The first rays of dawn crept over the jagged peaks of the Greencloud Mountains, slicing through the lingering mist that clung stubbornly to the valley below. Willow Brook Village lay quiet beneath them, a cluster of wooden huts with straw roofs, smoke curling from chimneys in lazy spirals. The air smelled of wet clay, scorched straw, and faint traces of the river mud that had soaked the valley overnight. Even the river itself seemed alive in the pale light, silver ribbons dancing across its surface.
Wu Tian perched on the edge of his hut, bare feet swinging just above the cracked dirt. His tunic was worn and patched, stiff in the folds from days of labor. His hair fell in messy strands over his forehead. Across the village, life was waking: the blacksmith's hammer rang in steady rhythm, sparks leaping into the cool air; children chased each other along dirt paths, laughing as they kicked up clouds of dust; women drew water from the river, their baskets scraping against stones smoothed by generations of use.
"Wu Tian! Hurry up or the cart tips!" Fang Jun's voice broke through the calm. The older boy was grinning, his mischief sharp in the morning air. Wu Tian ignored him, eyes tracing the distant mountains where the forest swallowed the jagged cliffs in shadows. Somewhere beyond those peaks lay a world far larger than Willow Brook, a world filled with danger, power, and treasures the villagers could never dream of.
His parents had been ordinary mortals—gone now—leaving memories that tasted like dust and sunlight. He flexed his fingers, feeling the ache of his muscles from yesterday's labor, yet a fire flickered in his chest. I cannot remain like this. I will rise, somehow, someday.
Wu Tian rose and moved toward the river to carry water. Each step pressed into the soft, damp earth, sending little sprays of mud against his boots. The smell of wet soil mingled with the sharp tang of iron carried by the wind from the blacksmith's forge. Children squealed as they darted past him, one nearly toppling the cart of vegetables he passed. He caught it just in time, breathing hard, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Even in these small, mundane moments, lessons could be found: balance, patience, reaction, and attention to detail.
By mid-morning, the sun had warmed the village, glinting off the river and the dew still clinging to the grass. Wu Tian's chores continued: hauling firewood, sweeping the yard, feeding the chickens. Fang Jun followed him constantly, teasing, "Weakling! You'll never carry this wood in one trip!" Wu Tian didn't reply, letting the weight of the logs and his aching arms speak for him. Pain was a teacher, and he was a willing student.
At the edge of the village, the forest loomed dark and still. Its shadows stretched long, curling across the fields. Leaves whispered against each other, though no wind stirred. Wu Tian paused, senses alert. The faint metallic tang in the air caught his attention again, sharper now. Iron, or blood? He could not tell. The forest felt alive, patient, watching. Every instinct told him to retreat—but another, stronger impulse urged him closer, toward the unknown.
A small movement caught his eye: a fox darted between the trees, its fur catching the sunlight like embers. He followed it briefly, careful to stay hidden, noting the subtle vibrations of the earth beneath his feet and the quiet hum of life within the forest. Even a creature so small could move with power and grace; he envied that instinctive freedom.
Afternoon settled over Willow Brook with a lazy heat. Sweat stung Wu Tian's eyes, dirt clinging to his skin. He paused beside the river, filling his bucket and listening to the water ripple over smooth stones. The blacksmith's hammer had quieted; the children's laughter faded into occasional echoes. The world felt slower, heavier, as though holding its breath. Wu Tian leaned over the water, gazing at his reflection. His eyes were sharp, determined, though his body was thin and weak. I may have nothing now, but I will not always be nothing.
He remembered his mother's voice, soft but insistent. "Observe the world, Tian. Learn what others overlook. Endure, and survive." Her lessons were simple, yet their weight lingered: patience, carefulness, awareness. Survival alone was not enough. Power was necessary. Freedom. Control over one's fate.
Evening arrived, painting the mountains in orange and violet. Mist crept back into the valley, curling through the huts and trees. Wu Tian returned to his small dwelling, his arms and back sore, mud streaked across his tunic. He pressed his hands to the embroidered cloth his mother had left, smelling the faint aroma of straw and time. A fleeting smile passed over his lips. The village was quiet now; only the wind and the distant river provided sound.
Night descended fully. Stars shimmered above, and the river mirrored them in wavering silver. Crickets began their soft, insistent song. Wu Tian lay on his thin bedroll, staring at the roof, the aches of the day clinging to his limbs. His mind would not rest. Questions of purpose and desire pressed heavily against him. Why am I here? Why am I nothing?
Outside, the wind stirred. The faint metallic tang returned, stronger, curling through the reeds and the shadows at the forest's edge. A branch cracked. Wu Tian's eyes snapped open. Something was there. Patient. Observant. Waiting. He clenched his blanket, chest tight with anticipation and fear.
I will not remain nothing. I will rise.
Above Willow Brook, the mountains stretched eternal, jagged peaks threading through mist. Somewhere, beyond his vision, the first threads of destiny were beginning to coil around Wu Tian. A life that seemed ordinary, small, and weak was about to shift. And though he could not see it yet, the forest, the river, and the winds all whispered of a future waiting to be seized.