Jin was a boy carved by suffering.
From the moment he could think, his world had been nothing but hunger and sickness. The gods—or whatever cruel forces ruled this land—had never once smiled upon him. All they gave him was a frail body, an empty stomach, and a hollow silence.
Once, long ago, Jin had been a happy child. He didn't care that life was hard, or that pain followed him. He had his parents. As long as they were with him, he could smile.
But now, even they were gone.
It had been a year since their passing. A year of solitude. A year of survival.
The only skill Jin had was one passed down from his mother—herb gathering. She had taught him how to identify and harvest herbs in the forest, a knowledge that barely kept him alive. His body was weak, his limbs shaky, and every day was a struggle just to exist.
Hunger had become his closest companion.
Another cold night crept in, wind whistling through the holes in his makeshift hut. Tomorrow, he'd make the difficult trip to the village to sell what little he had. Tonight, he worked.
In the dim light of a flickering lamp, Jin sat at a small makeshift table, clutching a rusty knife. His hands trembled with each motion as he tried to cut herbs with precision, but his strength was failing him.
"This batch is even smaller than the last..." Jin muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "Barely enough to last a week. But I'm supposed to stretch it for a whole month?"
He sighed and looked around the hut—his father's final gift. The place was falling apart. The roof leaked. The walls creaked. Cold air seeped in through every crack. And yet, it was still home.
The only strange thing in the hut was the stool Jin sat on.
It wasn't really a stool, though. It was a dark, solid block of some unknown material. Heavy and unmoving. Jin had tried to lift it before but never could. He'd asked his parents about it once, but they'd only smiled and changed the subject.
So he used it as a seat. A mystery, yes, but a useful one.
Rain began to fall outside—first a drizzle, then a steady downpour. Within minutes, water pooled on the floor, soaking Jin's bare feet. He didn't even flinch.
"A rainy night... again," he murmured.
The storm howled. Lightning flashed. He continued cutting, carefully placing the prepared herbs into a worn-out sack. But just as another flash of light split the sky, thunder cracked so loudly it startled him. His hand slipped, and the rusty knife sliced into his finger.
"Ah—dammit!" he hissed, clutching his hand. "So clumsy..."
But he wasn't clumsy. Not really. Anyone working under these conditions, half-starved and exhausted, would make mistakes. In fact, it was a miracle he hadn't injured himself sooner.
Blood dripped from his hand, trailing down his arm. A single drop splashed onto the dark block beneath him.
Then, everything changed.
The drop of blood sizzled against the dark block.
Jin blinked, confused. The air felt... heavier. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Then the block shook beneath him.
"What the—?"
Before he could react, it bucked violently and threw him backward. He hit the floor with a thud, staring wide-eyed as the block rose—floating just inches above the ground.
Cracks webbed across its surface, black stone breaking apart in sharp, angular patterns. Jin scrambled back, his heart pounding in his chest.
No way... this... this can't be real. What the hell is going on!?
One of the corners fell off with a clang, and from within the cracks, tendrils of darkness slithered out—reaching, twisting, pulsing with unnatural energy. They began to reform the falling pieces, fusing them into something new. Jin couldn't make out what it was, only that it was changing—rapidly.
The air pulsed with power. His chest tightened.
This... this is dangerous, he thought, backing away further. And yet, I can't look away.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the shadows vanished.
A radiant light flashed from within the floating object, and the hut was swallowed in blinding brilliance for the briefest moment. When the light faded, the strange block was gone.
In its place, hovering in the air, was a book.
Large. Dark as midnight. Its surface shimmered with moving runes, ancient and unknowable. And above it, glowing letters formed words in the air:
True martial way
Jin's breath caught in his throat.
"What... is this?" he whispered. "Why is it here? Did Mom and Dad know about it...?"
Before he could even begin to process what he was seeing, the book dropped with a heavy BANG, slamming onto the wooden soaked floor. Water splashed. The hut groaned.
Jin sat in silence, blood still dripping from his injured finger. Slowly, cautiously, he crawled toward the book. Something deep inside him whispered: The danger is over.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the cover, a strange warmth pulsed through him. He opened it.
On the inside cover, words burned into the page:
The Way of True Martial Ascension.
Those who endure pain may ascend. Those who do not... shall remain motionless.
Jin stared.
His heart pounded.
He flipped to the next page. There, written in careful script, was a recipe:
Elixir of Growth
3 stalks of Ironwood Flower
1 stalk of Dragonfly Stem
2 stalks of Spirit Grass
1 plant of Poison Lily
---
"Poison Lily?" Jin muttered. He didn't recognize that one.
The rest of the page detailed the brewing process:
Boil the Ironwood Flowers and Dragonfly Stem.
Crush the Spirit Grass and Poison Lily.
Combine the two groups and boil until purple in color.
And that was it. No description of what the elixir did. No instructions on how to use it.
So... Do I just drink it? Maybe?
Still holding the book in one hand, he reached for his mother's old herbology journal with the other. He flipped through page after page until—there it was.
Poison Lily.
A drawing of a small, beautiful purple flower.
Jin read the notes carefully:
An F-Rank herb found in spiritual forests of low energy concentration. Grows near tree roots or rock formations.
He leaned back with a sigh. An F-Rank herb, huh...
He glanced at his trembling legs. Just walking to the village was exhausting. A spiritual forest? That was beyond him.
...How am I supposed to get that? I can barely stand some days...
He closed the herbology book and looked around his messy hut. Bloodied cloth. Scattered herbs.
His thoughts swirled in every direction, a storm of doubt and desperation.
What even is the True Martial Way...?
Can I really cultivate?
Should I even try?
Mom wouldn't want me doing something so dangerous...
But if I keep living like this... I'll starve to death eventually.
Jin clenched his jaw.
"Damn it... I'm going tomorrow. I'll find that flower. I don't care how hard it is."
He cleaned his finger, wrapped it tightly, and began tidying up the mess around him. By the time he lay down, the storm had finally begun to calm.
Rain softened to a drizzle.
The wind grew still.
And Jin, after a night of pain, mystery, and decision, finally fell asleep—his mind filled with the shadow of the unknown and a sliver of fragile hope.
[Written by Lenanno]