Cain's infant body stirred restlessly in the cradle, his tiny limbs twitching uncontrollably. He could feel the limitations of this frail vessel, every nerve and bone constricting his once vast, unbridled power. Rage boiled within him, but there was no outlet. No voice. No command. Only the helpless, muffled cry of a newborn.
'How far I have fallen.'
Inside the cocoon of his consciousness, Carwyn's ancient soul pulsed against the tight, suffocating walls of flesh. He could still remember the searing heat of his demonic qi, the strength that had once coiled through his bones like a serpent ready to strike. That power, once boundless, was now reduced to nothing more than a faint whisper, a distant echo of what he had been.
The sensation of his soul floating in the liquid strands of the medallion still lingered, but it was now bound by flesh—his very soul imprisoned in this infant shell. Cain gritted his teeth, or at least, he would have if he had any.
Time was passing. He could feel it, sense it in the rhythm of the days. His parents' voices came and went, conversations about the village, the mountain, and the strange tremors. Every passing moment was an opportunity slipping away. He had to act, had to begin his cultivation now if he had any hope of reclaiming what was lost.
But where to start? His body was useless. The Qi that had once been as natural to him as breath was now a foreign concept in this world. He needed to adapt.
And then it came to him—the answer lay beneath him, in the trembling earth, in the cosmic stream that even now pulsed with the vibrations of the world itself. The Dao here wasn't just ethereal. It was real, tangible. He could feel it, faintly, beneath the skin of the world, like a distant heartbeat.
The tremors.
Every time the earth shuddered, a thin pulse of energy flickered beneath the surface of the mountain, a thread of power woven into the very foundation of the Elder World. It was weak, scattered, but it was something—something Cain could use.
'If the Qi here is rooted in the Dao itself, then I must cultivate directly from the world, from the stream that gives life to all.'
Cain focused inward, as much as his underdeveloped brain and body would allow. It was like trying to swim through tar—his consciousness was sluggish, unfocused, a far cry from the sharp, precise control he had mastered in his former life. But he was persistent, his will unyielding.
He concentrated on the sensation beneath the village, the tremors that rippled through the mountain veins. His infant eyes fluttered closed as he imagined the energy flowing through the earth, the tendrils of the cosmic stream that hummed in the distance. He reached out—not with his body, but with his soul.
His soul was still in the protection of the medallion which was now in the form of a liquid enclosing with two the strands and thus he had a sense of assurance and confidence.
There it was. Faint, fragile, but unmistakable. The energy of the Dao trickling up from the depths of the world, intermingling with the earth itself. He could feel it, like the first breath of air after being submerged underwater. It was wild and untamed, not the orderly flow of Qi he was used to, but it was there.
Cain gripped it with his mind, wrapping his consciousness around the thread of power and pulling it toward him. It resisted at first, slipping through his grasp like sand. His infant body wasn't ready, wasn't strong enough to handle the strain. Pain stabbed through his tiny form, a reminder of his limitations.
But Carwyn was no stranger to pain. He had endured far worse.
With every ounce of his will, he pushed through the discomfort, pulling the energy closer, forcing it to flow into his infant body and to his soul.The cosmic energy was restrained by the liquid medallion enclosing not touching his soul but slowly distributed to his body.
The tremor of the earth beneath him seemed to mirror his efforts, growing in intensity as the cosmic Dao energy began to seep into his flesh. It wasn't much—just a trickle—but it was enough.
A surge of warmth spread through him, weak but undeniable. It was like taking the first step after being bedridden for years—a reminder that movement was possible, that strength was achievable. His soul pulsed with a faint glow, a dark purple light that flickered momentarily before fading.
It wasn't much, but it was progress.
Cain exhaled softly, the infant body's chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His tiny hands clenched into weak fists as a sense of triumph washed over him. The energy from the tremors had entered him, even if only a small amount. It was crude, primitive even, but it was a start. And with time, he would refine it, harness it, and turn it into the power he craved.
'This world... this body... they will not hold me back forever. I will rise again, and this time, no one will stand in my way.'
The tremors outside grew faint, fading into the background as the mountain settled once more. But inside Cain's soul, the cosmic stream had stirred. It was weak now, like a flickering flame in the wind, but it was there, and it was real.
And for Cain, that was all that mattered.
As tremors subsided, the house fell silent once again. Outside the small stone cottage, the village of Fogpeak was stirring. For most, the tremors had become a grim reminder of the unrest deep beneath the earth. For Cain, they were an opportunity—each pulse of energy, however faint, was a reminder that power could be drawn from even the smallest flickers of chaos.
But the village itself was far from a place of tranquility. Cain had been listening intently, soaking in every conversation his mother, Brigid, had with the numerous visitors who came to their home. While he lay in her arms, playing the part of the helpless infant, he was always learning.
Fogpeak wasn't just a backwater village—it was a strategic hub nestled in the mountains, and the forces vying for control over it were many.
There were three main factions that influenced the village's politics, each with its own agenda and methods of control. Brigid, though outwardly a neutral party, seemed far more involved than she let on.
First was the Totem Warrior Council
The strongest force in the village, the "Totem Warrior Council", was led by elder warriors who wielded ancient totems passed down through generations. Their strength came not only from their physical might but also from the respect they commanded within the village. These warriors believed in the old ways—tradition, honor, and the preservation of Fogpeak's customs.
They trained the next generation of totem warriors, passing down the knowledge of totem refinement, totem techniques, battle formations, and the sacred rituals connected to the mountain. Toran, Cain's father, was a captain under their command, respected for his bravery and loyalty to the council's cause.
But Cain could see through their noble façade. The council wasn't just concerned with defending the village; they sought control over the mountain itself, believing that by harnessing the tremors, they could unlock new totem powers and elevate their status. They were the dominant force, but their grip was slowly loosening.
Second to the totem warrior council was the Mountain Vein Sect.
A shadowy faction composed of mystics and scholars who studied the mountain's movements. They were less concerned with martial prowess and more focused on the mysteries of the mountain's instability. While the council saw the tremors as dangerous but manageable, the Mountain Vein Sect believed they were the key to unlocking untold cosmic power.
Led by a cryptic figure known as 'Master Ilias', they were always one step ahead of the village's knowledge, often speaking in riddles and half-truths. They were said to have deep connections to the Elder World beyond, and there were whispers that their leader had once touched the cosmic stream itself, emerging with forbidden knowledge.
They sought to destabilize the council, undermining their authority through covert operations and information manipulation. Cain had observed Brigid's subtle interactions with them; she was careful, always maintaining her neutrality, but Cain knew she had an ear to their secrets.
Lastly, there was the 'Merchant Syndicate', the most unassuming but perhaps the most dangerous of the three factions. While they held no official power, their influence was vast. They controlled the flow of goods in and out of Fogpeak, from basic supplies to rare materials needed for totem refinement. Without them, the village would be starved of resources.
Led by 'Geralt Malkin' , a cunning and ruthless merchant, the syndicate had the ability to shift alliances as easily as they moved their wares. They had no loyalty to the council, the Mountain Vein Sect, or anyone else. Their loyalty was to gold and profit. They often played the other factions against each other, fanning the flames of rivalry while ensuring they always came out on top.
But out of all, Cain could not help but admire his mother 'Brigid'
Though she appeared to be nothing more than the wife of a totem warrior captain and a devoted mother, Brigid was far more than she seemed. Every day, people from all three factions came to her, not for supplies or goods, but for information.
To Cain, it became clear—Brigid was the neutral party among the factions, a broker of knowledge. She played the delicate game of balancing these powers, ensuring that none could rise too high or fall too low. Her role wasn't just that of a passive observer; she actively worked to maintain the fragile balance in Fogpeak, all while pretending to be uninvolved.
Cain marveled at her skill. In his former life, he had often manipulated people to further his own ends, but Brigid's methods were different -- subtler, more patient. She played the long game, and in a village like Fogpeak, that was essential for survival.
As Cain grew more attuned to the dynamics of the village, he realized that this web of alliances, rivalries, and secrets would be key to his own rise to power. Fogpeak was a microcosm of the larger Elder World, and if he could navigate these factions, he could learn how to manipulate the cosmic stream itself.
That evening, as another tremor shook the house, Toran once again prepared to leave. The instability was growing worse, and rumors of something stirring deep within the mountain were spreading like wildfire. He buckled his armor and tightened his sword belt, his expression grim.
He took his totems and looked at his wife.
"I need to meet with the council," Toran muttered to Brigid, his voice tinged with concern. "They've spotted movement near the base of the mountain. The Mountain Vein Sect suspects it might be connected to the tremors."
Brigid's expression remained neutral, but Cain could sense the tension in the room. This wasn't just another minor disturbance. The factions were positioning themselves for something big.
"Be careful," Brigid said softly, but there was an edge to her words. Cain could tell she knew more than she was letting on.
As was about to leave, Cain's infant body shifted restlessly. His father was walking into a dangerous situation—one that could tip the balance of power in the village. And while Cain couldn't intervene just yet, he knew that whatever happened next would create an opening .
Cain's mind churned with numerous possibilities. The tremors, the factions, and the tension building in Fogpeak were all pieces of a larger puzzle. And while he was still trapped in this infant form, each day brought him closer to reclaiming the power he had lost.
As he lay in the cradle, listening to the fading footsteps of his father, Cain knew that the battle outside the village was only the beginning.