The sky hung heavy with dark clouds, their weight pressing down on the world like a silent omen. A cold wind swept through the narrow alleyways of the outer city, whispering secrets and slicing through the thin robes of a lone boy running for his life. His name was Ling Shen.
Each breath he took was sharp, each step desperate. His feet pounded against the damp stone, echoing through the empty streets. Behind him, the sound of laughter—cruel and mocking—grew louder. Ling Shen didn't look back. He knew who it was.
"Hey Ling Shen! Stop right there!" a voice barked, cutting through the wind like a blade.
Lin, a boy of the same age—sixteen—stepped into Ling Shen's path, blocking his escape. Ling Shen tried to dodge, but Lin's shoulder caught him hard, sending him sprawling to the ground. Pain flared in his ribs, but he barely had time to react before two more figures appeared behind Lin.
"Brother Lin, you came at the perfect time," one of them sneered, cracking his knuckles.
They closed in, surrounding Ling Shen like wolves circling a wounded deer. The first punch landed. Then another. Ling Shen curled into himself, trying to shield his face, his body trembling—not just from the cold, but from the helplessness.
Then, a voice rang out—clear, fierce, and feminine.
"Enough!"
A girl stepped forward, her presence slicing through the tension like lightning. Her name was Swing Er. She marched toward the group, eyes blazing.
"Lin, stop this. Now."
She stood between Ling Shen and the bullies, her stance unwavering.
"Why do you always torment Ling Shen like this?" Swing Er's voice rang out, sharp with fury.
Lin turned toward her, his smirk fading into a sneer. "Swing Er, stay out of this. Unless you want to regret it."
Swing Er stepped forward, her eyes blazing. "And what if I don't stay out of it? What will you do then?"
Her defiance was like a slap across Lin's pride. Without warning, he lunged at her, his fist raised. Swing Er didn't flinch, but before the blow could land, Ling Shen—bruised and trembling—threw himself between them.
"Stop! Leave her alone!" Ling Shen shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
But Lin's strike found Ling Shen instead. The force of the blow sent him stumbling backward, his feet slipping on the wet earth. Behind him, the edge of the slope loomed, and before anyone could react, Ling Shen tumbled down.
The bullies stood frozen for a moment, then burst into cruel laughter.
"Trash like him doesn't deserve to live in this world," one of them muttered, watching Ling Shen disappear into the mist below.
"Shen!" Swing Er screamed, rushing to the edge.
Ling Shen rolled down the steep incline, arms wrapped around his head, trying to shield himself from the rocks and roots that tore at his body. His descent ended with a brutal impact against a jagged boulder at the base of the slope.
Then—silence.
His body lay still, crumpled at the foot of the hill. The wind howled above, but Ling Shen heard none of it. Darkness claimed him.
As Shen's body lay crumpled at the base of the slope, blood trickled from his wounds, seeping into the cracks of the jagged stone beneath him. The crimson droplets slid silently into the fissures, drawn toward a strange, egg-shaped mineral embedded deep within the rock. The moment the blood touched its surface, the stone pulsed faintly—then cracked.
A sudden tremor shook the earth. The stone split open, revealing a hidden chamber beneath the slope. Shen's unconscious body slipped through the fractured ground and fell into a subterranean pool, its waters dark and still. He sank slowly, swallowed by the depths.
As the cold enveloped him, memories surged forth—unbidden and vivid.
He was a child again, standing beside his father, Ling Xiao, and his uncle, Ling Wu. The elders of the Ling clan had gathered to witness a duel that would decide the next heir. "Let the trial begin," one of them had declared.
Ling Xiao fought valiantly, but was eventually defeated. Ling Wu, drunk on victory, stepped forward with murderous intent. "Ling Xiao, today I end you," he snarled, spear raised.
But before the fatal blow could land, Shen's mother, Ling Xi, had leapt between them.
"No!" she cried.
The spear pierced her instead.
Time seemed to freeze. Shen and his father screamed in unison, "Ling Xi! Mother!"
Ling Xiao caught her falling body, cradling her as tears streamed down his face. No one moved. No one dared interrupt the moment. Grief and rage twisted within him, and from that anguish, a dark energy erupted—an ancient force long buried within his veins.
"Shen," Ling Xiao had whispered, voice trembling, "You must leave. Now."
Then, with newfound power, Ling Xiao struck down Ling Wu, leaving him broken and bleeding. But the elders retaliated, their combined might wounding Ling Xiao gravely. Still, he escaped, driven by one purpose: to find his son.
He found Shen, injured and crying, and carried him away into the night.
Now, submerged in the pool beneath the mountain, Shen's body drifted in silence. Darkness pressed in from all sides, yet somewhere within that void, a thought sparked—a whisper from his soul.
"I'm not… a failure," he murmured.
His eyes snapped open.
Pain surged through his chest as he gasped, lungs screaming for air. He flailed instinctively, trying to rise, trying to escape the suffocating grip of the pool. But the water dragged him deeper, and his strength waned. His vision blurred, and once again, consciousness slipped away.
Then—something stirred.
Activated by a few drops of blood released from Shen's wounds, the strange egg-shaped stone pulsed with light. Cracks spread across its surface like lightning, and the cave trembled.
The pool responded.
A surge of energy erupted from the stone, enveloping Shen's body. Slowly, his form began to rise, lifted by unseen currents. His chest heaved as water burst from his mouth, and he coughed violently, air rushing back into his lungs.
He floated to the surface, eyes wide with confusion and awe.
As he sat up, Shen glanced down at his body—and froze.
The bruises, the cuts, the blood… all gone. His skin was whole, untouched, as if the battle had never happened. But it wasn't the healing that held his gaze—it was the mark.
On his forearm, glowing faintly beneath the skin, was a symbol he had never seen before. Intricate, ancient, and pulsing with quiet power.
Shen stared at it, heart pounding.
He didn't know what it meant. Not yet.
But he knew one thing for certain.
Something had changed.