Forged in the Dark

At seven years old, I could now walk confidently, my movements quick and deliberate. The long nights of secret training had turned my once frail body into something stronger, something capable. I wasn't content to stay weak, not while the disciples of the Dark Clan honed their skills just beyond my door. I had seen too much to remain idle.

Every day, I watched them from a distance. I would slip away whenever the woman wasn't watching, hiding in the shadows of the courtyard. From there, I observed the older disciples, their forms flowing with deadly grace, their attacks precise and ruthless. They embodied everything the Dark Clan stood for—stealth, precision, and brutality.

The techniques they used fascinated me. Their movements were fluid, their strikes fast, and their footwork subtle. Unlike the rigid styles I remembered from my previous life, these martial arts were born from shadows. They were about taking advantage of every weakness, every opportunity, striking from unexpected angles. This was a world where mercy didn't exist. Power was the only law.

But simply watching wasn't enough. I had to know more.

I had been reading whatever I could find, sneaking into the small storage rooms where the lower-ranked disciples often left their scrolls and books. What I found wasn't much—simple techniques, basic forms—but they were enough for now. I learned about the Shadow Stance, a low, crouched form that made it easier to hide in plain sight, and the Serpent's Strike, a movement designed to cripple opponents with a single, precise attack.

The Shadow Stance wasn't about defense; it was about creating openings. By keeping low and hidden, the practitioner could remain elusive, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It was a mindset as much as a stance—thinking like the shadows, blending into the darkness. The Serpent's Strike, on the other hand, was all about speed and accuracy. A single well-placed blow could bring down even the most powerful opponent, especially if they didn't see it coming.

These techniques were basic compared to the advanced skills the higher-ranked disciples had access to. But they were a foundation, and every fighter needed a foundation. Without it, no amount of power or talent would make a difference.

I practiced in secret, repeating the forms late at night when the house was quiet. My movements were clumsy at first, but I forced my body to obey. Each night, I would sneak out to the abandoned training ground I had discovered on the outskirts of the clan's territory. No one came here anymore, which made it the perfect place for me to train in peace.

The ground was uneven, the stones cracked, but I didn't care. It was quiet, and that was all I needed. Under the pale moonlight, I practiced the Shadow Stance, lowering my body and shifting my weight from one foot to the other. At first, it was painful—my legs burned from the effort, my muscles screaming in protest. But I pushed through the pain. Every drop of sweat, every sore muscle, was a step closer to power.

I would fall, again and again, my body betraying me with each stumble. But failure had become an old companion, one I didn't fear. My fists clenched as I picked myself up for the hundredth time, ignoring the pain that shot through my limbs. Pain was a constant, but I had learned to embrace it. Pain was a sign of growth.

The Serpent's Strike was even more difficult. My small body wasn't strong enough yet to generate the force needed for a lethal blow, but that didn't stop me from trying. I focused on accuracy, using the trees around me as targets. My fist slammed into the rough bark, over and over, until my knuckles were raw and bloody. But I didn't stop. Pain was temporary. Power was forever.

I could feel the sting of open cuts on my knuckles, the burn of muscles pushed past their limits, but I reveled in it. The blood dripping down my fingers was proof that I was pushing beyond the boundaries of what this frail, young body could handle.

Still, I wasn't satisfied. Every day, I could see the gap between myself and the older disciples. They were like living shadows, their movements graceful and deadly. I wanted that for myself.

Even though I practiced in secret, alone in the moonlit courtyard, there was one presence that never left my thoughts—my father.

The clan leader. The man who ruled over this entire sect. Though I had only seen him from a distance, his influence was undeniable. His very name carried weight in every corner of the Dark Clan. He was a figure of power, respect, and fear. And I... I was nothing more than a child born of a concubine.

I often wondered if he even knew I existed, or if I was simply another face among the many sons vying for power. I wasn't like the others—those chosen to learn the clan's secret techniques. I was an outsider in my own family.

But that would change.

My mother—if I could even call her that—never mentioned him. Her lips were sealed when it came to the man who had fathered me. Sometimes, I caught glimpses of fear in her eyes when his name was mentioned, as if she knew I was walking a dangerous path by daring to follow in his footsteps.

But what choice did I have? The only way to survive in this world was to become strong. Stronger than my father. Stronger than anyone.

One night, as I practiced the Serpent's Strike, something shifted. I had been repeating the movement for hours, my body moving on instinct. My breath came in ragged gasps, the air around me cold and sharp. But then, I felt it—a flicker of something deep inside me, a surge of energy I couldn't explain. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there.

Qi.

The air around me felt different, heavier. My muscles seemed to hum with a strange, unfamiliar energy. I had heard the disciples talk about it in hushed tones. Qi was the life force that powered their martial arts, the invisible energy that allowed them to perform feats beyond ordinary humans. And for the first time, I had felt it.

It wasn't much—just a whisper of power—but it was enough to light a fire inside me.

I focused on that feeling, trying to grasp it, trying to will it into my limbs. But it slipped away just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me breathless. Still, that brief taste of power had been enough. I knew now that I could harness Qi. And if I could control it, I could close the gap between myself and the other disciples.

One day, while I was practicing in the training ground, I overheard a conversation between two disciples. They were talking about the clan leader—my father in this world. Though I had only seen him from afar, his presence loomed over the entire Dark Clan. He ruled with an iron fist, commanding respect through sheer power.

According to the disciples, my father had been keeping an eye on the younger members, looking for potential candidates to train in the advanced techniques passed down through the generations.