Late 16th century, somewhere in nowadays Asia.
The desert stretches endlessly around you and Ajak, a silent expanse of dunes bathed in the hazy light of dawn. Wrapped in beige linen cloaks, you ride side by side, your hoods shielding you from the searing winds that whip through the open plain. With each movement, the ten rings on your elbows sway gently, the metal catching glints of sunlight, an almost ceremonial reminder of the power they hold. The quiet rhythm of hooves on sand and the whisper of your cloaks against the breeze fills the air. This journey—an enduring vigil after eliminating the Deviants—has become something more, a quest to witness the evolution of human civilizations from a distance, to protect as observers and guides, while remaining apart.
As you ride, you sense Ajak beside you, both of you in tune with the other's thoughts, silent but for the shared purpose that binds you. The rings on your arms, to the casual eye, appear simple and unremarkable. But to those with knowledge, they are unmistakable symbols of might and wisdom, each ring a vessel of Celestial power meant to amplify your gifts or combine your strength with Ajak's in harmony. Since Tenochtitlan, the rings have been entrusted to you, their keeper, and you feel the weight of that responsibility with each step you take upon this journey.
The familiar echo of hooves grows louder from behind, disturbing the stillness. You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of a dust cloud stirred by approaching riders. One look at Ajak, and you both recognize the shift in her expression—a silent, shared concern passing between you. Instinctively, you survey the desert's contours for a place to take cover. The two of you dismount quickly, drawing the hoods lower over your faces as you lead your horses behind a nearby cluster of boulders.
The riders, a motley group of bandits by their looks, thunder past initially, unaware of your presence. For a moment, you think they'll continue on their way, unaware of your existence. But a sharp whistle pierces the air—a call unmistakable in its intent. The leader of the group has spotted you. You exchange a brief look with Ajak, knowing what comes next. The riders turn, angling back in your direction, their faces hungry with a curiosity that often accompanies those who prey upon desert travelers.
As the bandits approach, their silhouettes growing clearer, you feel the rings stir with latent power. Their whispers are familiar, a hum of readiness that aligns perfectly with your own focus. You position yourself protectively, a subtle shift that places you in front of Ajak as the riders slow, their eyes alight with the gleam of potential plunder. The sun's early rays catch on the rings at your elbows, sending small, dancing reflections into the air. To the bandits, they may appear nothing more than simple adornments. But you know, with just a thought, they could be anything but ordinary.
The leader's eyes narrow as he gestures to his men, forming a tight circle around you and Ajak. His voice is gruff, demanding, and thick with suspicion as he leans forward, studying the two of you.
"你們是誰?"
(Who are you?) He asks, his tone sharp and unyielding. Recognizing his dialect, you blink and respond, your voice steady yet guarded.
"我們乃是過客."
(We're travelers.) The word "travelers" lingers between you, an answer intended to deflect curiosity rather than invite further questions.
He repeats the word, "過客?" skepticism flashing in his eyes as he moves his horse closer, scrutinizing you both with a fierce intensity. Sensing the tension in his gaze, you instinctively position yourself in front of Ajak, your hand inching towards your cloak. But as you adjust, a movement catches his eye—your sleeve slips just slightly, revealing the rings, their metallic glint unmistakable in the morning light.
Shit…
His eyes flick down, and you quickly tug your sleeve back down, but it's too late; he's already seen. His suspicion deepens, turning into something darker, a greed sharpened by the allure of what he perceives as treasure.
"過客?"
(Travelers?) He scoffs.
"我看你身上的寶物不像是個過客."
(Travelers? The jewels on you tell me otherwise.)
The leader dismounts, and with a subtle gesture, signals to two of his men. You brace as their hands clamp down on your elbows, their fingers seeking the rings, eager and invasive. Swiftly, you twist your wrists, breaking their grip and seizing them by the arms instead. In that instant, the rings come to life, glowing a fierce, molten orange as energy courses through your palms. You move with precision, flipping them over your shoulder in one smooth motion, slamming them together with a resounding thud.
Gasps ripple through the other bandits, some stepping back in surprise, while others tighten their grips on their weapons. A few begin to advance, but their leader raises his hand, his voice echoing with authority.
"冷靜!我說退下!"
(Hold! Stand down!)
The men freeze, uncertainty clouding their expressions. You meet the leader's gaze, flames igniting in both your palms, the intensity casting a fierce glow against the desert sand.
"You have no idea who we are…" you say, your voice low and unwavering.
Before they can react, you unleash a powerful gust of wind, the force sweeping through the ranks and sending them sprawling, their cries swallowed by the whirlwind you summon. The bandits stumble and fall, some clutching at the sand, trying to find their footing, but the tempest is relentless, scattering them like leaves in a storm.
Seizing the moment, you swing up onto your horse, Ajak following with practiced agility. With a swift kick, your horses take off, hooves pounding against the sand as you race forward, leaving the scattered, stunned bandits in the wake of your retreat. The wind fades behind you, carrying only the distant echo of their astonished shouts as you and Ajak disappear into the endless horizon, bound once more for the unknown.
********************
Standing atop the hill, you survey the valley below, where the calls of sparring youths and the rhythmic clanging of wooden staves and swords fill the air. Dressed in the simple yet dignified folds of a local martial robe, your hands rest behind your back, a stance that belies the myriad thoughts cycling through your mind. Though your gaze is set on the bustling training grounds below, your memory drifts to that dark, fateful night when you and Ajak stumbled upon a ravaged village in the desert, just after eluding the bandits.
That night had been stark and unforgiving, the landscape littered with remnants of lives violently disrupted. You recall the crumbling, abandoned houses, the hushed emptiness broken only by the unsettling sight of fallen bodies, their silence more powerful than any words could capture. The faintest sound of shallow breathing caught your attention, almost too faint for mortal senses. Trusting your instinct, you dismounted, giving Ajak a moment to mourn in silence as she took in the scene with solemn reverence.
Following the soft breaths, you reached a figure lying prone in the dust. Carefully, you knelt and turned the woman over, finding her body cold but still clutching a living reminder of her sacrifice. In her arms was a tiny, miraculously unharmed infant, his face serene, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The child seemed oblivious to the surrounding devastation, swathed in the quiet protection his mother had given him with her final strength. Gently, you cradled him, holding his fragile form close. A small hand twitched, then relaxed, as he sensed the warmth of your arms.
When you approached Ajak, her eyes softened, widening with both recognition and wonder as she looked down at the baby in your grasp. You tilted your head slightly, watching as she reached forward, her fingers barely grazing the infant's tiny fist before looking back up at you.
"Ajak," you whispered, your voice carrying the unspoken question between you.
"Is that…?" she asked softly, her gaze never leaving the child's sleeping face.
"Yes." You met her eyes, a gentle assurance settling in your tone as you passed the child to her. "Even in chaos, life persists."
Ajak held the baby carefully, her eyes taking on a tender glow that spoke of an ancient, hidden longing. Though the Celestials had crafted you all as protectors, her gaze revealed a deep, unfulfilled yearning for family—a desire she often channeled into her care for you and the others. This small, unassuming life had stirred within her something both sacred and fragile, and you felt its quiet power echo between you.
Without missing a beat, you suggested, "Shall we take him under our wing?"
Surprised, Ajak looked at you, her brows lifting slightly. You shrugged, adding with a knowing smile, "We need a better cover story than 'travelers.' Maybe this boy can help us."
Now, looking over the valley with the passage of years behind you, you see how that simple decision rippled into this moment. The boy, no longer an infant, has grown under your guidance and Ajak's nurturing, his life shaped by the strength of ancient wisdom and the protection of two Eternals. He trains now with the young warriors, his laugh mingling with their shouts, the embodiment of resilience and the profound connection you share with humanity.
********************
'師父,' (Master)
A voice calls out from behind you, cutting through the soft wind that stirs the dusty training ground. You turn, and your gaze settles on the young man standing just a few feet away, now grown from the child you and Ajak had raised all those years ago. His presence is a striking reminder of time's passing, though a youthful spark still gleams in his eyes—eyes that once stared up at you with wonder and now reflect the focus of a warrior in training. His frame is taller, leaner, and more fit than before, the years of discipline and guidance you've given him clearly visible in the strength of his build.
'Good, you're here,' you greet him, the corner of your mouth lifting in an approving smile.
You take a moment to appraise his mastery of cosmic energy, or Chi, as the locals have come to call it. This power, which you and Ajak first introduced to them, has become a part of everyday life, but only a select few have the potential to wield it with true mastery. The energy manifests in various colors depending on the individual—golden for Eternals, while for mortals, it ranges from red to orange and beyond, reflecting their mastery and control. As you focus your Eternal eyes on him, you notice the familiar orange glow surrounding his form has grown brighter, more intense over the years, a testament to his dedication and your careful training. His power has become more refined, stronger than when you first found him.
'Let's begin,' you instruct, stepping into a ready stance, signaling that it's time to put his training to the test.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
The rhythmic pattern of his strikes fills the air as you swiftly block each one with minimal effort, every movement calculated, every motion precise. It's a drill you've run countless times before—holding back during practice, offering only defense. There's no need to strike back. It's about teaching him restraint, focus, and control, and you are unwavering in this philosophy. Each of his attacks is swiftly redirected, his strength and speed no match for the experience you've gained over millennia.
Finally, you flip him over, sending him crashing to the ground with a loud thud. The sound rings out through the quiet space, and you hear Ajak's voice from the side.
'當心,重陽.'
(Careful, Chong-yang.)
'正面搶攻可無法贏過你師父,'
(It takes more than Chi and brute force to defeat your Master.)
Chong-yang, still lying on the ground, groans in frustration, but you simply offer a steady, encouraging gaze. There's no anger in your eyes, just a quiet expectation. You understand his frustration—he's eager to prove himself, but he still has so much more to learn.
'Again,' you say, your tone calm yet insistent. You want him to keep trying, to push beyond the physical. It's not enough to simply rely on raw power. As the keeper of the Ten Rings, you and Ajak are training him not just to fight, but to think, to plan, to grow into a leader worthy of the legacy of those rings.
Chong-yang's movements are quick, but predictable. Again, you block his attacks with effortless precision, using his momentum against him to send him sprawling onto the dirt once more.
'Again.'
Frustration builds in his chest, but he doesn't back down. This time, with a burst of Chi, he launches himself into the air, flipping and kicking at your shoulder with the force of a comet. You twist your body just enough, narrowly avoiding the blow. The battle rages on, his jabs and punches becoming more rapid, more desperate, but you remain composed. With a swift spin, you evade each strike, your rings glowing faintly in response to his growing intensity.
The pattern continues for several more rounds, with Chong-yang charging at you relentlessly, his attacks becoming increasingly desperate as exhaustion begins to take its toll. Finally, he collapses to the ground, panting heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead. You extend a hand, pulling him to his feet with an encouraging nod.
'Return to your quarters,' you tell him, gesturing toward the distant camp, 'and change into fresh clothes.'
As Chong-yang stumbles off, still catching his breath, you stand there for a moment, the wind stirring your robe as you watch him retreat. Ajak steps up beside you, her presence a quiet, steadying force as she watches the young man disappear into the distance.
'Do you think he'll be ready?' you ask, folding your arms across your chest, the weight of responsibility pressing on your shoulders.
Ajak looks down for a moment, her expression thoughtful, then mumbles, 'No one is born ready.'
She glances up at you, her eyes locking onto yours, filled with an understanding that spans centuries. 'All we can do is prepare Chong-yang as best as we can.'
********************
'So the Ten Rings gang is now an offshoot of the Ten Rings faction you created?' the Ancient One asked, her voice curious but tinged with an underlying tone of realization.
'Yes,' you answered, though you paused, the weight of the past still heavy in your mind. You considered continuing the tale yourself, but felt it might be best for Ajak to take over from here. She was, after all, the one who had watched over the rings and the rise of their successor.
Ajak, sensing your intention, stepped forward slightly, her gaze steady as she began. 'We passed the rings to Chong-yang as our successor when people began to notice our agelessness. He used the rings and the knowledge we passed on to him, choosing to fight for the oppressed in the war against the Later Jin.' Her voice softened slightly at the mention of Chong-yang. She, like you, had seen him grow, and although his decisions were his own, the weight of their consequence never failed to affect her.
'Until he was betrayed by one of his followers, who stole the rings and later surrendered them as a peace offering to Nurhaci,' you added, the anger of the betrayal still fresh after all these years. The memory of Chong-yang's betrayal lingered with a bitter taste, an impossible choice thrust upon him by those he trusted.
'Nurhaci…' the Ancient One repeated, the name carrying a weight that reverberated through the air. She clearly recognized the significance of the name, though there was an absence of surprise in her tone, perhaps due to her long history with the mystic arts and the many twists of fate she had witnessed over the years.
'Yes,' you confirmed, pointing to the figure displayed in the spell—the image now flickering in the air before you. The runes shifted, revealing the figure of a man dressed in battle armor, his eyes cold and calculating, standing before an army. 'That's him.'
The Ancient One took a moment to observe the image, her eyes narrowing as she processed the significance. You watched as the wheels in her mind turned, piecing together the timeline of events.
'He ended the war with the Ming dynasty and founded the Jin dynasty, using offshoots of our power,' you explained, your voice tinged with regret and a certain finality. It was a bitter truth. The rings, once a source of power for the oppressed, had been turned against the very people they had once protected. The foundations of their legacy had shifted into the hands of a conqueror.