NOTE- A farewell at dawn.
A promise made in silence.
But the path to destiny is never kind
and one scar will mark the beginning of it all.
Morning broke over the valley like a whisper, pale gold spilling through mist and dew. The distant caws of mountain birds echoed across the rooftops of the small village nestled beneath Martial Mountain. Smoke curled lazily from a handful of chimneys. Life here moved with the rhythm of old songs — quiet, persistent, unremarkable.
Linfeng awoke to the familiar creak of wooden shutters and the faint smell of porridge. His body felt light, but his chest was tight. Today was the day he would leave the village — leave behind the warmth that had cradled him since birth.
"Awake already?"
The voice came from the corner, soft and rasped with age. Granny Mei was sitting by the stove, stirring the pot with trembling hands. Her hair, once black as crow feathers, had turned silver long ago, and her back bent like a withered reed. Yet her eyes — cloudy though they were — carried a warmth that could shame the sun.
"Yes," Linfeng said quietly, fastening his worn robe. "Today's the day."
She smiled, though the lines of her face deepened with worry. "You were always the restless one. Couldn't even wait to crawl before trying to stand."
He laughed softly, but it didn't last. The silence between them was thick — the kind that pressed down on the heart. He had no parents. Granny Mei had found him at the edge of the forest on a winter night, barely breathing, swaddled in an old crimson cloth. Since then, she had been everything to him — mother, teacher, the only light in a world that often looked away.
Granny Mei ladled a bowl of porridge and set it before him.
"Eat, little one. The road is long, and the mountain doesn't feed fools."
He obeyed, though the taste seemed dull on his tongue. When he finished, she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small talisman — an old, cracked charm bound by red string.
"Here," she said, pressing it into his palm. "It's useless to most… but maybe it'll listen to you. It's been in this house longer than I have."
Linfeng looked at it — faint inscriptions etched on its surface, worn smooth by decades of touch. He didn't understand its meaning, but warmth bloomed in his chest.
"I'll come back," he promised. "I'll make you proud."
Granny Mei smiled again, though her lips quivered. "Don't chase pride, child. Chase your heart — though even that may hurt you in the end."
As Linfeng stepped out into the dawn, she watched from the doorway, one hand raised, her frail figure haloed by the morning mist. The sight burned itself into his memory — the kind of pain that would one day haunt dreams.
The path to Martial Hall wound through forests older than memory. Trees knotted their roots like guardians clutching the soil. The wind whispered, carrying rumors of ancient martial masters and unseen worlds. Linfeng's feet ached with each step upward, yet his heart raced with awe. The higher he climbed, the smaller the village below became, swallowed by mist, distant and fragile like a dream.
Halfway up, he encountered other recruits — children from towns and villages far and wide. Some laughed nervously, swapping exaggerated tales of martial masters who could split mountains or outrun arrows. Others kept silent, eyes wide with fear and anticipation.
"From the valley, right?" a silk-clad boy sneered, eyeing Linfeng with contempt. "Didn't think peasants had the nerve to come."
Linfeng said nothing. Silence had become sharper than any blade.
Then, from a bend in the path, a young man in flowing robes appeared. The red and gold insignia of the Xiao family was emblazoned across his chest. His expression was haughty, eyes cold and calculating. Xiao Long.
"Ah, the little village boy," he said, voice smooth, mocking. "Come to play among the real warriors? And that old hag of yours…" His lips curled cruelly. "Pathetic."
Heat flared in Linfeng's chest. He gritted his teeth. "I don't need your approval," he said quietly.
Xiao Long's grin widened. "We shall see."
Without warning, Xiao Long moved, fast as a striking snake. He lunged at Linfeng's side with a sweeping kick. Linfeng barely brought the wooden sword up in time, the blade absorbing the impact and sending shock up his arms. He stumbled but regained balance.
"Pathetic!" Xiao Long laughed, circling him like a predator playing with prey. His strikes were precise — a punch aimed at Linfeng's shoulder, a spinning kick at his ribs, a low sweep at his legs. Linfeng parried desperately, every block burning, every dodge tearing at his muscles.
"You fight like a child," Xiao Long taunted, stepping back to admire the chaos of Linfeng's defense. "Do you even know what you're doing?"
"I fight like I have to," Linfeng shot back, thrusting with the wooden blade in a wild arc. Sparks flared as the wood scraped against the edge of Xiao Long's robe. "I fight like I won't stop!"
Xiao Long tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "Good. Then let's see how far your stubbornness takes you."
He struck with a spinning palm aimed at Linfeng's head, followed by a sweep to his legs. Linfeng barely blocked the palm and rolled under the sweep, but the force of both attacks sent him skidding across the rocky ground. Pain exploded through his ribs, his vision blurred, and with a final twisting kick to his side — Linfeng collapsed, unconscious, the wooden sword slipping from his fingers.
Xiao Long laughed, his voice cutting through the valley like a whip. A commoner dared resist him — dared mark him with a scar from a mere wooden sword? His eyes blazed with fury. He raised his foot to crush the boy entirely.
But before it could fall, an invisible force gripped his arm. Shock froze him mid-motion.
A figure descended from above — silent, imposing, and radiating a presence that chilled the air. Clad in the robes of a martial master, the figure's movements were precise, effortless. Xiao Long struggled, rage twisting his features, but the grip was absolute.