The morning gong shattered the stillness of the novices' quarters, a metallic clang that jarred Cain awake. In his previous life, he'd grown accustomed to long nights, where time slipped away in the endless pursuit of knowledge. Now, he was confined to a strict routine, dictated by an unfamiliar world that paid no heed to his intellect or ambition.
The other novices stumbled out of their cots, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and quiet resignation. Most of them looked young, even younger than the body he inhabited—Kael's body. Cain observed them carefully, noting their slouched postures, the dullness in their eyes. If the sect's training was meant to strengthen them, it was failing to show immediate results. Or perhaps Verdant Moon valued something subtler than brute force. Either way, Cain was sure of one thing: appearances here could be deceiving.
He followed the others to the courtyard, keeping a low profile as he took his place among the ranks. A senior disciple, dressed in dark robes embroidered with intricate silver symbols, stood at the front of the courtyard. His gaze was sharp, assessing each novice as though measuring their worth. When his eyes met Cain's, there was a flicker of something—disdain, perhaps, or simple indifference. Either way, it made Cain's skin prickle. This disciple held power, and power in this world could mean danger—or opportunity.
The disciple's voice cut through the courtyard, calm but carrying authority. "You are novices of Verdant Moon. The sect has expectations of you, and failure to meet them comes at a cost." His gaze swept over the crowd, lingering momentarily on Cain. "You will train, you will obey, and above all, you will respect the hierarchy. Disobedience is a path to ruin."
Cain felt the weight of those words, noting the disciplined silence that fell over the novices at the mention of consequences. The sect was strict, and the rules here were unyielding. His gaze drifted to a pair of novices nearby, whispering quietly among themselves. One spoke with hushed urgency.
"… remember what happened to Taro? He barely strayed into the Deadwood before the elders had him confined. I heard he's not… himself anymore."
The other novice shuddered, casting a nervous glance toward the instructor. "You mean… his mind?"
The first novice nodded, his eyes wide. "They say the elders did something to him. He hasn't spoken a word since they brought him back. Just… stares at the walls, mumbling."
Cain absorbed this information, a chill settling over him. The consequences here weren't limited to punishment or dismissal—they could mean the destruction of one's very mind. If he was to survive, he would need to be cautious, keeping his intentions hidden beneath a veneer of obedience. But he would remember the tale of Taro, a reminder of the cost of curiosity in a place that seemed built on fear.
The senior disciple gestured for them to disperse, and Cain's group was directed to a training ground at the edge of the courtyard, where wooden dummies and crude weapons lay scattered across the dirt. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and earth, mingled with a faint metallic tang that reminded Cain of blood. The sound of distant clashes echoed around him, the sharp ring of metal on metal, and a faint, unsettling hum that seemed to radiate from the ground itself.
"Form up!" barked one of the junior instructors, a man with narrow eyes and a lean, wiry build. His gaze swept over the novices with a flicker of irritation. "Today, you will practice basic stances and strikes until you get them right. This is not for your enjoyment. It is for survival."
Cain took his place among the others, his gaze fixed on the instructor as he demonstrated the stances. Each movement was precise, efficient, calculated. Yet as Cain tried to replicate the stances, Kael's body betrayed him. His balance was shaky, his limbs felt weak, and frustration simmered beneath the surface. How could he, a man who had once possessed the physical control to conduct delicate experiments for hours, be reduced to this—struggling to hold a simple stance?
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to adapt, to analyze. These stances were no different from equations—each position had a purpose, each angle optimized for maximum force. If he focused, breaking them down step by step, he could find the rhythm, the technique that made them effective.
Hours passed as he drilled the movements into Kael's muscles, his form growing steadier, though the effort left his limbs trembling and his breathing labored. The dull ache in his bones reminded him of his limitations, a constant irritation that fueled his ambition. His scientific mind recoiled at the inefficiency of it all. There had to be a better way—a way to accelerate his progress, to compensate for Kael's physical weakness.
When the instructor finally called for a break, Cain moved to the edge of the training ground, his body protesting every step. He leaned against a tree, catching his breath, his gaze drifting to the novices clustered in small groups. Most of them seemed uninterested, their efforts half-hearted. It was a complacency Cain couldn't afford. He filed their laziness away as a potential weakness—one he could exploit if the time came.
One boy, however, stood apart. He was a few years older than Kael, with a wiry frame and a determined set to his jaw. He trained alone, his strikes sharp and focused, each movement executed with precision. As Cain watched, the boy glanced his way, a faint smirk playing at his lips.
"Not keeping up, are you?" he said, his tone mocking yet curious.
Cain tilted his head, allowing a faint smile. "Just… observing."
The boy raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "New, aren't you? I've seen your type before. Curiosity isn't exactly a valued trait here. Verdant Moon doesn't look kindly on those who question too much."
Cain remained unfazed, his mind racing. This boy's confidence, his focus—it suggested experience, perhaps even ambition. If he could learn more, perhaps gain his trust, it might open doors to deeper insights into the sect's secrets. "And your name?" he asked smoothly.
"Finn," the boy replied, his eyes sharp as he sized Cain up. "Kael, right?"
Cain nodded, his expression neutral. Finn's lack of reaction was telling; Kael's reputation was likely unremarkable, an advantage Cain intended to leverage. If the others dismissed him, it would be easier to operate unnoticed.
Finn's gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned back to his training. "Good luck, Kael. You'll need it." His words were laced with a warning, a reminder that power in this place came at a price.
As the afternoon training resumed, Cain pushed himself, ignoring the ache in his muscles, the raw sting in his hands. Each stance, each strike was a step closer to control, a calculated effort to overcome Kael's limitations. But he knew he needed more. Physical training alone would take too long; he needed something to bridge the gap, to accelerate his progress.
His thoughts drifted to the temple and the stories of forbidden power. Garen's warnings about the temple's curse, the mention of souls lost to the Deadwood—these tales hinted at a power deeper and darker than anything he could access here. And Cain was certain that this power, whatever it was, held the key to his advancement.
The day's training finally ended, and as Cain trudged back to the novices' quarters, his mind churned with possibilities. He would find a way to reach the temple, to understand the energy that pulsed beneath Veilara. But he would have to move slowly, carefully, avoiding the same fate as those like Taro, whose curiosity had led them to ruin.
When he reached his quarters, exhaustion weighed heavily on him, each muscle throbbing with the strain of the day's exercises. He settled onto his cot, his gaze drifting to the small window that overlooked the forest. From here, he could see the distant glow of the temple, a faint beacon that seemed to call to him, its pull almost tangible.
As he drifted into a fitful sleep, shadows filled his dreams. Dark shapes moved between trees, and a voice—deep, guttural, and unintelligible—echoed in his mind. It spoke of secrets, of power waiting to be claimed, and beneath it all, he felt the steady, relentless heartbeat of Veilara, as if the world itself were aware of his ambitions.
The path ahead was shrouded in danger, but Cain knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would unravel the mysteries of this world, no matter the cost. And if he had to break every rule, defy every limit, he would. For in this land of shadows and secrets, only the ambitious survived.