The crack of a training whip echoed across the dusty grounds of the Azure Serpent Clan’s outer court, a sound as regular and monotonous as the drip of water in a dark cave. For Kaelen, it was the rhythm of his daily humiliation. At sixteen, when his peers were already in the initial stages of the Spirit Condensation realm, he couldn’t even guide a wisp of spiritual energy through his blocked meridians. He was a serpent without fangs, a bird without wings.
“Again!” barked the instructor, his gaze sweeping past Kaelen with undisguised contempt. “The Serpent’s Coil form requires fluidity, a seamless flow of qi. Something our resident cripple wouldn’t understand.”
A ripple of snickers went through the other disciples. Kaelen kept his head down, his knuckles white as he gripped the wooden practice sword. The taunts were a familiar poison, and he had long ago developed a tolerance. His world was one of silent endurance, of poring over ancient texts in the clan library, seeking a sliver of hope, a forgotten technique, anything that could offer a way out of his powerless existence.
His only solace was the dense, spirit-beast-infested forest that bordered the clan’s territory. The elders had forbidden the outer disciples from entering, but for Kaelen, the danger was a welcome distraction. It was in the hushed quiet of the ancient woods, among the towering trees and the unseen dangers, that he felt a sense of peace. He couldn’t cultivate, but he could learn to survive. He had become an expert tracker, his senses honed to a razor’s edge.
One evening, drawn by an unusual, coppery scent on the wind, he ventured deeper than ever before. In a clearing, he found it. A beast of unimaginable size and majesty, its scales the color of cooling embers, lay dying. A massive, gaping wound in its side pulsed with a dark, necrotic energy. It was a Crimson Serpent, a creature thought to exist only in legends.
As Kaelen approached, the great beast’s head lifted, its golden, reptilian eyes, vast and ancient, locking onto his. There was no malice in its gaze, only a deep, weary sadness. A voice, not of sound but of pure thought, echoed in Kaelen’s mind.
«A little serpent, born without a connection to the world’s spirit… just like they made me.»
The serpent’s life was fading, but with its last ounce of strength, it moved. Its massive head lowered, and a single drop of blood, glowing with an inner incandescence, fell from its fang and landed on Kaelen’s forehead.
The world exploded in a torrent of crimson light. An agonizing, searing pain ripped through Kaelen as the serpent’s blood burned its way into his body, not just opening his blocked meridians, but utterly destroying and remaking them. He felt a primal, insatiable hunger awaken in the depths of his soul.
And then, a new power, fierce and untamed, surged through him. The spiritual energy in the air, once intangible and elusive, was now a feast laid out before him, and he was starving. The voice of the Crimson Serpent echoed one last time in his mind, a final, fading whisper.
«Devour. Grow. Avenge us…»
Kaelen collapsed, his body convulsing as the crimson energy rewrote his very being. When he awoke, the great serpent was gone, leaving only an impression in the earth and the lingering scent of ozone and blood. He felt… different. A profound, fundamental change had occurred. He could feel the spiritual energy of the world, not as a gentle stream to be guided, but as a current to be consumed. A deep, instinctual hunger gnawed at him. He focused on a nearby spirit herb, a common Azureleaf, and as he did, he felt a faint tendril of crimson energy extend from his body, wrap around the herb’s aura, and pull. The herb withered and died, and a jolt of pure, nourishing energy flowed into him. This was the legacy of the Crimson Serpent: the power to devour.