Chapter 1 — The Child Under the Moonlight
The moon hung high, luminous and majestic, as if the sky itself had paused in awe. Between drifting clouds, a child was born, his first cries silencing even the whisper of the wind. The village of Lungshen was small and unremarkable—a collection of wooden cottages nestled among rolling fields, where cultivation existed mostly in the stories of elders. Yet on that night, the ordinary became extraordinary.
In a humble cottage at the edge of the village, Mara, the child's mother, held him close, her hands trembling. "He's… so tiny," she whispered, glancing at the flickering lantern that cast shadows across the wooden walls. Her husband, Korin, stood nearby, his brow furrowed as he stared at their newborn son.
"Do you feel that?" Korin asked, voice low and tense. "The air… it feels alive."
Mara nodded, her eyes wide. "It's the moon, maybe… No, it's something else. Something… different."
From the doorway, an elderly man with a long silver beard, Master Thalion, stepped in. He had been a recluse for years, living in a small hut at the forest's edge. His piercing eyes, reflecting the moonlight, fixed on the child.
"This child is not ordinary," Thalion said slowly, his voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. He crouched to the floor, examining Arin, who wriggled slightly in his mother's arms. "Mark my words, Mara. One day, he will wield power that echoes through the heavens."
The parents exchanged nervous glances. "Power?" Mara whispered. "He's just a baby…"
Thalion's gaze hardened. "Sometimes, the smallest flame casts the longest shadow."
And so the child was named Arin, a word in the ancient tongue meaning Silent Blade.
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Five years passed. Arin grew into a quiet, observant boy. His hair was dark and unruly, framing a face often thoughtful beyond his years. His eyes, as deep and blue as the ocean, seemed to see far beyond the village fields. He spent hours watching the villagers practice with wooden swords, moving with a precision and understanding no one could explain.
One evening, under a full silver moon, Arin was practicing with his small wooden sword near the riverbank. The gentle rustle of reeds and the soft chirping of crickets surrounded him. Suddenly, a sound unlike any other filled his mind—soft, echoing, like thousands of blades whispering in unison.
Arin froze. "What… what is that?" he murmured, his breath catching.
A white beam of moonlight struck him directly, illuminating his small figure. And in his eyes, silver rings appeared, spinning endlessly, as if a secret had awakened within him.
"Infinite Sword Analysis…" he whispered, the words tasting strange and familiar at the same time. His small hands clenched around the hilt of his wooden sword, and instinctively, he moved, striking, parrying, spinning. Every motion was precise, deliberate, as if the swords themselves were teaching him.
From the edge of the village, a group of travelers emerged, their cloaks glinting in the moonlight. The leader, Master Lorian, paused, sensing the unusual energy radiating from the boy. Beside him stood Taren, a tall, stern man, and Lyra, a calm woman whose eyes seemed to pierce the soul.
"The child who listens to swords…" Lorian murmured, his voice barely above the wind. He stepped closer, observing Arin's movements with keen interest.
Arin sensed their presence and froze, holding the wooden sword defensively. "Who… who are you?" he asked, his small voice quivering.
Lorian smiled faintly, a mixture of warmth and authority. "Fear not, little one. I am Master Lorian of the Righteous Sky Sect. These are my companions, Taren and Lyra. We have come because of you."
"Me?" Arin's eyes widened. "I… I'm just a boy from Lungshen."
Lyra stepped forward gently. "No, Arin. You are not 'just' anything. The energy you carry… it called out to us. It has been waiting for a chance to awaken."
Korin and Mara appeared behind him, worry etched deep into their faces. Mara grabbed Arin's shoulders. "You… you don't have to go with them," she said, her voice breaking.
Lorian knelt to meet Arin's gaze. "Your mother is right to worry. But your path lies beyond these fields. If you stay, you may never understand your own power—or yourself."
Arin looked down at his small sword, then back at the moon above. A strange warmth filled him—a quiet certainty he could not explain. "I… I want to learn," he whispered.
Taren's stern expression softened. "Good. Courage is not the absence of fear, boy. It is acting despite it."
Mara hugged him tightly, whispering into his hair, "Be careful, my little Silent Blade." Korin placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "And remember… no matter where you go, you are our son. Always."
With that, Arin stepped forward, following Lorian, Taren, and Lyra along a moonlit path. The village slowly disappeared behind him, and the forest ahead seemed to shimmer with the same strange energy that had awakened in him. Every rustle of leaves, every distant owl's hoot, felt alive—as if the world itself was welcoming him.
And the moon, high and luminous, seemed to shine even brighter, as if blessing his journey and the destiny that awaited.