Castian staggered through the forest, each step a battle between his willpower and the crushing weight of exhaustion. Blood dripped from his wounds, staining the earth below him. His breathing was heavy, irregular, as he made his way toward the distant sound of running water. It was his only hope at that moment, the only sign that life still pulsed in the vast wilderness around him.
Finally, he reached a stream. The crystal-clear water shimmered under the moonlight, a contrast to the darkness that seemed to consume his mind. Castian knelt, his legs no longer able to support his weight. With trembling hands, he dipped his fingers into the cold water, trying to wash away the blood and relieve the pain. But the simple motion made his vision darken, and he fell to the side, his head resting on the bank.
“Is this the end?” he murmured, his voice a faint echo in the vastness of the forest.
His heavy eyes closed, and the world around him disappeared. The sound of the stream was replaced by a deafening silence, and for a moment, Castian felt as though he were floating in the void. He thought of his village, his family, and the Celestial Pearl he carried. Had he failed?
As his consciousness faded, light footsteps broke the silence. A figure emerged from the shadows of the forest, moving with a calmness that seemed to defy the chaos that had preceded it. It was an old man, his long white beard shining under the moonlight. He wore a simple robe, made of thick, worn fabric, but his eyes, intense and penetrating, seemed to carry the weight of centuries of wisdom.
The elder stopped beside Castian, observing the young warrior with an unreadable expression. He bent down, his calloused fingers gently touching Castian’s neck to feel for a pulse.
“There’s still life in you, boy,” he murmured, his voice deep but gentle.
With surprising agility for someone his age, the elder lifted Castian into his arms. The young man was heavy, his body limp like a ragdoll, but the old man showed no effort. He turned, beginning the walk back into the forest, his steps firm and determined.
Castian slowly awakened, his body wrapped in warmth. The pain was still there, a cruel reminder of his battle, but it felt more distant, as though a blanket of relief had been thrown over him. He opened his eyes, blinking against the soft light of a fire crackling nearby.
He was in a small but well-maintained cabin. The walls were made of rough wood, adorned with bundles of dried herbs hanging in bunches. A strong medicinal scent filled the air, mixed with the comforting aroma of soup boiling in a pot over the fire.
“You’ve finally woken up.”
The voice made Castian turn his head with effort. The elder was sitting on a bench, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. He glanced at Castian over his shoulder, his eyes assessing the young man as though trying to see beyond the flesh and bone.
“Who are you?” Castian managed to ask, his voice hoarse.
“Someone who decided it wasn’t your time to die yet,” the elder replied, rising and approaching with a steaming bowl of soup. “Now, eat. I don’t have all day to take care of someone as stubborn as you.”
Castian tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his body, causing him to groan.
“Take it slow,” the elder warned, helping him settle. “You’re lucky I was nearby. Those injuries would’ve killed an ordinary man.”
“It didn’t seem like luck…” Castian murmured, accepting the bowl. He brought the spoon to his lips, feeling the warmth of the soup spread through his weakened body.
The elder watched in silence as Castian ate, his expression calm but attentive. When the bowl was nearly empty, he finally spoke.
“You carry something very dangerous, boy.”
Castian froze. His eyes narrowed, and he set the bowl down carefully.
“What are you talking about?”
The elder pointed to the small pouch on the side of Castian’s tunic, where the Celestial Pearl was hidden.
“You don’t need to pretend. I know what you have with you. I can feel its energy from here.”
Castian instinctively pulled back, his hand going to the pouch.
“I won’t give it up.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” the elder said, raising his hands in a peaceful gesture. “But know that carrying something like that is not just a physical burden. That pearl has a destiny, and now you’re tied to it.”
Castian squinted, suspicious.
“And how do you know so much about it?”
The elder sighed, sitting back down on his bench.
“Because I’ve seen what it can do. I’ve seen men and women destroy everything in their path for power. And I’ve seen those who, like you, carried the weight of protecting it.”
Castian remained silent, processing the man’s words.
“So, you think I’m some kind of chosen one?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“I think destiny chooses its tools, but it’s you who decides how to use them,” the elder replied, his voice firm. “And now, you must decide whether you will survive just to run, or whether you will face what’s to come.”
Castian turned his gaze to the fire, his thoughts a whirlwind. He didn’t know if he trusted the old man, but there was something in those words that seemed to resonate deep in his heart.
In the following days, the elder cared for Castian, applying ointments to his wounds and sharing cryptic stories as they both warmed themselves by the fire. Castian learned that the man’s name was Kaelen, an hermit who had lived in the forest for decades. But Kaelen never revealed the reason for his seclusion, always changing the subject whenever Castian tried to learn more about him.
“You’re lucky, boy,” Kaelen said one night, tossing more firewood onto the flames. “This forest likes you. If it didn’t, it would have let you bleed to death.”
“The forest likes me?” Castian repeated, confused.
Kaelen shrugged, a mysterious smile on his lips.
“There are forces in this world you still don’t understand. Forces that protect those who walk in tune with them.”
Castian didn’t know if he believed the old man’s words, but he couldn’t deny that something strange had been following him since his battle in the clearing. The wind that seemed to guide him, the feeling of being watched, but not by enemies… Maybe Kaelen was right.
When he finally felt strong enough to stand, Castian began to train again, despite Kaelen’s protests. He knew that Feng’s men wouldn’t give up. They would come again, more numerous, more determined. He needed to be prepared.
“You fight with your heart, but without focus,” Kaelen observed during one of Castian’s improvised training sessions.
“And what do you suggest?” Castian retorted, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Kaelen smiled and stood up.
“Let me show you something.”
The elder grabbed a piece of wood and, with surprising speed, struck Castian’s weapon from his hand in a single move.
“Strength is important, but wisdom and strategy win battles. Don’t underestimate that, boy.”
In the following days, Kaelen began to train Castian, teaching him techniques that combined brute force with calculated precision. Though the old man was strict, Castian felt something awakening within him. It wasn’t just his skill that was growing, but his understanding of what it meant to fight — and survive.