The sting of the lash was a familiar friend. Kael gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle of his wicker basket. The leather whip, wielded by a sneering Outer Sect disciple named Jian, left another red welt on his already bruised back.
“Trash,” Jian spat, his voice dripping with contempt. “The Spirit Root Assessment is in three days. Even you have to attend, if only to remind everyone what a true waste of resources looks like.”
Kael didn’t respond. He kept his eyes fixed on the muddy ground of the herb field, his thin frame trembling not from fear, but from a deep, simmering rage that had no outlet. In the Azure Sky Sect, strength was everything. At sixteen, every disciple was expected to have reached at least the third level of Qi Condensation. Kael, however, couldn’t even sense Qi. His meridians, the pathways for spiritual energy, were hopelessly clogged—a congenital defect that had branded him a cripple since birth.
“Look at him, still playing in the dirt,” another disciple jeered. “Maybe he’ll find a miracle turnip to unclog those useless veins of his.”
Their laughter followed him as he was shoved aside, stumbling and falling near the edge of the field, his basket of carefully collected Moonpetal herbs spilling into the mud. They didn’t even bother to kick him again; he wasn’t worth the effort.
He waited until their footsteps faded before slowly pushing himself up, his body aching. This was his life: a cycle of toil and humiliation. He gathered the soiled herbs, his heart a cold, heavy stone in his chest. He was trapped. Leaving the sect meant certain death in the monster-infested wilderness, but staying meant a lifetime of being less than human.
As he dug his fingers into the damp earth to retrieve the last of the scattered herbs, his hand brushed against something hard and smooth. It wasn’t a rock. Curiosity overriding his misery, he dug around it. What he unearthed was a seed, no bigger than his thumb, but unlike any he had ever seen. It was pitch black and seemed to absorb the light around it. A faint, intricate pattern, like a web of silver veins, covered its surface, and as he held it, he felt a strange, rhythmic pulse against his palm. It felt… alive.
A sudden, inexplicable urge washed over him. It wasn’t a thought, but a deep, primal instinct. Feed me.
His eyes darted around. No one was watching. He looked at the valuable Moonpetal herb in his hand, an herb that could help a cultivator soothe their Qi after a strenuous practice session. On impulse, he crushed the herb, its fragrant, silvery juice oozing between his fingers. He let the drops fall onto the strange seed.
The moment the juice touched its surface, the seed flared with a soft, emerald light. The silver veins pulsed brightly, and Kael felt a suction force from his palm. He watched in astonishment as the seed absorbed not just the juice, but the very essence of the herb, leaving behind a desiccated husk.
Before he could process what had happened, a wave of warmth spread from the seed, flowing up his arm and into his body. It was a foreign energy, pure and gentle. It traveled through his blocked meridians, not forcing its way through, but gently, insistently, dissolving the impurities that had plagued him his entire life. A tiny, almost imperceptible pathway, no wider than a hair, was cleared in his forearm.
For the first time in his sixteen years, Kael felt it. A wisp of the world’s natural energy, a faint strand of Qi, entering his body through that newly cleared channel.
It was the faintest whisper of power, but to Kael, it was a thunderclap that shook the foundations of his world. He stared at the seed, which now seemed to hum with a quiet satisfaction. A desperate, wild hope ignited within his chest, an ember in the ash of his despair. This seed… this was his chance. A forbidden, unknown path, but a path nonetheless.
He clenched his fist around it, the smooth, pulsing surface a promise. He would feed it. He would nurture it. And in return, perhaps it would help him devour the fate that had been forced upon him. He carefully hid the seed in a small pouch inside his robes, his heart hammering against his ribs. The humiliation, the pain—it all felt distant now, replaced by a singular, burning focus. He needed more. More herbs, more essence, more power. His life as a victim ended today.