Midan Clan...
The Cold Moon Sect....
The gong strikes before dawn.
In the darkness disciples rises from their mats, folds their blankets with precision and dress in white and sky blue uniforms their sashes tied neatly at the waist.
No words spoken.
Silence is the first discipline of the day.
They assembled in the courtyard as the horizon begins to pale.
Rows of bowed heads. Hands at their side.
Backs straight!
The masters appear, robed in deeper hues of blue and the first command is given:
Stance.
The disciples sink into low postures, holding them as the sun climbs.
Muscles burn but no disciple breaks formation.
When the light of morning falls fully on the stones, the training begins.
Strikes on wooden posts, breath tied to motion, repition without count.
The yard echoes with the sound of fists,palms and shouts.
Steady as a drumbeat.
Correction comes in gestures or a single word.
Praise is rare but the absence of rebuke is its own form of acknowledgement.
By midday, sweat has soaked through the uniforms.
Disciples carry buckets from the well, water sloshing with each step, strengthening the shoulders and the legs.
Others run the length of the courtyard.
Sandbags tied across their backs.
A bell signals a pause for food:
Bowls of rice. Vegetables. Broth.
The meal is taken in silence. Each disciple eating with focus, each bowl washed and stacked before training resumes.
The afternoon belongs to weapons.
Rows of disciples wield swords,spears and practice blades.
Every movement drilled until arms shake and blisters rise.
One form repeated a hundred times.
Then a hundred more.
Until the motion flows without thought.
Beyond the weapons yard, smaller groups kneel in meditation, learning to still the body and sharpen the mind.
As the sun lowers, the pace shifts.
The masters lead walking meditations beneath the pines or seated silence in the stone circle.
Breath slows. Bodies grow still,and the noise of training gives way to the weight of reflection.
When darkness settles, the disciples return to their quarters.
A final gong calls for the evening meal.
Simple. Nourishing as before.
Afterwards each disciple cleans his uniform, folds it with care and lays it beside his mat.
By the time the lanterns gutter, the hall has fallen to silence once more.
The day begins and ends the same.
A cycle unbroken.
It was like a ritual daily routine.
Rise with the gong. Bow. Endure. Train. Eat.
Repeat.
They couldn't escape.
They could never escape if they wanted to.
They were bounded within its walls.
Those who sought to escape.
Who wanted to pass through the gates without completing the formation they once began.
They all died before they cross the gates.
And since then...
None of them ever thought of it.
All the ways followed the same routine.
Expect the ways of the heartless.
For its laws were different from the others.
Unlike the others, they were to remain in seclusion for 100 years.
Away from the people.
Lydaeus began his training.
His tongue was loose.
Hence, he regained his voice.
His master's residence and his were far away from the others.
It was like another place entirely.
His quarters was different from others.
Unlike the others, his room was spacious.
He has a bed to himself.
A wooden table and a chair.
A book shelf.
That contained the laws of the heartless.
The penalties for those laws.
All the past disciples who chose the way of the heartless.
Never made it through one hundred years of seclusion.
Some ran insane from being too far from the outside world.
Some tried to escape and died instantly.
Some died cause their bodies were not able to withstand the pain.
Some died from breaking a law.
Some even committed suicide.
Their names were written in a black book.
Their names were crossed out with blood.
Lydaeus saw them.
Their spirits.
Their spirits remained hunting the others .
Turning them insane .
Leading them to their graves.
And soon enough.
They were gonna come after him.
He wondered how his master lives here with a sane mind.
And there he knelt.
In front of his master's residence.
Even though his master was absent.
He held the book that contained the 3000 laws of the heartless.
And there he began to chant ...
The laws of the heartless
Non stop.
Until his master returns.
Until his master releases him.
That was his task.
Masters' Hall.....
At the heart of the masters' wing lay the common hall.
A long chamber of stone and timber where the air seemed to carry the weight of generations.
The hall was spare, without ornament or indulgence yet its austerity gave it a grave authority.
Wooden beams arched overhead, dark with age and lanterns of iron in even intervals along the walls, casting a steady amber glow.
Along the far wall hung scrolls, each bearing a maxim of discipline written in ink that had darkened with time.
They were not explained aloud.
They were reminders.
Silent witnesses to the order upheld within these walls.
Beneath them stood a ceremonial brazier of black iron, in which a single frame was kept burning.
A flame the disciples never saw for it was tended only by the masters, symbol of vigilance unbroken.
At the center stood a long, low table of polished oak. No carvings adorned it, no gliding or embellishment_ only the smooth surface worn by years of use.
Around it were arranged simple cushions rather than chairs.
Each of the masters gathered at dusk, robes of deep blue flowing as they took their places, their movements measured, unhurried,ritual in themselves.
This was where the masters discussed about the progress of a disciple, the correction of a form,the discipline of the yard, the memory of those who had walked before.
But today was different.
" Heard Master Draal has gotten a new disciple?"
" Really?"
"When.."
" His last disciple just died few months ago.
Now he's taking in a new one?"
" Heard he's about five years old"
" His last disciple committed suicide "
" Mastering the 3000 laws of the heartless could make one insane"
" A five year old learning such laws is impossible"
"He won't even survive a week"
" If he won't survive a week, Draal wouldn't have brought him here"
" They must something special about him"
" It would take him at least 78 years to learn those laws"
" Not to mention mastering them"
" That's one of the reasons why they stay in seclusion for 100 years"
" So they could learn without physical interactions and discussions with people "
Lydaeus became tired of chanting.
Night had fallen.
And his master still hasn't returned.
His knees felt weak.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
In order to catch some sleep before his master arrives.
But a cold voice brings him back to reality.
" Slacking off?"
Lydaeus eyes shot open.
He knew that voice.
His master stood before him.
A coat on his shoulders.
Lydaeus didn't have words to say to him.
But he needed to give him an answer.
" No" Lydaeus said sharply.
" I.. I wasn't _"
" Silence!" Draal replied coldly.
" Kneel upright"
Lydaeus obeyed without a second thought.
" Continue chanting till dawn breaks."
Lydaeus face turned pale.
And there he remained.
The air became cool.
His body began to shiver.
The lanterns were turned off.
Apart from the one in front of his master's residence.
He began to chant again.
From the beginning.
And soon enough, this became his daily routine.
His sufferings.