Cold rain fell like needles, cutting through the thin walls of a small, dilapidated house in a remote mountain village. The wind howled, and thunder shook the valley as if the heavens themselves were angry.
Outside, a thin boy stood, soaked through, his patched clothes clinging to his skin. His hands were rough from years of labor. His eyes, dark and sharp, reflected exhaustion—but also a spark of determination.
His name was Jae.
Today, he was leaving home.
Inside, a weak lamp flickered on the wooden table. A frail woman lay on a straw bed, coughing softly. Her hands were rough, her face marked by hardship, but her gaze was filled with warmth and worry.
"Jae… come closer," she whispered.
He knelt beside her, taking her trembling hand in his.
"Mother, please rest. Don't speak."
She smiled faintly.
"You must go to the sect tomorrow… This is your chance to change your life."
Jae's throat tightened.
"But… I can't leave you and father behind."
A coughing sound came from the doorway. His father, thin and stooped, leaned against the frame with a weak smile.
"You must go," he said quietly. "This world favors only the strong. Cultivators survive. The weak… are left behind."
Jae's heart clenched.
Cultivators.
The word carried both reverence and fear. Even kings bowed before them. They could fly through the skies, shatter mountains, and command powers beyond imagination.
And yet… Jae had never felt the slightest pull of spiritual energy in his body.
For sixteen years, he had tried. He had failed. Repeatedly.
He was considered useless.
His mother reached under her pillow and pulled out a small pendant—a black stone tied to a thin cord.
"Take this," she whispered.
Jae accepted it, unsure why it felt warm against his palm.
"What is it?"
Her eyes softened, a strange emotion hidden within.
"It is yours. Keep it safe."
Jae nodded. He did not question her further. Some things were not meant to be understood… at least, not yet.
That night, rain pounded the roof relentlessly. Jae sat alone by the dying fire, the pendant clutched in his hand.
"I don't want glory," he whispered to the darkened room. "I just want strength… enough to protect them."
The wind moaned through the cracks in the walls, and the heavens remained silent.
The next morning, the village stirred with excitement.
The Cheonghwa Sect had arrived to recruit disciples. Its gates loomed over the valley like mountains of stone, and its disciples radiated energy that made even seasoned villagers tremble.
Jae joined the other youths in the courtyard. Around him, sparks of elemental energy flickered—fire danced in one, water swirled around another, lightning crackled over yet another.
He placed his hands together, trying to feel the flow of energy, but… nothing.
No warmth. No pull. No life.
The instructors' eyes narrowed.
"Jae," one called, voice cold, "you have no talent. Do you even belong here?"
Whispers spread like wildfire:
"The useless one…"
"He can't cultivate…"
"Why is he even here?"
Jae lowered his head, hiding the sting of humiliation. He had lived with it his entire life.
That night, after returning home, Jae sat by the dying embers of the fire. He gazed at the black pendant.
"I don't understand… why am I like this?" he murmured.
A faint warmth pulsed from the stone, almost like a heartbeat. Jae frowned.
Outside, rain fell silently. Somewhere far above, lightning streaked across the sky, but it felt distant… and yet, as if calling to him.
Something deep within his body stirred, faintly… not full energy, not yet, but a whisper of power, a spark waiting to ignite.
Jae clenched his fists.
The world had ignored him his whole life. The sect had mocked him.
But he would no longer remain unseen.
The journey had begun.
And destiny, though hidden, was already watching.