Mymensingh_Pub

Amidst the anarchic chaos of the Eastern Mathiverse, a forgotten world exists quietly on the border: a Peak Rank 4 Tetraverse, where Bloodlines of creatures govern the heavens and earth.

In a world such as this, where the future is traded  for short term strength, where power knows no bounds, and the ruthless alone reaches the pinnacle, was born a blind boy—Vaen of Dravidian, once Su Vaen.

Deprived of vision. Ousted from clan. Abandoned into oblivion as an afterthought outpost guard, his fate was to decay in silence.

Destiny had something different planned, though.

From beyond their universe, from the core of a power that no creature was strong enough to know, an otherworldly oriental dragon—General Primus Tenebris gave him a chance. With Vaen bearing the art of ascending his world’s limitation ‘The Tenebris Energy Path’.

With this present, Vaen gained more than strength—he gained vision.
Visions beyond vision.
Truth beyond the illusions of bloodlines.
And a tomorrow beyond the confines of his mortal world.
The House of Dravidian will descend into this remote universe.

In a world where friends, enemies, and love are gained through sheer power alone, the blind will see, and the Andhakar, those born in darkness will rule forever.

This is the story of a forgotten guard who becomes a being beyond mortal comprehension.
This is the Eclipse Over the Mortal World.
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Author Note:  This is my first time writing. Bear with it. There will be a system but not the way you think and share it more in any way. I am also a high school student.  Don't expect anything big, I guess.
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Eclipse Over the Mortal World
By Folsom Khan
[Mymensingh Pub]

Eclipse over the Mortal World

The wind swept over the peaked cliffs of Mountain where the old man lives. Vaen stood on a narrow stone ledge outside his cave, holding his sword.

It was still early, merely minutes after sunrise. The sky was bloodied with golden-orange hues, and somewhere above, a phantom hawk screamed across the sky. But Vaen's eyes were not on the bird nor on the sky. His sword hung before him, ready, its edge glinting with frost-rimmed morning light.

The old man had told him last night, "You've learned Qi, you've trained your body, but your sword is still foreign to you. You use it like a tool, not an extension. That is not cultivation. That's woodworking."

Vaen had wanted to argue, but was unable to. It was true.

"Tell me, boy," the old scholar had answered, puffing on that peculiar pipe of his, "what is a sword?"

"A weapon," Vaen had said, having no idea.

"An instrument of death," the old man had instructed him. "And life. Discipline. Will. Memory. It is what you put into it. If you don't put yourself into your sword, you've got nothing but a stick with metal added on.".

Vaen leaned against the trunk of a gnarled tree that stood at the edge of the mountain road, watching the clouds roll by.

The old man's words returned to him.

"Don't imitate others. Don't read manuals. The way of the sword is not in books. It's in the sword itself. And the sword is in you."

His "Nightfall Slash" wasn't learned from a manual. It had come to him one night in the woods. It was desperation, instinct and clearness. In that moment, the sword felt part of him.

And now, that one technique wasn't enough.

And he had no idea where to begin.

His thoughts strayed again to the old man's next lesson:

"When your emotions overflow, when your life carves lines through the world, that's when you'll find your sword path."

The forest. The wild beasts. His exile. The loneliness of being cast away by those who were supposed to love him.

And the shadows that welcomed him when no one else did.

His fingers closed on it. Took a breath.

It was "Phantom Fang Slash." It was just a slash,sharp, brutal, pure. But it had something. An idea. An ember.

Another slash. New path. Same sensation.

It wasn't a style. Not yet. But it was something.

From behind, the voice of the old man in his hut cried out, "Don't overthink it, boy. A sword does not slice with the brain. It slices with the heart.".

Vaen said nothing. He couldn't. Not that he did not wish to; but because his breath was lodged in his chest. His body had begun to move without thought, his feet shifting position in the earth, his sword spinning in accord to something greater than thought.

And he'd only just begun writing his.

Later that evening, sitting and staring up at the stars with a jug of subpar wine and a sore wrist, Vaen grumbled to himself, "Nightfall Slash… that is only the start."

Maybe one day he'd get around to writing the rest of it.

But not today, the sword would instruct him and he would instruct the sword.

And in the black space between heaven and earth, in the silence between two cuts, a new path of swords would begin to form with new inspiration.

Sword That Cuts the Night