The Arden Clan compound buzzed with tension. It wasn't the usual peace that settled over the mountain estate—no, today the air was tight with anticipation. The annual Young Generation Competition was near.
From the mist-veiled training grounds to the bustling inner kitchens, excitement thrummed like a plucked bowstring. Children practiced stances with clumsy fervor, teenage disciples honed their moves with sharp precision, and even the maids walked quicker, glancing toward the practice fields between tasks.
Near a steaming outdoor stove, two servants whispered between stirring pots.
"She's entering the competition this year, right? The Twin Star?" one asked, eyes wide with admiration.
The older one nodded. "The Patriarch's daughter. Five years old and already touching the Second Realm. The Black Mirror never shone brighter. They say she'll step into Foundation Opening before spring."
"Five," the younger one repeated, shaking his head. "The girl's practically sacred."
They didn't say her name. They didn't have to. The entire clan knew her—the heaven-blessed, the golden child. The one the mirror had chosen.
"And Bran?" the younger servant asked.
"He's solid in the First Realm already. For his age, he's a monster. But next to her…?"
The older servant only shook his head.
No one mentioned her twin.
---
Kai sat crouched behind a stack of firewood, quietly nibbling on a stolen crust of flatbread. His clothes were faded and patched, his bare feet dusty from roaming paths no one else cared to walk.
No one paid him any mind.
He was five now, but unlike the other children, he wasn't guided or taught. He had no room in the disciples' dorms, no sparring partner, no instructor calling his name. He wasn't officially a servant, nor acknowledged as a disciple. Just a shadow that moved between places.
He listened.
"Her name will be remembered for centuries," said a disciple passing nearby. "They say she might be the youngest to ever reach Foundation Opening."
Kai swallowed. The bread was dry, but familiar. The words were not. They landed with a dull ache somewhere deep in his chest.
He never spoke to her—his twin. She walked the inner halls in silk robes, always flanked by elders, her feet never touching the dirt. Their paths never crossed, as if the clan feared even proximity might taint her light.
He turned away and slipped behind the training fields....
---
A steep path wound behind the storage barns and stables, rising into the jagged ridges where no one trained. The climb was rough, but Kai had walked it enough times that the rocks felt like home beneath his feet. The air grew colder as he went, scented with pine, bark, and moss.
He reached a clearing halfway up the ridge—a flat patch of stone framed by leaning trees. His place..
Here, no one stared. No one shoved him. No one told him what he couldn't be.
He rolled his shoulders and began.
He had no cultivation. No Qi. No bloodline advantage or technique scroll.
But he had eyes. And he had a body.
He remembered a movement Bran had made—one of the favored inner disciples—during yesterday's demonstration. A wide step, a twisting stance, a sharp elbow.
Kai tried to mimic it.
His stance faltered. His foot landed wrong. He lost balance and fell sideways onto the stone.
He winced. Sat up. Thought.
Was the elbow first? Or the step?
He tried again.
And again.
Sometimes he scraped his knees. Sometimes he bumped his chin. But he kept moving. His motions were clumsy, slow, imperfect.
But they were his.
---
Later, after sweat soaked through his tunic and the sky began to pale toward noon, Kai descended the ridge. Hunger gnawed at his belly like a persistent rat.
He circled behind the outer kitchens. The maids were too busy preparing food for the elders to notice him slip through a loose panel in the storeroom wall.
He stole only what he needed. A half bun, a chunk of fruit, a piece of meat gone cold.
Then he heard it—footsteps.
"Oi," a voice snapped. "What are you doing back here?"
Kai turned slowly.
Senior Disciple Renn stood in the doorway. Taller, stronger, older—maybe thirteen. A sneer pulled at his lips.
"You again," Renn said. "Still sniffing around the trash bins like a dog."
Kai said nothing. His hands tightened around the bun behind his back.
Renn stepped closer. "Didn't your mother teach you manners—oh wait, that's right. She looked at you once and never again."
The slap came quick. Sharp.
Kai didn't cry out.
He simply looked up.
Not with defiance—but attention.
The way Renn moved—his stance, his swing, his foot position—all of it etched itself into Kai's mind.
Pain faded. Movement remained.
Renn stared down at him. "Next time I see you near the fields, you'll eat dirt."
Then he turned and walked off.
Kai slowly sat down. The bun had fallen. He picked it up, brushed it off, and ate it anyway.
His cheek stung.
But his eyes burned brighter.
---
When the sun dipped low, Kai returned to the ridge. His limbs ached, but he resumed his practice.
This time, he adjusted his stance. Planted his foot wider. Balanced better.
Still wrong. But closer.
He would get it.
Eventually.
---
That evening, as the compound dimmed into silence, Kai found his usual sleeping spot beside the empty woodshed. It wasn't warm, but it was hidden.
A soft shuffle caught his ear.
Lina, the quiet kitchen maid, appeared with a folded cloth. She didn't speak—just set it beside him. A small piece of fried yam wrapped inside.
He looked at her. She didn't ask questions. Didn't offer pity.
She just sat beside him until the stars came.
---
Later that night, Kai lay alone. His body hurt. His fingers trembled. His legs were scraped raw.
But his eyes were wide open.
Still watching.
Still learning.
Still here.