The Chosen Path

Years had passed since I first felt the burning desire to grow stronger.

Now, at seven years old, I had built my body into something that could finally keep up with my ambitions.

But there was still so much further to go.

The disciples I observed every day were like masters of a craft I had barely begun to grasp. They moved with the grace of predators, every strike filled with purpose. My nights were filled with stolen training sessions, practicing the basics of the Dark Clan's techniques—the Shadow Stance, the Serpent's Strike. These foundational forms were ingrained in my muscle memory.

But they were only the start.

I needed more.

Word had spread around the Dark Clan about an upcoming competition—a selection. Each generation, the strongest from our sect would gather, competing for the honor of training under the personal tutelage of the clan's most powerful elders.

Five candidates would be chosen.

Each one expected to rise as a future leader of the Dark Clan.

I wasn't supposed to care about this competition.

After all, I wasn't one of the chosen disciples, born from the elite bloodlines.

I wasn't an official heir of the Dark Clan like the others.

My brothers, Ren Ma and Seon Ma, already carried the weight of being legitimate heirs. Their every movement exuded confidence, as though they knew the entire Dark Clan rested on their shoulders.

Ren Ma, the eldest, was especially insufferable. His mastery over the basics came naturally, and his control over qi was rumoured to be exceptional, even among the senior disciples.

Whenever he caught me watching, he would sneer, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Remember your place, Bastard," he'd say. "You'll never be more than a slave to the clan."

His younger brother, Seon Ma, was no less arrogant. If Ren Ma wielded his strength like a hammer, Seon was more of a blade—sharp, precise, and cold. His strikes always found their target, and he took pride in reminding me of how I would always fall short of their greatness.

"You'll never touch the heights we will, brother," Seon would say. "Don't even bother trying."

Their words stung, but I refused to let them break me. 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.