The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden light over the quiet village of Eldham. It was the kind of day where time seemed to stand still, where farmers worked the fields and children played in the open square. The autumn breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of freshly harvested grain and woodsmoke.

For Delmo, it had been an ordinary day. He had spent the morning helping his father repair the roof of their small cottage. His father, a strong and quiet man, had smiled in that gentle way he always did when Delmo asked too many questions about the world beyond their village.

"Someday, you'll get your answers," his father had said, hammering a wooden plank into place. "But for now, your place is here. Learn all you can, and when you're ready, the world will open up to you."

Delmo had rolled his eyes but smiled, knowing his father's words held truth. He had always dreamed of leaving Eldham, of traveling to the great cities he had only heard about in stories, of seeing the towering castles and the mystical sects that controlled the powerful Qi energy.

But now, those dreams felt so distant.

By dusk, Delmo had finished his chores and wandered down to the edge of the village, where the trees met the fields. He liked the peace there, the way the shadows stretched out, long and quiet. His parents trusted him to wander. Eldham was safe—untouched by the wars that raged in distant lands, unseen by the eyes of greedy warlords or ambitious sect leaders.

At least, it had been.

As Delmo sat beneath a great oak tree, gazing at the fading light, a sound drifted through the air. A low rumble, far off, like the growl of a distant storm. His brow furrowed, and he stood, straining his ears. The sound came again, louder this time—closer. And then he heard it clearly: the unmistakable thunder of hooves, the clanging of armor, and the wild, feral shouts of men.

Delmo's heart lurched. He ran toward the village, his feet pounding against the earth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The noise grew louder, more chaotic. As he crested the hill overlooking Eldham, his stomach twisted at the sight below.

The village was in flames.

Houses burned like torches, sending pillars of black smoke into the sky. Figures on horseback galloped through the streets, their swords flashing in the firelight as they cut down anyone in their path. Delmo could see the villagers—his friends, his neighbors—running, screaming, trying to escape the carnage. Some tried to fight back, wielding farming tools and crude weapons, but they were no match for the armored marauders.

Delmo stood frozen, his mind refusing to comprehend the horror before him. He had heard stories of villages being raided, of ruthless warbands that swept through the countryside, taking whatever they wanted, but Eldham had always been spared. It was too small, too remote. Why would anyone come here?

He turned and sprinted down the hill toward his home. His thoughts were frantic: Mother, Father—they're still at the house! He couldn't let anything happen to them. They had to be safe.

But as he neared his home, the sight that greeted him was worse than he could have imagined. The front door had been kicked in, the wooden frame splintered. Inside, the firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls. Delmo's breath caught in his throat as he stepped inside.

His father lay in the center of the room, his body still, his sword fallen from his hand. His mother was nowhere to be seen.

"No… no, no, no…" Delmo whispered, stumbling toward his father's body. His knees gave out, and he collapsed beside him, tears streaming down his face. He reached out, grabbing his father's calloused hand, but there was no warmth, no life.

A shadow loomed at the door.

Delmo looked up, his vision blurred with tears, as one of the marauders stepped into the house. The man was tall, his face hidden behind a helmet, but Darren could see the sneer in his eyes. He gripped a bloodstained axe in one hand and stared down at Delmo as if he were little more than a nuisance.

"Thought you could fight us off, did you?" the marauder growled, kicking Delmo's father's lifeless body aside. "Pathetic."

Delmo's heart pounded in his chest, fear freezing him in place. The marauder took a step closer, raising his axe.

But something stirred inside Delmo then—something fierce and desperate. His father's words echoed in his mind, those same words he had heard that morning: "Learn all you can, and when you're ready, the world will open up to you."

Without thinking, Delmo scrambled to his feet and grabbed his father's fallen sword. It was heavy, too heavy for him to wield properly, but he raised it anyway, his hands shaking.

The marauder laughed, a cold, mocking sound. "You're not ready, boy."

He swung his axe.

Delmo barely managed to parry the blow, the force of it nearly knocking the sword from his hands. He stumbled back, his arms aching from the impact. The marauder came at him again, swinging his axe in brutal, wide arcs, each blow forcing Darren to retreat further into the house.

His back hit the wall. There was nowhere left to go.

The marauder grinned, raising his axe for the final strike. Delmo's breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes, bracing for the end.

But it never came.

Suddenly, a deep, rumbling sound filled the room, like the growl of an ancient beast. The air around Delmo seemed to pulse, and in the split second before the marauder's axe could fall, a shockwave of energy erupted from the ground beneath them.

The marauder was thrown back, crashing into the far wall. Delmo fell to his knees, gasping for breath. His hands tingled with the strange energy that had saved him. He didn't understand what had just happened, but he knew it wasn't normal.

The marauder groaned, staggering to his feet. He looked at Delmo, his eyes wide with shock. "What… what are you?"

Delmo didn't have an answer. All he knew was that something deep inside him had awakened.

The marauder snarled and charged again, but this time Delmo was ready. He gripped his father's sword tighter, the strange energy still pulsing within him. As the marauder swung his axe, Delmo moved with a speed and precision he didn't know he possessed. The sword in his hand seemed to guide him, and with a single, fluid motion, he struck.

The marauder fell, his lifeless body crumpling to the floor.

Delmo stood there, trembling, the sword slipping from his fingers. His mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. What had just happened? What was this power that had surged through him?

But there was no time for answers. The village was still burning, and there were more marauders out there. He had to run. He had to survive.

Without looking back, Delmo fled into the night, leaving behind the only life he had ever known.