A rush of wind from behind him instinctively made him duck. Two wooden training swords tore through where he was just a second before. Turning around, he slammed his own swords into the stomach of the attacker and dodged to the left to avoid the second. One down, one to go. He stood face to face against his opponent and charged, feinting an attack from the left to open a weakness in his enemy’s defence. His opponent lunged to meet his attack and, in doing so, overextended his leg. That single mistake allowed him to hit the outstretched leg and then a follow through to the head with his second sword. With both attackers on the floor, unconscious, he turned around and looked at the man with the mask, standing outside the arena.
“Finally, Ren.” A loud indifferent voice came from his Master. “Run to Mount Zeslewt and back. I’ll get these two idiots to the infirmary.”
“Yes, Master.” Ren answered in relief.
Taking his reprieve with a mixture of happiness and sadness, Ren set off running. He always enjoyed his runs as it allowed him to see the rest of the Temple and its disciples. His favourite was Master Moajk, a beast of a man, who towered over his cowering trainees. As Ren ran past him, he nodded in his direction and then returned to beating his students for their ‘imperfect’ forms.
He spared a glance at the only hill in the city. His father’s palace, as gold as the sun, shone for miles. It was something you could never miss, always demanding your undivided attention.
His father, Narreth Taar, was the Patriarch of the Dancing Sword Temple and a Great Monarch Cultivator, only an inch away from Peak Monarch. He was one of the greatest Cultivators that Gralag, the sweltering planet they all called home, had seen in over two thousand years. Ren, as the Young Master of the Temple, was expected to reach his father’s Stage, if not surpass it. All of his training was geared towards fighting for this future.
As he ran towards the gates, the guards saw him and separated, allowing him to see the line forming outside. From wandering merchants to young aspirants wanting to try their luck, they all stared at him as he passed them. Ren noticed the stares, the awe and respect with hints of jealousy, but he ignored them one and all.
Around a mile from the gates, the line stopped. However, he kept running, towards the lone mountain in the distance.
After about 10 minutes of mindless running, he reached the base of the mountain and stopped, looking at the sprawling city he had just left. “One day, that will all be mine.” He muttered to himself. Ren took one last glance at the peak of Mount Zeslewt before he started running again. He managed about two steps before he stumbled to the ground.
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It was… gone? All of it.
Nothing remained from the once grand city. His father’s Palace turned to dust.
His life whisked away in a second.
“What??” was the last thought he had before the shockwave of dust and sand slammed him into the base of the mountain.
*****
Ren awoke slowly, blood falling freely down his back and pooling at his feet. His clothes, once a shining silver, were now dull rags that barely covered him. The hair that once flowed to his shoulders now gone, leaving only blackened patches on his head. He didn’t care about that though, as he looked up in front of him, where his home had proudly stood. Instead of the usual welcoming sight, a perfect crater greeted him, larger than anything he had ever seen before. It stretched for miles into the distance.
He tried to scream, but nothing came out of his mouth. As he scrambled to the rim of the crater, his view got better. In the centre of the worst thing that ever happened to him, was a circular object half hidden in the ground.
With his head bleeding and arms broken, Ren walked, then crawled, then shuffled his way to the thing. He had always been stronger, taller and faster than those his age, but that was to be expected with his father’s Bloodline. He didn’t know what it was but he knew it helped him physically. That was probably the only reason he got to the thing, otherwise he would’ve died halfway to it.
As he got closer to the centre, he started to see unusual occurrences, things that would never happen naturally: Fire burning on nothing, Wind cutting sculptures into the rock, Water randomly pouring from nowhere one second and gone the next, Earth flowing like liquid. Even if these events were weird, he didn’t stop to look at them, only glancing as he passed.
The further he walked, the more extreme the event and the more rare the element: Lightning repeatedly striking the same spot until the rocks shone white, rocks the size of a fully grown man suddenly teleporting through Space, places Light avoided and spots where Dark was absent. Every Element he knew of, and many more he didn’t, appeared. All of them seemed… unnatural.
As he approached the centre, he could see it clearer. It was a sphere, white as snow. Even half buried it was much taller than him, so he had to tilt his head up just to see all of it.
More importantly he could feel it. The pressure it exerted was like nothing he had ever experienced. The feeling of dread was even greater than the rare occurrences his father truly got angry with him and released his aura.
Pushing through the pain with everything he had he gradually stood up, his legs shaking and bleeding, pleading with him to stop. They were ignored. He slowly moved his arms towards the sphere. Without any hesitation, he placed both his palms on it.
Something inside of him broke…
Ren Taar, Young Master of the Dancing Sword Temple, died.