The voice echoed still, carved into that black tome, a young man's cry from a broken-down village—it was Khan, before the Seven Realms bowed...
Thud. Thud. Thud. The wooden shovel struck wet earth, a mournful cadence under a weeping sky…
My lean frame shoveled mud from a deepening pit, rain mingling with tears that seared my eyes like embers.
Beside me lay my father, Ullyses Dahgehs—the only soul who'd stood by me since we fled our old home. His frail form mocked the strength he once had. Memories burned—his laughter warming the nights, his calloused hands guiding mine to carve wood into the fleeting shapes of my youth the stories he would spin by the fire flickered in my mind. Hopefully, he would enjoy a better afterlife than his actual life.
I whispered a silent prayer.
I stared at his bloated husk, guilt a jagged blade in my chest. "What kind of son leaves his father to die alone?" The question gnawed. I'd been hunting in the forest when death stole him.
His last cough rattled in my ears, that weak grin he'd flashed when I left—now it's mud and bones, and I'm the idiot who didn't stay.
I'd promised him I'd be back with meat, his smile still sharp in my head—now it's just me, digging his hole, the wind laughing at my failure.
I'd told him we'd eat together again, his cough a rasp I can't shake—now I'm stuck here, shoveling dirt while he's cold.
The rain fell uselessly against my face.
As I stood by that makeshift grave, the weight of my grief pressed upon me. This village was a hollow shell now. There was nothing left for me in this place. With no other loved ones to turn to and my father's life the last thing keeping me in this place, an unwavering determination ignited within me. I had made a solemn promise to my father before his passing—I would not just live this life; I would ascend as a cultivator.
I'd kick down every damn door, claw my way up 'til the world chokes on his name again—no more rotting in this dirt, no more watching good men fade.
No more scraping by, no more bowing to dirt and hunger—I'd tear power from the heavens if I had to, make his name mean something again.
After I dug the grave for my father, I prepared a meal from the game I had hunted in the nearby forest. Winter was approaching, making the hunt more challenging, and I had been gone for a month.
Nothing was in order.
I roasted the deer I had caught over a spit its flesh sizzling as I roasted it over a spit, and laid it in his grave—a final tribute to a man I'd failed beneath the weight of my absence, before placing it into my father's resting place. I had failed as a son, but at least I could offer this meal to honor my father in the afterlife.
With just the garments on my body, a blade, a few copper coins, a pouch of aromatic spices, With my tattered cloak, a honed blade, a handful of coppers, and a pouch of faded spices, I left the village. My father, Ullyses, had been a generous man who gave until he had nothing left. I always wondered where he found the coin to buy alcohol when our life was so marked by hardship.
As I walked through the village, voices dwindled to whispers. They'd fed on our charity when their own hearths grew cold, yet offered nothing when I was gone. Rage smoldered—a coal fanned by their cowardice, their betrayal of father's boundless heart.
I wanted to scream, to rip their smug huts apart—they'd sucked him dry and left me to bury him, their whispers like spit on his grave."
Turning from them, I vowed never to return and strode into the wilderness. I hurried away, knowing that the forest held dangers for those who traveled it at night. My destination was the Awoken Moon Sect, many days away. Speed was essential—the cover of night made me a tempting target for nocturnal predators.
In a matter of minutes,i was in the forest proper, the weight of my father's loss pressing harder against my resolve with every step. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the nocturnal beasts of the forest stirred, their presence announced by the screeching sounds of the dark.
The forest loomed cold, like the hole inside me.
I kept going.
I scaled a towering tree for refuge, lashing myself high with a cord as growls rumbled below—harbingers of a night alive with slaughter. Sleep fled, chased by snapping jaws and shrieks that lashed my nerves raw.
Every snap down there was a promise—if I fell, I'd be meat too, no sect, no power, just another fool chewed up by this damn world.
My thoughts turned reflective, dwelling on memories of my father. The night was uneventful, except for the heart-rending sounds of animals meeting their fates just a few branches below. Each crunch and squeal leaving me more paranoid.
I, Khan, the future Emperor of the Seven Realms, once the sovereign over even the tiniest ant, found myself shaken by mere mortal beings, it was a shame, a wound to my pride I would mend with power.
The night passed with a jarring realization, even predators feared something greater, creating a hierarchy of fear and power. I learned a lesson that night I knew would serve me well in my journey ahead.
Lesson 1: Everything is prey to something- this is the hierarchy of fear.
Finally it was morning, and I had barely managed a few minutes of sleep in the past few hours. With utmost care, I gradually rose to untie the cloth binding my ankle to the tree branch, ensuring no sudden movements or noise to attract unwelcome attention.
I refused to meet the fate of surviving the treacherous night only to become a meal for some opportunistic predator. My determination to escape this unforgiving forest and transform into the person I aspired to be burned brightly within me. There were sacred promises, ones I had made to myself and, above all, my father, that I was unwaveringly committed to fulfilling. Self-pity found no home within my heart.
The descent from the tree, though less trying than the climb up, was a careful process, each movement, to avoid unwelcome attention.
During my descent, I managed to capture three squirrels of a size comparable to toddlers.
I had the sense to wait until I was well clear of the forest before I dared to eat. My stomach growled its protests, but even hunger bows to the wisdom of patience. A king—or any man who wishes to live—knows that haste is the ally of fools, and survival favors those who master their impulses."
As the sun ascended in the east, I set my course northward, headed for the grounds of the Awoken Moon Sect.
After a little more than two days, the forest's edge finally appeared. The shift from the thick, shadowy woods to the wide-open grasslands and wild fields felt like a gift—a perfect spot to rest and finally enjoy the squirrel I'd worked so hard to catch. It is a good thing to know when to appreciate the small victories- something my father taught me.
This peaceful spot, far from the dangers of larger predators, was the perfect place to finally eat. Most of the forest's deadlier beasts kept to the deeper parts, where the trees grew thicker and the air hummed with power. The closer you got to the heart, the stronger they became—and at the very center, they said, a spirit beast of unimaginable strength ruled unchallenged.
I'd risked my life crossing that cursed forest, all for the chance to join a sect and learn a cultivation technique. But here was a beast, born with the power to cultivate naturally, without any technique at all. The thought filled me with awe—and a burning envy.
I wanted that power.
No, I needed it. And I would make it mine.
Lesson 2: The world is inherently unfair and it doesn't care.
Using my knife and a sharp rock, I sparked a fire and cooked the squirrels, their meat sizzling over the flames.
Now, I could finally get to the meat of the matter.
We had just come out of winter, so the people in the city near the Awoken Moon Sect were bound to be yearning for some fresh goods, especially spices. It shouldn't be too hard to at least get some quick cash for my little stash
I ate quickly. Time waits for absolutely no man. Especially when he has something to do and a person to become.
I set out again.
Soon, I found a winding trail through a wheat field and some farmers working the land.
I went toward the closest one before asking him for directions.
"Good morning, uncle. Please, where is the Awoken Moon Sect?"
"Morning, boy", the farmer grunted, straightening his back and wiping the sweat of his brow. He pointed at a small, well trodden road, snaking through the fields to the left of the one I was already on. "The sect's down that way. Straight shot," he took in a shaky, exhausted breath. "If you keep going straight once you get on that road, then you can't miss it. If you want to get accepted don't be late when the intake starts- those sect folks don't wait on stragglers."
"Alright, thank you, uncle."
"Wait," He stopped me from moving on, "the sect is notoriously hard to get into son." He raised his eyebrows, causing a few wrinkles to form on his forehead.
"Thank you, uncle, it'll be no problem"
The farmer scoffed, turned around and waved me off so he could return to his backbreaking work. He probably had a quota to meet before the end of the day, or they might keep his weekly wages or some other form of punishment. Not too dissimilar to the methods I used when I got older.
I went straight down and turned onto the path he had pointed to before heading straight. It wasn't long before I saw a city.
A city so vast it defied everything I knew. In my village, two hundred people gathered was a crowd. Here, at the gates alone, there were thousands—workers hauling bales of wheat, guards barking orders, supervisors watching like hawks to ensure no one cheated the system. It was overwhelming, awe-inspiring.
And I knew this was only the beginning. In my lifetime, I would see far greater things.
I pressed on, moving steadily forward, until I saw it—the Awoken Moon Sect.
I stopped. My breath caught.
Breathtaking? No. That word was too small, at least in my then, village mind. The scent of incense drifted on the cool night air, mingling with the distant howl of some unseen beast. Above, the crescent moon hung in the velvet sky, its pale light washing over the sect's towering structure. At its peak, a massive crescent moon sculpture loomed, its jagged edges gleaming like a blade.
The moon's glow shifted—soft at first, then sharp, icy, cutting through the darkness like a weapon. It felt alive, watching, waiting.
I was here. Finally here.
That moon wasn't just pretty—it was a knife, cold and hungry, daring me to step up or get cut down. I'd take it, twist it 'til it's mine, or die trying."
That moon up there—it wasn't just light, it was a call, sharp and cold, telling me I could be more than a kid with a dead dad and a bloody shovel. I'd grab it, twist it into my own strength.
I stared at the sect, my mind racing with possibilities. Hope and unease warred within me. What trials awaited behind those walls? What would I sacrifice for power? For my vision?
This was a new chapter, one I would not let slip away.
Onward, then. Toward power. Toward the man I would become. Toward a destiny I would carve with my own two hands.