The forest beyond Eldhaven drank their footsteps, the glowing leaves overhead casting eerie shadows. Jin Muyeong led, his crimson-gold robes flowing like a warrior-king's banner, his black katana sheathed at his side. Behind him trailed his disciples: Taren, the boy with defiance in his eyes; Lira, the gaunt woman clutching a broken staff; and Goren, the old man whose trembling hands hid a buried past. Silence hung heavy, their faces etched with awe and doubt. They had seen Jin snuff a mage's flames with a glance, yet now they followed him deeper into the unknown. Toward what? None dared ask.
The trees parted, revealing a wide, flat clearing, untouched, as if carved for this moment. A faint breeze stirred, carrying the weight of what was to come.
Jin turned, arms folded, his presence commanding the stillness. His dark eyes swept over the trio, calm but edged with steel. "This is where you will train. Sit."
They obeyed, sinking to the mossy ground. Taren's fists clenched, eager yet nervous. Lira's gaze darted, her lips pressed thin with skepticism. Goren sat heavily, eyes fixed on the earth, shame weighing his shoulders.
Jin's voice sliced the silence, resonant and unyielding. "Let me be clear. You will not learn all I know. Not because I withhold it, but because you cannot. Even geniuses falter when chasing too many paths."
He gripped his katana's hilt, drawing the blade halfway. Its dark edge glinted, a whisper of the power that had sundered mountains. With a soft click, he let it slide back. The gesture was deliberate: a warning, a promise.
"My techniques—the Black Blade's path—were forged through blood, a merciless master, and scars beyond counting. You cannot walk that road. But I will teach you what matters. What makes a martial artist whole."
He raised a finger. "Body movement techniques."
Another. "Footwork techniques."
A third, fourth, fifth, sixth. "Fist, kick, sword, and spear techniques."
His voice grew firm, each word a hammer on stone. "A true martial artist is not one who masters all, but one whose foundation withstands any storm. Body movement and footwork—all of you will learn. But for your path of attack, you will choose one: fist and kick together, sword, or spear."
Taren's eyes flickered, caught between excitement and doubt. Lira's brow furrowed, her cynicism flaring. Goren's hands stilled, but his gaze stayed low, haunted. A murmur rippled: disappointment, perhaps, or fear of falling short again.
Jin's eyes narrowed, piercing their thoughts. "Do not falter. I see what lives in your hearts. You feel small, powerless, cast aside by a world blind to your worth. But you have what the mighty envy—room to grow."
He stepped closer, voice softening but resolute. "This world worships its flames and force, yet it cannot see its shadows. You are not ants. You are warriors, waiting to awaken."
Taren swallowed, voice barely a whisper. "But… we've got no spark, no aura. How can we—"
"Enough," Jin cut in, his tone a blade. "Their spark and aura are borrowed, fleeting. Ki is forged within, eternal. You will learn, or you will break trying."
He moved to the clearing's edge, movements fluid, deliberate. "I will show you once. Watch closely."
Jin took a stance, hand resting lightly on his katana's hilt. His senses, honed beyond mortal limits, caught a faint rustle beyond the trees: a presence, hidden, watching. He said nothing, his focus unwavering. The air grew heavy, the forest holding its breath. Slowly, he drew the blade: a whisper of steel, its dark edge catching the fading light.
One slash.
It was not his full strength.
But it was enough.
A gust roared through the clearing, trees bending as if in reverence. Above, the heavens split—massive clouds, unmoving before, cleaved in a perfect line. Sunlight poured through, bathing the clearing in gold. The disciples froze, breaths stolen. Taren's jaw dropped, Lira's staff slipped from her grasp, Goren's eyes widened: a spark of lost fire flickering within.
The sky mended slowly, clouds drifting together, but the moment's weight lingered. Jin sheathed his katana, expression unchanged, as if he'd merely waved a hand. His gaze flicked briefly to the trees, where the hidden watcher lurked. "That," he said, "is ki. Not borrowed. Not forced. Forged."
Taren scrambled to his feet, voice shaking. "You… you cut the sky!"
Jin's gaze met his, calm but piercing. "And you will cut your own path, if you dare walk it."
Lira's voice trembled, her cynicism shattered. "Only The Old Sage and The Golden Tiger could do that… and they're legends across the entire kingdom."
Goren said nothing, but his hands no longer shook.
Before Jin could speak, he moved: faster than thought, a blur that left the disciples blinking. In an instant, he stood before the brush at the clearing's edge, where a cloaked figure crouched. A girl, her tattered cloak heavy with dust, froze mid-breath. Jin's voice was low, almost amused. "Who are you?"
"YELP!" The girl flinched, tumbling backward onto her butt with a thud. Her hood fell, revealing wide, startled eyes and a tangle of dark hair. She scrambled to sit up, cheeks flushing. "I-I wasn't spying! I swear!"
Jin tilted his head, his calm unshaken, though a faint glint of humor flickered in his eyes. "You hide poorly. Speak. Why are you here?"
The girl's breath hitched, her hands clutching the dirt. Hunger gnawed at her, but guilt clawed deeper: she had fled her home, her family's talk of a forced marriage driving her into the wild. She hadn't expected this. Through blurred, weary eyes, she had seen the group: three ragged figures and the man at their center, his presence a storm held in check. Then the sky had split.
Her heart had stopped.
Even Eclipse Monarchs can barely do that…
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, mind racing. Who was this man? And why did her soul stir, as if something buried had begun to wake?
Jin's gaze softened, just a fraction. "Stand. You are no threat."
The disciples gaped, only now noticing the girl. Taren whispered, "How'd he even see her?"
Lira smirked, her cynicism creeping back. "Guess he's not just talk."
Jin gestured to the ground. "Sit. All of you. Feel the pulse within. It may take hours, days. But it is there."
As the disciples—and the flustered girl—settled, faces alight with fragile hope, the clearing grew still. The Black Blade had begun his work.
And the world was trembling.