The Cloud family estate loomed large atop the Emberrise Cliffs, its towering pagodas etched with years of tradition and pride. Disciples bustled through stone courtyards, elders glided like ghosts between pavilions, and banners embroidered with the golden insignia of the flaming cloud fluttered in the breeze.
But today, the skies were overcast.
And Chase stood alone in the center of the ancestral arena.
Fifteen years old. Barefoot. Shirt torn. Blood trickled from his lips.
The crowd surrounding him wasn't cheering. They were watching.
With fear. With hesitation. With something worse—shame.
Elder Yun, silver-haired and stone-faced, stood before him. "Chase of the Cloud family," he intoned, voice cold. "You are hereby stripped of your name, your rank, your place among us."
Chase lifted his head, confusion warping his bruised features. "What... what did I do?"
No answer. Not from his father. Not from the elders. Not from Clara.
She stood at the far end of the courtyard, her eyes red and puffy, lips trembling. She didn't meet his gaze.
"Speak!" Chase shouted, stepping forward. "Why is no one telling me anything?! I did nothing!"
"You did enough," his father said finally, voice low. Lim Cloud, patriarch of the Cloud family, stood stiffly, fists clenched behind his back. "Clara accused you of trying to... harm her. We cannot risk the wrath of the Riverheart Sect. You know how precarious our position already is."
"Accused?!" Chase blinked. "She's lying! Clara, tell them!"
Clara's lips parted. Everyone held their breath.
And then—she looked away.
That was it.
The silence that followed might as well have been thunder. Chase could feel it—his world collapsing inwards.
Elder Yun raised a hand. The other elders nodded.
A robed figure approached behind him—Elder Jang, the family's internal enforcer.
He unsheathed a glimmering blade that pulsed with qi.
"I'm sorry, child," Elder Jang said quietly. "But it must be done."
"No—" Chase turned to run, but a hand seized his shoulder.
Pain exploded through his abdomen. Something shattered within him. His legs gave out.
It was as if his very core—the source of his cultivation—had been crushed like glass underfoot.
His dantian was gone.
Chase awoke some time later in the forest outside the estate, tossed like garbage at the base of the cliffs.
He groaned, pain wrapping his body like vines. His head throbbed. His vision swam.
Rain fell gently from the dark sky. Birds chirped. The world continued—without him.
He crawled to a tree, dragging himself with torn fingers, before finally collapsing against its bark.
"I did nothing... I did nothing wrong..." he muttered, over and over, like a prayer to gods who didn't listen.
His vision flickered.
And then—
Movement.
A blur. A figure stepped from the woods.
Tall. Hunched. Hooded in black.
Chase blinked. "Who...?"
The figure said nothing. Just kept walking closer.
Chase could sense it now. Killing intent. It wrapped around him like a cloak.
He tried to stand, but his legs failed. He had no qi. No strength.
A blade flashed.
The only reason he survived was because the figure didn't aim to kill him.
No—it slashed his face.
Right across the eyes.
Searing pain lit up his skull. He screamed.
And then... darkness.
True, permanent, soul-deep darkness.
He didn't know how long he lay there.
The pain was so great he sometimes wondered if he'd died.
But then, one morning—maybe days later—he heard a crunch of boots.
And a voice.
"Still alive, are ya?" the voice said, full of mockery and ancient humor. "Huh. Tough little brat."
The voice chuckled.
"Blinded, crippled, and abandoned. And yet still breathing. Stars must have plans for you, boy."
Chase tried to open his eyes, but saw nothing.
"Who… are you?"
"Eh. Name's Mason. Some call me Grandmaster Mason of the Void Path. But you can call me… uh, actually, call me Master. Sounds cooler."
A gnarled hand grabbed Chase by the collar.
"C'mon then, Blind Brat. Let's see if you've got what it takes to survive."
Chase blacked out again.