Chapter 3: Embers of Strength
The forest was quiet again. Only the sound of his footsteps echoed between the trees.
Rhaizen walked without looking back. The fight with the bandits had left his body sore and his mind restless. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the red light that burst from him — the same one that turned fear into strength and pain into fire.
He had heard about Qi awakening all his life. The elders used to say that only through balance and long training could a person bring out their Qi. But that night, his came out like a storm. It wasn't supposed to happen that way.
Mentally, he's replaying the moment when his body glowed red.
He knows Qi manifestation shouldn't happen easily, especially at his age (12).
The Silent Veil taught about Qi theory — how years of breathing control and meditation were needed to awaken it.
Yet he did it by instinct, in anger. That fact both frightens and excites him.
Every Qi manifestation color is different from person to person, but his Qi color is red. Some say it can reflect a person's desires or personality, while others argue that it is not a reflection but simply the color they were born with.
He clenched his fists.
"I don't know what happened," he muttered. "But if I can feel it, that means I can train it."
He kept walking until the smell of smoke and people disappeared. The path led him to a high mountain covered in mist. The air was colder, cleaner. He could see claw marks on the rocks — proof that beasts lived nearby. But compared to the burning of his home, this mountain felt peaceful.
He chose a small clearing near a stream where the water was clear and quiet. He built a simple shelter out of wood and stone, enough to keep the rain away.
"This is it," he said softly. "I'll stay here… until I'm ready."
---
The first days were harsh. He woke at dawn, trained until his arms shook, and sat in silence when the sun fell.
Without a sword, he practiced barehanded forms he remembered from the Silent Veil Clan. His strikes were slow, weak at first. But every mistake made him sharper.
When he tried to call out the red energy again, nothing happened. He sat in the cold stream, breathing slow, trying to remember what it felt like.
Days turned into weeks. His food ran low, his hands bruised, his body ached. But he didn't stop.
"If I stop, that night wins," he reminded himself.
---
One night, the air was still. The only sound was the running stream.
Rhaizen sat cross-legged, breathing evenly.
He focused on his heartbeat — steady, deep.
Then, for the first time since that day, he felt it again. A warmth spread from his chest to his arms. His skin glowed faintly red, soft at first, then brighter. The same power that once burst out of him now answered his call, though weakly.
His body trembled, the ground under him shaking slightly. The red light flickered, then faded.
He gasped for air, sweat dripping down his neck, but he was smiling.
"It's there," he said. "I can control it… a little."
That small success was enough to keep him going.
---
Days passed. Then weeks.
The boy who once trembled in battle now faced the wilds alone.
He climbed cliffs with bare hands, struck trees until bark and skin both cracked, and carried stones heavier than himself. Each night, he tried again — focusing his Qi, shaping it through his body.
Sometimes it burst out suddenly, scorching the ground or blowing leaves away.
Sometimes nothing happened at all.
But each mistake taught him something.
Each scar reminded him that he was alive — and getting stronger.
---
Two months passed.
The clearing had changed — the trees around him scarred by training, the ground marked with footprints and cracks.
Rhaizen stood shirtless under the fading sun, sweat running down his arms. He raised his fists.
Red light flickered again, thin but steady this time. It moved with his breath, wrapping around his arms like faint smoke.
It still burned his muscles, still hurt to hold, but he didn't care.
He struck forward — the air cracked, dust lifting from the ground.
Then the light faded.
He stood there for a moment, breathing hard.
"I still can't control it," he said, staring at his trembling hands. "But I will… even if it takes everything."
He looked toward the broken sword he had left leaning on a nearby rock — the same blade that had shattered the night his clan died.
He buried the half-burned scroll beneath the earth, beside it.
"I'll come back," he said quietly. "When I'm strong enough to face the world outside."
The wind blew through the trees, and for the first time, he didn't feel alone.
He turned toward the setting sun, his shadow long across the ground — a small figure standing between what he lost and what he had yet to become.