The elders' orders had been razor-sharp, slicing through the temple grounds with unnatural urgency.
Search everything.
Every blade of grass, every shadow. Something had awakened the sacred sigil, something that shouldn't have stirred—and the entire clan moved like a storm unleashed, their fear thick, tangible, a living thing crawling beneath their skin.
Jin Long ran.
His legs burned, his lungs screamed for relief, but he didn't stop—he couldn't stop. Fear chased him, a beast with hot breath on his neck and claws that nearly grazed his back.
He didn't dare look back at the mountain—at the home, the life, the chains he was abandoning. There was only the deafening pulse in his ears, the dirt grinding beneath his fingernails, the desperate, animal need to escape.
"Damn it!" His voice cracked, splintering the silence like broken glass. "Why me?!"
The words tore from his throat, raw and bleeding, heavy with betrayal. His legs gave out, pitching him to his knees. Stone scraped his flesh, drawing thin trails of blood, but the pain barely registered. His heart thundered in his chest, thrashing between grief and rage like a caged beast.
"Wouldn't it have been kinder," he choked, tears blurring the edges of his vision, "to just let me die?"
The mountain loomed, endless and cold, its ancient roots and tangled branches clawing at his clothes, dragging against his skin as if reluctant to release him. Blood slicked his palms, his breaths came ragged and shallow, but still, he forced his battered body to move.
Onward.
Step after agonizing step until, finally, the forest thinned and the ground leveled beneath him.
He'd reached the foot of the mountain.
Jin Long collapsed onto the cool earth, his body trembling uncontrollably, his heartbeat a war drum pounding mercilessly in his ears. He had never been beyond the walls of the Jin clan's territory. Out here, the air was... different. Crisp, untamed, carrying the scent of damp earth, moss, and something else—something new.
Birdsong drifted through the trees, soft and lilting, weaving a melody that seemed almost too gentle for the storm raging inside him. The contrast gnawed at him, made the ache in his chest throb deeper.
Dragging himself to the river's edge, he plunged his trembling hands into the water, the chill biting into his bones. For a moment, he allowed the river's murmur to cradle the ragged edges of his mind. For a moment, he simply breathed.
But peace, it seemed, was not his to claim.
A flicker of crimson light rippled before him.
Jin Long's breath caught.
A translucent screen bloomed in the air, glowing faintly against the dimming dusk.
[Stats: Speed: 10%, Agility: 10%]
He stared, stunned. "What... what is this?"
The screen pulsed, alive, responding to his presence.
[Step into the marrow of your blood. Relive the agony of those who came before you. Trial of the Forgotten Flame]
Panic surged through him, but curiosity and defiance warred with his instinct to flee. He lifted a trembling hand.
"I can touch it?" His fingers grazed the surface—it shimmered, the interface expanding.
[Stats: Strength: 5%, Agility: 10%, Speed: 10%, Qi: 5%]
A bitter, hollow laugh escaped his throat. "Five percent Qi? Figures. Just enough to remind me I'm worthless."
The initial wonder drained from his face, replaced by a familiar weight. His shoulders sagged under the crushing reminder of his insignificance. "What's the point?" His voice cracked. "I'm nothing. I've always been nothing."
The screen flared once more.
[System Notice: New Quest Unlocked.]
"NO!" Jin Long roared, his anguish ripping through the quiet woods. "I'm done! Leave me alone!"
The screen flickered—and vanished.
Silence engulfed him.
Had it listened? Or was it simply waiting for him to fall again?
His rage ebbed, hollowed out by exhaustion. Jin Long staggered to his feet, his gaze distant, searching the horizon for shelter—anywhere he could hide, if only from himself.
---
Back at the Jin Clan's Residence.
The temple loomed under the pale moonlight, its once dormant sigils now glowing faintly—an eerie, pulsing heartbeat resonating across its walls.
The elders gathered in a tense circle, their faces hardened, carved from stone, yet unease rippled beneath their stern exteriors.
Jin Tianhai's gaze swept over them, sharp as a blade. "Someone explain to me," his voice commanded, "how this temple reawakened so suddenly."
"We are as confused as you are, Tianhai," one of the elders admitted, his tone laced with quiet dread.
"This… this isn't coincidence." Another elder, Jin Renshu, spoke, his voice low, as though afraid the temple might overhear.
The group stilled. The weight of his words anchored them in silence.
"What exactly are you suggesting, Renshu?" Tianhai asked, his brow furrowing.
Renshu's gaze darkened. "All the conditions… were met."
"Conditions? What conditions?" Tianhai barked.
A frustrated voice cut through the tension. "Quit thinking out loud, old geezer. Spit it out!"
Renshu exhaled, his fingers tightening around the prayer beads he always carried. "Very well. Tell me—what do you boys know of the Crimson Moon and this temple that stands before you?"
Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd.
"The temple was once used by our distant ancestors," one of the younger elders offered. "Their bloodline dissolved centuries ago. Without a pure descendant, the temple was abandoned, along with their cultivation techniques, battle styles, and traditions."
"And the Crimson Moon," another added cautiously, "is a rare phenomenon. It occurs once every century. Beyond that, we know little."
Renshu nodded slowly. "Correct. What most don't know is that the techniques we practice today are mere fragments—evolutions—of their once-mighty arts. The majority of their knowledge was lost to time, reduced to myths and bedtime stories."
His words sent a shiver through the crowd.
"But the Crimson Moon…" Renshu's gaze sharpened. "There's a legend buried in those stories. A catalyst. A rebirth. When the temple's sigils glow under the Crimson Moon, it heralds the awakening of something ancient—something bound to a chosen one."
The other elders paled as realization sank in.
"It's impossible," Jin Tianhai whispered, though doubt clung to his voice.
"There's no way," another protested, but his voice faltered.
"I, too, want to dismiss it as a fool's tale," Renshu said grimly, "but the evidence stands before us. And the question we must all ask now is: Why this era? Why now?"
A heavy silence pressed upon them.
If the legends were true… then the Jin Clan had just ignited a fire they might never be able to contain.
And somewhere, beyond their borders, Jin Long was still running—unaware that he had just become the very storm they feared.