The morning sun filtered softly through the paper windows of Cloud Mist Academy, casting warm golden patterns across the stone courtyard. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, blending with the distant hum of cultivation chants and the rustle of bamboo leaves.
For most students, this was just another day in the long road of endless training and cultivation. But for Michael Carter, it was another reminder of the gulf that separated him from his peers — a gulf measured not only in strength but in respect.
The courtyard was alive with movement. Groups of students practiced formation spells, energy refining, and weapon techniques, their cultivation auras flickering like faint stars in the morning light.
Michael leaned against a stone pillar, arms folded, watching from the sidelines. His cultivation base was still Earth Rank F, the weakest possible, barely capable of guiding qi through his meridians without causing sharp pain. Compared to the others, who effortlessly displayed techniques that could shatter stone or control water, he was almost invisible.
His black hair was unkempt, his simple robes worn and patched. And yet, despite all this, he carried a stubborn smile that refused to fade.
But that smile quickly vanished as a cold shadow approached.
"Michael Carter." The voice was sharp, carrying the weight of both disdain and amusement.
Tony Chen stood before him, a tall youth with sharp eyes and a smirk that could cut stone. His cultivation aura shimmered faintly—a testament to his Peak Earth Rank A level, a position few could reach at their age. To the surrounding students, he was a beacon of potential, a future star.
"You're still hanging around here?" Tony's voice dropped low, enough for nearby students to hear. "I thought the weakest Earth Rank F was banned from wasting our time."
A few students snickered, and Michael's eyes narrowed.
"Better focus on your own cultivation instead of mocking others," Michael retorted, though his voice was low and steady.
Tony's smirk grew wider, almost predatory.
"You talk big for someone who can't even get qi flowing properly. You're a disgrace to the Carter family."
Michael's heart tightened. The name "Carter" held weight — mostly because of his sister, Mu Yanling, the academy's prodigy. At fifteen, Yanling had already broken through to Peak Earth Rank A and was known for her fierce temper and unmatched skill. Yet, despite sharing the same blood, Michael's weakness had become a source of shame in the family.
"I'm not here to prove anything to you," Michael said quietly.
Tony took a step forward, his voice dropping into a challenge. "If you're so confident, why don't you fight? Show us you're not just talk."
Michael's fists clenched. A part of him screamed to back down — the last time he'd tried, he'd ended up battered and humiliated. But pride and frustration burned deep.
Before he could respond, a voice rang out from above.
"Tony Chen, is it? Such insolence."
Heads turned to the ancient training tower where a figure stood, her presence sharp and commanding.
Mu Yanling descended the steps with the grace of a mountain stream — cold, steady, and impossible to ignore.
Her black hair fluttered as her cultivation aura flared subtly, a shimmering silver that seemed to quiet the noise around her.
She approached, eyes fixed on Tony.
"You've crossed a line."
Tony's bravado faltered, and the students fell silent.
"Let him be," Yanling said, glancing briefly at Michael, whose face was bruised but determined. "He's weak, yes. But he's family. And you won't make a mockery of that here."
Tony sneered but took a step back. "I'm just giving him a lesson. He needs to grow up."
Yanling's gaze hardened.
"Strength isn't just about cultivation. Remember that."
With that, she turned and walked away, the courtyard returning slowly to its usual buzz.
Michael let out a shaky breath.
"Thanks..." he called softly, but Yanling didn't look back.
---
That night, Michael sat alone in his modest room, the worn cultivation manual open on his desk.
But his eyes weren't on the text.
They were on the small, folded letter resting beside it.
The letter had appeared mysteriously that afternoon — no sender, no seal, only his name scrawled in delicate brush strokes.
With trembling hands, he unfolded it.
"To Michael Carter, bearer of the Celestial Mandate,
You stand on the cusp of awakening.
The divine mantle awaits your acceptance.
Yet the path is shrouded in uncertainty and paradox.
To claim your destiny, place your mark below."
Beneath the solemn words was a blank space, waiting for his signature.
Michael's brow furrowed. The tone was grave, heavy with expectation.
But beneath it all, the formality felt almost absurd.
He glanced at the blank space.
Sign here.
A laugh escaped him — soft, bitter.
"Sign here to get godhood," he muttered, shaking his head.
Without hesitation, he balled the letter up and tossed it into the fire pit by his window.
As the paper curled and burned, Michael closed his eyes.
His fate was uncertain.
But one thing was clear — the road ahead would be long, painful, and filled with shadows.
The city skyline stretched endlessly beyond the classroom windows — a blend of towering skyscrapers, neon signs flickering softly, and the distant hum of traffic. Inside Cloud Mist High, the hum of daily life was no less chaotic.
Students hustled through the hallways, cultivation manuals tucked under their arms, smartphones buzzing, and whispers of upcoming tournaments weaving through the air like an undercurrent.
Michael Carter sat at his usual desk near the back of the classroom, the weight of yesterday's bruises still aching beneath his shirt. His black hair fell messily over his eyes, shielding him just enough from prying glances.
The murmurs had already begun.
"That's the weakest kid again."
"Does he even have any cultivation talent?"
"Bet he won't last another month."
Michael kept his head down, pretending not to hear. The truth was, he wasn't sure if he had any talent at all. In this world where strength was everything, being weak was almost a sentence.
Across the room, the teacher droned on about energy meridians and spiritual roots, but Michael's attention wandered. His mind kept drifting to the letter — the one he'd thrown into the fire, yet somehow couldn't forget.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden hush that rippled through the classroom. Heads turned to the doorway.
There she was.
Mu Yanling — his younger sister by blood but a world apart in every way.
Dressed in the academy's sleek uniform, her posture radiated confidence and power. Her black hair framed her sharp features, her eyes cold and calculating as they scanned the room.
The students instinctively fell silent.
Michael felt a familiar knot tighten in his chest. Yanling rarely spoke to him, and when she did, it was usually to remind him of his failures.
She walked in with the air of a storm — unstoppable, indifferent to anyone's opinions.
She stopped by the teacher's desk and gave a brief nod.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, voice clear but without warmth.
The teacher nodded back. "Good. We were just starting the lesson."
Yanling turned her gaze toward Michael's corner of the room, her eyes flickering briefly over him.
There was no kindness there. Only distance.
Michael looked away, swallowing the sting.
---
After class, Michael gathered his things slowly. Outside, the bustling city noise mixed with distant chants from cultivators practicing nearby.
As he walked through the crowded halls, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned to see one of Yanling's close friends — a sharp-eyed girl with an air of authority.
"Michael," she said quietly, "you might want to be careful around your sister. She... doesn't like distractions."
Michael frowned. "What does that mean?"
She hesitated. "She's under a lot of pressure to succeed. The family reputation, the academy rankings... She's ruthless about it. You might get caught in the crossfire."
Michael's heart sank. Not because of the warning, but because it confirmed the growing chasm between them.
---
That evening, the city lights glimmered outside Michael's window as he sat alone at his desk.
A fresh envelope lay unopened in front of him. Unlike the previous ones, this letter had no grand script — just plain words typed neatly.
"Michael Carter,
The time to accept your destiny draws near.
Refuse, and chaos will claim the realms you know.
Sign to embrace the power you were born to wield."
Below was the signature line.
Michael sighed, the weight of the letter pressing on his soul. The idea of becoming "The God" felt both ridiculous and terrifying.
With shaky hands, he pulled the letter closer, but before he could touch the line, his phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number: "Power isn't given. It's taken. Choose wisely."
Michael stared at the screen, a chill crawling down his spine.
For the first time, doubt crept in. Was this destiny a blessing... or a curse?