The morning sun cast long shadows across the fortress' central courtyard as Old Jiang stood before Luo Jinhai, grease still staining his hands from his latest repairs on the Xuanwu-EX. The patriarch's expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back, the golden phoenix embroidery on his robes glinting in the light.
"Wei," Jinhai began, his voice low but carrying the weight of command, "I want you back as head engineer."
Jiang blinked, then barked a laugh. "Took you long enough to ask." He wiped his hands on his already filthy pants, leaving fresh streaks of oil. "What's the catch?"
Jinhai didn't smile. "No catch. The Luo need your expertise. Especially now."
Jiang glanced at Yuchen, who stood nearby with Xing at his side, both watching the exchange silently. The old engineer exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Fine," he said after a long pause. "But I'm not kissing your robes or any of that ceremonial crap. And I keep my workshop."
Jinhai's lips twitched—the closest he ever came to a smile. "Agreed."
Yuchen let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Jiang caught his eye and winked.
"Don't get used to it, kid. I'm still gonna make you scrub engine parts."
The war room was silent save for the hum of holographic projectors. Yuchen sat at the massive obsidian table, Xing curled in his lap, as Jinhai activated the central display. A three-dimensional map of the world flickered to life, dotted with colored sigils—phoenixes, serpents, wolves, and other emblems Yuchen didn't recognize.
"The Luo Organization is just one power among many," Jinhai began, his voice steady. "To survive, you must understand them all."
He zoomed in on Asia first.
"Family-based Organizations," he said, pointing to the phoenix emblem over Beijing. "Like ours. Passed down through bloodlines, governed by tradition. We rule not just for power, but for legacy."
The display shifted, highlighting other regions.
"The Sutherland Dynasty in Australia—pale-haired, blue-eyed devils who specialize in neural tech." A smirk touched Jinhai's lips. "Their matriarch could outdrink a battalion."
Yuchen remembered Vera's sharp grin and the way her mech had moved like liquid metal.
Jinhai continued. "The Ironfang Syndicate in Moscow—brutal, but honor-bound. Never break a contract."
Xing perked up at the wolf sigil that appeared, his ears twitching.
Then the hologram shifted again, this time to Europe.
"The most advanced—and dangerous—of them all," Jinhai said, his voice dropping. "The Valois Consortium in Paris. Gene-modded aristocrats who've been playing the long game for centuries."
A silver fleur-de-lis spun slowly above France.
"And the Von Adler Clan in Berlin," Jinhai added. "Mech specialists. Their pilots are born, not made."
Yuchen frowned. "What about the others?"
Jinhai's expression darkened.
The hologram flickered, now showing a different set of sigils—cruder, less ornate.
"Private Organizations,"Jinhai said, his voice edged with disdain. "No bloodlines, no history. Just profit."
He tapped a serpent emblem coiled over Shanghai.
"Wei-Xing. The most powerful of them all. They'll sell their own mothers for the right price."
Yuchen's fingers tightened on Xing's fur.
"Then there's the Black Hydra Syndicate in New York," Jinhai continued. "Gang lords turned warlords. They control what's left of the American wastelands."
The display shifted to Africa, where a crimson scorpion emblem pulsed.
"The Stinger Collective. Mercenaries, slavers, beast hunters. If it has a price, they'll deal in it."
Jinhai turned to face Yuchen fully.
"The Family Organizations play the long game. The Private ones? They'll burn the world for a quick advantage." His gaze hardened. "Wei-Xing proved that at Phoenix Nest."
Yuchen thought of the children in the pods, their bodies twisted into weapons.
"So how do we stop them?"
Jinhai's smile was razor-thin.
"By being better."
The fortress' private training grounds were hidden deep within the central spire, accessible only to the Luo bloodline. The walls were lined with ancient weapons—jade-hilted daggers, plasma-forged sabers, even a pre-Collapse railgun mounted like a trophy.
Jiang leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Try not to get killed, kid."
Jinhai ignored him, handing Yuchen a simple wooden staff.
"First lesson—how to think like a Luo."
He attacked without warning, the staff whistling toward Yuchen's ribs.
Yuchen barely blocked in time, the impact rattling his bones.
"Good," Jinhai said. "Now again."
For hours, they moved through forms—strikes, parries, counters. Jinhai's critiques were sharp, his corrections precise.
"Your stance is too wide."
"You're telegraphing your strikes."
"Faster!"
By the time they finished, Yuchen's arms trembled with exhaustion, his palms raw.
Jiang tossed him a canteen. "Not bad for a first day."
Jinhai studied Yuchen for a long moment.
"Tomorrow, we train with blades."
Xing, who had watched the entire session with rapt attention, let out an excited yip.
Yuchen grinned through the pain.
"Can't wait."
The training hall smelled of sandalwood and steel. Yuchen stood barefoot on the polished obsidian floor, his small hands wrapped around the hilt of a practice sword—a scaled-down replica of the Luo family's ancestral jian, its edge dulled for training but its balance perfect.
Across from him, Jinhai moved with the precision of a war machine, his own blade whispering through the air.
"A Luo does not wield steel," the patriarch intoned. "We become it."
Xing lay at the edge of the training circle, his golden eyes tracking every movement.
Yuchen adjusted his grip, his arms still sore from yesterday's staff training. The sword felt alien in his hands—too long, too heavy for his eight-year-old frame.
Jinhai noticed.
"Again."
The first strike came like lightning. Yuchen barely raised his blade in time, the impact vibrating up his arms. He stumbled back, his heels skidding on the smooth stone.
Jiang, leaning against a pillar with a half-disassembled plasma pistol in his hands, snorted. "Kid's got the reflexes of a cat. Just needs to stop fighting like he's holding a wrench."
Jinhai didn't smile. "Focus on your footwork. The blade follows the body, not the other way around."
Yuchen wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "It's too big for me."
For a heartbeat, the patriarch's stern expression softened. Then he turned to a carved chest at the edge of the hall and withdrew something—a slender dagger, its hilt inlaid with a single phoenix feather encased in crystal.
"Your father's first blade," Jinhai said, offering it hilt-first. "He was seven when he earned it."
The moment Yuchen's fingers closed around the hilt, something clicked. The weight was perfect, the balance like an extension of his own arm.
Jiang whistled. "Well, shit. Now he looks like a Luo."
That afternoon, the lessons moved from steel to strategy.
The war room's holographic table displayed a sprawling map of Beijing, pulsing with colored sigils—eight phoenix emblems in different configurations, each representing one of the capital's ruling families.
Jinhai traced a finger through the light, making the symbols shimmer.
"The Li family controls the northern hydroponics farms. The Wangs oversee the shield generators. The Zhangs command the border legions." His finger paused over a serpent coiled around a phoenix. "And the Wei-Luo alliance holds the southern trade routes."
Yuchen frowned. "Wei? As in Wei-Xing?"
"A distant branch," Jinhai clarified, his mouth tightening. "They swore fealty generations ago. But blood ties do not always bind."
Xing growled low in his throat, as if sensing the tension.
Jiang, who had been tinkering with a scanner in the corner, looked up. "Politics, kid. The real battlefield."
Jinhai zoomed the display out to show the world again. "Every family has allies. Every ally has enemies. The Sutherlands trade with the Ironfang but war with the Valois. The Von Adlers sell mechs to Wei-Xing but would slit their throats given the chance."
Yuchen's head spun. "How do you keep track?"
"By remembering one rule," Jinhai said, locking eyes with him. "There are no permanent allies. Only permanent interests."
The words settled over Yuchen like armor.
Night had fallen when Jinhai led Yuchen to the fortress's deepest chamber—the Hall of Ancestors.
The air here was thick with incense and age. Row upon row of stone tablets lined the walls, each carved with the names of Luo warriors past. At the center stood an obsidian plinth, upon which rested a single, ancient sword—its blade black as void, its edge shimmering with fractal patterns.
"The Phoenix Fang," Jinhai said quietly. "Our family's soul-steel."
Xing pressed against Yuchen's leg, his fur standing on end.
Jinhai placed a hand on Yuchen's shoulder. "To lead the Luo, you must understand our price."
With his other hand, he drew a dagger and—before Yuchen could react—sliced a thin line across the boy's palm.
Blood welled, dark in the torchlight.
"Now place your hand on the blade."
Yuchen hesitated only a second before obeying.
The moment his blood touched the metal, the sword flared to life, its fractal patterns glowing crimson. Images flooded Yuchen's mind—battlefields, betrayals, the rise and fall of empires.
And one face, repeated through the centuries—his own.
Jinhai's voice came as if from far away. "The blood remembers. Now so do you."
Later, in the quarters now his, Yuchen sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his bandaged palm.
Xing nudged his knee with a wet nose.
Jiang entered without knocking, tossing him a small package. "Eat. You look like hell."
Yuchen unwrapped it to find honey-glazed mantou, still warm. His favorite.
"Jiang... why did you really come back?"
The old engineer sighed, sitting heavily beside him. "Because someone's gotta keep you alive, kid." He ruffled Yuchen's hair. "And because your old man would've haunted me if I didn't."
Yuchen took a bite, the sweetness grounding him.
Outside, the fortress slept.
But the world beyond—with all its dangers and deceits—waited.
The morning gong shattered the fortress' silence like a hammer through glass. Yuchen jolted awake, his small body tangled in silk sheets, Xing already standing stiff-legged on the bed with his silver-marked fur bristling.
Before he could rub the sleep from his eyes, the chamber doors burst open.
"Up, cub."
Jiang stood silhouetted in the doorway, his toolbelt already laden with enough gear to outfit a small army. Behind him loomed two Luo soldiers in full battle armor, their faces hidden behind visors that glowed faint red in the dim light.
Yuchen scrambled upright, the previous day's blade training leaving his muscles screaming in protest. "What's happening?"
Jiang tossed him a folded black training suit. "Your grandfather's idea of 'gentle' morning exercise."
Xing yipped and pounced on the uniform as it landed, shaking it like prey.
The training yard had transformed overnight.
Where yesterday there had been clean obsidian floors and orderly weapon racks, now stood a nightmare obstacle course—flame pits, electrified barriers, moving targets that snapped steel-tipped arrows toward anyone who stepped out of line.
Jinhai waited at the center, his arms crossed over his armored chest. At his feet lay two items: Yuchen's practice sword and a live plasma pistol.
"Choose," the patriarch commanded.
Yuchen's throat went dry. The pistol was standard Luo issue—compact, efficient, lethal. The sword was what he'd trained with yesterday.
Jiang nudged him. "Kid, take the—"
"Let him decide," Jinhai interrupted.
Xing whined, pressing against Yuchen's leg.
Yuchen stepped forward...
And picked up both.
Jinhai's eyebrow twitched—the closest he ever came to looking impressed.
"Good. Now survive."
A horn blared.
The first trap activated.
The spinning blade trap came first—a whirling circle of monofilament wires that could slice flesh from bone. Yuchen rolled under, Xing darting between his legs, the pup's unnatural reflexes keeping them both clear.
"Move!" Jiang's voice echoed from somewhere above, where he watched from a safe platform. "The floor's heating up!"
Yuchen barely had time to register the warning before the blackstone tiles beneath him began glowing orange. He sprinted for the next platform, Xing matching him step for step.
A snap-hiss from the left—arrow launchers.
Yuchen's body moved before his mind could think. The practice sword deflected the first projectile, the plasma pistol vaporized the second. The third would have taken him through the throat—
—had Xing not leaped, his silver-marked body intercepting the arrow midair. It shattered against his enhanced hide.
"Holy hell," Jiang muttered.
Jinhai said nothing.
The final challenge rose before them—a sheer ten-meter wall with no handholds, its surface crackling with intermittent electrical pulses.
Yuchen holstered the pistol, sheathed the sword, and looked down at Xing.
"Ready?"
The pup's eyes gleamed.
They moved as one—Yuchen scrambling up the first few meters using the brief gaps between pulses, Xing climbing beside him like a silver-furred spider, his enhanced claws finding purchase where human fingers couldn't.
At the top waited Jinhai.
Yuchen hauled himself over the edge, chest heaving, hands blistered from the heated floor.
The patriarch studied him for a long moment before nodding.
"Again."
By noon, Yuchen had run the gauntlet seven times. His uniform was in tatters, his arms streaked with burns and cuts. Xing fared little better—his normally lustrous fur matted with sweat and dust.
Jiang tossed them both canteens. "Kid, you're either the bravest eight-year-old alive or the dumbest."
Jinhai approached, holding out a small jade box. Inside lay two crimson pills.
"Luo family recipe," he said. "For recovery."
Yuchen swallowed his without hesitation—the bitter taste exploding across his tongue like fire. Xing sniffed his suspiciously before gulping it down.
Almost immediately, warmth spread through Yuchen's limbs, the pain receding like tidewater.
"Whoa," he breathed.
Jiang smirked. "Perks of being heir."
Jinhai's gaze was unreadable. "Tomorrow we begin tactical simulations. Today, you've earned knowledge."
He led them to a secluded garden where a single holographic projector sat atop a stone table. Its activation revealed a rotating model of the European continent, dotted with unfamiliar sigils.
"The real powers," Jinhai said quietly.
The Valois Consortium's fleur-de-lis pulsed over Paris.
"Gene-modded aristocrats," Jinhai explained. "They've been refining their bloodline for centuries. Stronger, faster, smarter than baseline humans."
The image shifted to show a Valois agent in action—moving faster than the eye could track, snapping a mech's arm with bare hands.
Yuchen's stomach twisted.
Berlin's emblem—a black eagle clutching lightning bolts—flared next.
"Von Adler Clan," Jinhai continued. "Their neural-link technology surpasses even ours. A Von Adler pilot can sync with a mech at 99% efficiency."
The demonstration showed a twelve-year-old girl dismantling a battalion of drones with a single Light-Frame.
Xing growled.
Finally, the projection settled on a strange, spiral-like emblem over London.
"The Ascendancy," Jinhai said, his voice dropping. "We don't trade with them. Don't speak with them. If you see their agents, you run."
Yuchen frowned. "Why?"
The hologram answered—a faceless figure in a white robe, standing calmly as an entire mech squadron's weapons turned on each other.
"Psionics," Jinhai said. "Mind control. The Ascendancy doesn't conquer cities. They conquer wills."
The garden fell silent save for the chirping of mechanical insects.
Jiang broke the quiet first. "Cheery bunch."
That night, Yuchen lay awake staring at the ceiling, Xing a warm weight across his feet.
The day's lessons swirled in his mind—the brutal training, the terrifying glimpse of global powers, the weight of the Luo legacy.
A soft knock startled him.
Jiang entered without waiting for permission, carrying a tray of food and what looked suspiciously like a child-sized plasma rifle.
"Eat," he ordered, setting the tray down. "Then we're going shooting."
Yuchen blinked. "Now?"
Jiang's grin was all teeth. "Kid, if you're gonna lead lions, you'd better learn to roar."
The underground firing range smelled of scorched metal and ionized air. Jiang had disabled the security protocols, leaving them alone with a cache of weapons that would make any warlord drool.
Yuchen hefted the child-sized plasma rifle, its weight unfamiliar but not uncomfortable. Xing circled the firing lane, his nose twitching at the residual energy signatures.
"Rule one,"Jiang said, slapping a fresh power cell into a pistol, "never trust safety locks." He demonstrated by overriding the weapon's governor chip with a screwdriver. The pistol's charge indicator flared red—lethal mode activated.
Yuchen eyed his own rifle. "Isn't this dangerous?"
Jiang snorted. "Kid, you fought Wei-Xing mechs bare-handed. This?" He gestured to the arsenal around them. "This is kindergarten."
The targets lit up—holographic Wei-Xing soldiers advancing in formation.
"Light 'em up."
Plasma bolts screamed downrange, each shot kicking the rifle's stock into Yuchen's shoulder. His first volley went wide, scorching the back wall.
Jiang didn't laugh. "You're jerking the trigger. Squeeze, don't yank."
Xing, perched on a crate, tilted his head as if judging Yuchen's technique.
By the fifth magazine, Yuchen could hit center mass at fifty meters. By the tenth, he'd graduated to moving targets.
"Not bad," Jiang admitted, tossing him a handful of explosive rounds. "Now try these."
The resulting detonation vaporized three targets at once.
Yuchen's ears rang. "That's illegal in twelve provinces!"
"And that's why we stockpile them," Jiang grinned.
They didn't hear the door open.
"I should have you flogged."
Jinhai stood silhouetted in the doorway, his robes exchanged for combat fatigues. Jiang didn't even flinch.
"You're welcome to try, old man."
To Yuchen's shock, Jinhai stepped forward... and picked up a railgun.
"The Ascendancy favors psionic shielding over physical armor." He powered up the massive weapon one-handed. "Which makes them vulnerable to kinetic bombardment."
The targets changed—white-robed figures now advancing.
Jinhai fired.
The hypersonic round obliterated not just the targets, but the entire back wall of the range.
Xing yelped and dove behind Yuchen.
Jiang whistled. "Showoff."
Jinhai set the smoking weapon down. "Tomorrow, we train against mind-warfare simulations. Tonight..." He nodded to Yuchen's rifle. "Teach him the Mozambique Drill."
Dawn found them exhausted but alive, the range now a smoldering ruin.
As they trudged back through the fortress' secret passages, Jinhai spoke quietly.
"The world thinks the Luo rule through strength alone. They're half right."
He pressed a hidden panel, revealing a vault lined with ancient books and data crystals.
"We rule because we remember. Everything. Every battle, every betrayal."
Yuchen reached for a crumbling tome—"The Art of War: 21st Century Annotated Edition."
Jiang smirked. "Sun Tzu with plasma cannon footnotes."
Jinhai's hand rested on Yuchen's shoulder. "This is your true inheritance. Not just steel, but knowledge."
Xing sneezed on the dust.
Yuchen sat cross-legged in his chambers later, Xing snoring in his lap, the day's lessons burning in his mind.
He was eight years old.
He'd fired illegal weapons.
He'd outmaneuvered death traps.
And he'd barely begun.
Somewhere beyond these walls, the Ascendancy plotted, the Valois engineered superhumans, and Wei-Xing rebuilt their horrors.
But here, now, with his grandfather's words etched into his bones and his parents' dagger at his belt...
He was ready.