The First Steps

The months passed in a blur of quiet observation and clumsy attempts at movement.

Every day, my body grew a little stronger. I could walk now—though my legs still wobbled at times—and I could maintain basic stances. My muscles, once weak and uncoordinated, now obeyed my will, if only for a few moments before they gave out.

But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

I spent hours watching the other disciples train. From the tiny crack in my room's door or the brief moments when I was carried through the halls, I glimpsed them in the courtyard, their movements fluid and precise. Their stances were strong, their strikes devastating, but what fascinated me the most was the energy that seemed to flow through them.

It wasn't just physical strength. There was something more—something that I couldn't yet understand.

Was it Qi?

I had overheard the term whispered in passing, mostly by the older disciples and servants. Their voices always held a sense of awe when they spoke of it, as though it was the very essence of power itself. If Qi was the secret behind their strength, then I needed to learn how to control it. But no one would teach me—not yet.

My brothers, Ren Ma and Seon Ma, had already begun their formal training. As the legitimate heirs of the Dark Clan, they were given everything—resources, teachers, and access to the clan's inner secrets. They moved with a grace that I couldn't hope to match, and their confidence bordered on arrogance.

When they caught me watching from the shadows, Ren Ma, the eldest, would sneer down at me, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Remember your place, half-blood," he'd say, his eyes narrowing. "You'll never be more than a servant."

His words stung, but I refused to show it. I had learned early on that reacting only gave them more power over me. Instead, I used their taunts as fuel, turning the shame and anger into a burning resolve.

I would prove them wrong. One day, I would stand where they stood. One day, I would surpass them.

But to do that, I needed to start somewhere.

At night, when the rest of the clan was asleep, I practiced in secret. The house was always quiet after the sun set, and it was during these hours that I felt the most free.

I would push myself out of bed, my small hands gripping the wooden bedpost for balance as I stood on shaky legs. I'd drop into the basic stances that I had seen the disciples perform during the day, my knees bending and my body lowering into position. My muscles trembled with effort, and my breath came in ragged gasps, but I forced myself to hold the stance for as long as I could.

Then, I would move.

I mimicked the motions I had seen the older disciples practice—the quick jabs, the swift kicks, the low, sweeping strikes. My body, still young and inexperienced, struggled to keep up with the movements. My limbs felt heavy, my balance was off, and more often than not, I found myself on the floor, panting in exhaustion.

But I never gave up.

Each night, I would get back up and try again. I would practice until my legs gave out beneath me and my arms could no longer hold their weight. And even then, I would push myself to stand once more. I had nothing else—no teachers, no guidance—but I had my will. And that would be enough for now.

I focused on my breathing, just as the older disciples did. I had heard them speak of the importance of breath in controlling Qi, so it seemed like a good place to start. With each movement, I tried to control my inhales and exhales, timing them with the strikes and stances.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't feel it.

There was no flow of energy, no surge of power. Only the burning of my muscles and the shallow gasps of my breath. I didn't understand what I was doing wrong, but I couldn't stop. I refused to stop.

One evening, as I lay on the floor of my room, drenched in sweat and barely able to move, a thought crossed my mind.

I need more. Watching them isn't enough.

I had spent countless hours observing the disciples, trying to imitate their movements, but something was missing. There was a gap in my understanding, something fundamental that I couldn't grasp just by watching.

I needed to study. I needed to read.

I had heard about the clan library—a place where the true secrets of the Dark Clan were kept, the ancient scrolls and manuals that held the knowledge of our ancestors. But I knew there was no way I would be allowed inside. The library was restricted to the chosen few, those favored by the elders.

But what about the servants' quarters? The disciples often left their scrolls lying around in the small rooms near the training grounds, and perhaps... just perhaps, I could find something useful there.

That night, after the woman—my silent caretaker—had fallen asleep, I slipped out of my room.

The house was quiet, and the moon cast long shadows along the stone floors as I made my way through the dark hallways. I moved carefully, keeping my steps light and my breathing controlled. My heart pounded in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm.

After what felt like an eternity, I reached the servants' quarters. The room was small, cluttered with old scrolls and parchments, most of them gathering dust in the corners. I sifted through them, my hands trembling with anticipation, until I found it.

A small, worn book.

The cover was faded, and the pages were yellowed with age, but the diagrams inside were clear enough. My heart raced as I flipped through the pages. This was it—a basic manual on the Dark Clan's foundational techniques.

It wasn't much. These were not the advanced forms practiced by the senior disciples, nor the secrets stored in the clan library. But it was something. A start.

Back in my room, I studied the book in secret.

The Shadow Stance was the first technique detailed within its pages. Unlike the rigid postures of the orthodox sects, the Shadow Stance was low, fluid, meant to keep the practitioner hidden and unpredictable. It was designed for stealth and evasion, perfect for someone of my stature and skill level.

Next came the Serpent's Strike. The technique focused on speed and precision rather than brute force. The diagrams showed where to aim—weak points on the body, like the neck, joints, and heart. A single well-placed strike could cripple an opponent before they even realized what had happened.

I practiced the movements late into the night, my body trembling with exhaustion, but my mind sharp with determination. This was my way forward—my first step toward mastering the power I had seen in the older disciples.

But even as I practiced, I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't enough.

There were more advanced techniques—things I couldn't hope to understand yet—locked away in the clan's main library. The Nightfall Form was the pinnacle of the Dark Clan's stealth techniques, a form that allowed its practitioner to blend into the shadows themselves, becoming nearly invisible.

I wasn't ready for that yet.

But one day, I would be.

And when that day came, I would be unstoppable.