The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Jin Mo's room, casting a golden glow across the wooden floor. His breathing was steady, controlled, as he wielded his sword with precision. Each strike, each movement, was calculated—practiced over and over until it became second nature. Beads of sweat clung to his brow, but he paid them no mind. Training was more than just a routine; it was his way of preparing for the unknown.
Yet, despite his focus, a sense of anticipation churned within him. Something was coming. He could feel it.
A sudden knock at the door broke his concentration.
"Young Master Jin Mo," a voice called. "The patriarch requests your presence in his room."
Jin Mo lowered his sword and took a deep breath. His heart quickened. He had expected this moment, but now that it had arrived, he felt a mix of excitement and unease. Finally, he thought. I will meet him.
Quickly, he wiped the sweat from his face, straightened his robes, and opened the door. A guard stood waiting for him, his posture stiff and formal. Without a word, Jin Mo nodded and followed him down the corridor.
As they walked, Jin Mo couldn't help but notice the heightened security. The patriarch's quarters were heavily guarded, warriors stationed at every turn. The presence of such tight defence's only emphasised the power and influence of his father.
Two figures standing near the patriarch's door caught his attention—Bai Mo and Zai Mo. They had been present the previous day when his father returned from the battlefield, standing like silent sentinels behind him. Their presence alone was enough to send a clear message: only the strongest stood beside the patriarch.
Bai Mo, known as "White Fang," was a master swordsman, his strikes so swift and precise that even steel crumbled beneath his blade. His calm demeanour masked the sheer lethality he possessed.
Zai Mo, the "Silent Gale," was equally terrifying in a different way. Unlike Bai Mo's steady and calculated nature, she moved like the wind—swift, unpredictable, and deadly. Few had ever heard her coming; even fewer had lived to tell the tale.
Both warriors eyed him as he approached, their expressions unreadable. Bai Mo gave him a single nod before stepping aside and pulling open the heavy wooden doors.
Jin Mo stepped inside, and the weight of the room hit him immediately. It was grand—lavish in a way that reflected the immense power his father wielded. The scent of aged wood and incense lingered in the air. Elegant scrolls adorned the walls, each bearing the calligraphy of past Mo ancestors. Golden ornaments and intricate carvings decorated the furniture, a display of wealth that came naturally to the patriarch of the Mo family.
And there he was.
The patriarch sat at a grand table, his presence more imposing than Jin Mo had imagined. His sharp, piercing eyes bore into Jin Mo, exuding an aura of dominance. There was no warmth in his gaze, only the unwavering strength of a man who commanded absolute authority.
Beside him, Jin Mo's mother sat gracefully, her delicate features softening the otherwise rigid atmosphere. She met his eyes and smiled gently, offering him silent reassurance. It was only then that Jin Mo realised—she must have persuaded his father to grant him this audience.
"Ah, so you are Jin Mo?" The patriarch's voice was deep, steady, and carried the weight of expectation.
Jin Mo straightened his posture. "Yes, sir."
The patriarch studied him for a long moment, his eyes sharp and unreadable. "I have heard that you are strong."
Jin Mo hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He had fought and survived against enemies beyond his years, but standing before his father now, he felt like a child seeking approval. "Not as strong as you, sir," he answered, then immediately regretted his words. What am I even saying?
The patriarch let out a low chuckle, something between amusement and challenge. "Ha! I only recognise the strong. If you wish to be acknowledged as my son, then prove your worth."
Jin Mo's heartbeat quickened. "How, sir?"
Leaning back in his chair, the patriarch rested his hand against the armrest, his gaze unwavering. "I hear you are skilled at hunting. Tomorrow, we will go on a hunt together at Ironwood forest. Show me what you are capable of."
Jin Mo felt a surge of excitement and determination. This was his chance. This was more than just a test—it was an opportunity to stand before his father as more than just another son of the Mo family.
"Understood, sir," he said firmly.
A flicker of something—approval?—passed through the patriarch's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
Jin Mo glanced at his mother again, and she smiled warmly. That was when he realised—this meeting, this test—was no coincidence. She had fought for him, ensured that his father would give him a chance instead of dismissing him outright.
Thank you, Mother.
As he left the room, his thoughts were no longer filled with uncertainty. He was no longer just Jin Mo, an orphan, an outcast. He was Jin Mo, the son of the patriarch, and he would prove himself—no matter what it took.