, echoing like poison.
"You will never rise again."
And then the world went black.