Prologue 

 The peaceful hum of daily life in the village was shattered by the harsh, guttural war cries that echoed through the valley. A wave of terror washed over the villagers as they saw the horrifying figures crest the hill. The Eyes of Mnymnell had arrived.

Dressed in rags and mismatched armor, their faces obscured by grotesque masks, the raiders descended upon the unsuspecting village with the brutal efficiency of a pack of wolves. Their eyes, glinting with malice through the crudely carved eyeholes of their masks, scanned the fleeing villagers for their prey - children.

The air filled with the screams of mothers desperately clutching their children as the raiders stormed through the village, their cruel laughter mingling with the crackle of flames. Homes were set ablaze with a casual disregard for the lives and livelihoods they were destroying. Thick smoke, smelling of burning timber and thatch, filled the air, blotting out the sun and casting a pall of fear over the village.

Armed with crude weapons - rusty swords, scavenged axes, and clubs studded with nails - the raiders ruthlessly tore families apart, snatching children from their parents' arms. Mara, a young woman of 16 with long dark brown hair and porcelain colored skin, fought back with the ferocity of a cornered animal, her chocolate brown eyes blazing with defiance. She landed a solid kick to the shin of the burly raider who was trying to drag her away, but his grip was like iron. He snarled, his wolf mask seeming to come alive in her terror-filled vision, and tightened his grip, cutting off her circulation.

Another raider, smaller and wiry, with a mask resembling a twisted serpent, tore Doni away from his woodworking bench. The boy's half-finished carving, a delicate wooden bird, fell to the floor with a clatter that was lost in the cacophony of screams and the roar of the flames.

Even the youngest, 7-year old Sebastian and 3-year-old Octavius, were not spared. Their playful laughter, which had filled the village with joy only moments before, turned into terrified sobs as they were carried away into the gathering darkness.

Chapter one

The rhythmic clang of hammer on iron echoed through the forge as Kai worked, sweat slicking his coppery hair against his ivory skin. His hazel eyes focused intently on the glowing horseshoe in his tongs, the heat radiating from the forge the only thing warming his perpetually cold hands. Each strike sent sparks skittering across the floor, a brief shower of light in the dim workshop. The farmer’s order was straightforward, but the precise curve of the horseshoes and their balance were a point of pride. Behind the clangs, the muted hum of the world’s mana coursed faintly through the air, its pull ever-present, like a whisper he had tried to ignore. Yet, lately, he found his thoughts straying toward it—toward cultivation, a path he had dismissed as unnecessary. But that was before the raiders came.

The hammer faltered mid-swing, the clang giving way to silence as Kai’s mind wandered to that fateful day. The memory was sharp and bitter, like a blade slicing through his chest. The raiders had come with the fury of a storm, their faces hidden behind crude masks, their voices a chaotic blend of shouts and threats. They took everything—Jess’s quiet laughter, Jenn’s steady strength, and the children’s playful chaos—all of it ripped from him in a single, horrifying moment. His hand tightened around the tongs, knuckles white. The town’s whispers still lingered in his ears, cautioning against his plan. “Cultivation at your age?” they’d say, their voices dripping with doubt. “You’d be lucky to form a coal-rank core, let alone anything useful.” But Kai had made his decision. If it took years, if it broke him, he would find a way. His family was worth every sacrifice. These horseshoes were the last work his forge would see until he returned with his children. 

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Kai's hammer fell silent, the last horseshoe for the farmer left to cool on the anvil. He banked the forge fire, the red glow fading to embers. His hazel eyes, usually lit with the joy of creation, were clouded with a dull ache. The rhythmic clang of the hammer couldn’t drown out the whispers that followed him through the town - doubts about his age, his potential, his sanity. He was starting late, they said, too old to achieve anything worthwhile in the world of cultivation. But Kai wasn't swayed by their pessimism. He knew what he had to do. He had to find his children, kidnapped by the Eyes of Mnymnell. Every swing of his hammer, every bead of sweat, was fueled by the burning desire to bring his family back home.

He meticulously packed his forge tools – the hammer that had been his grandfather’s, the tongs he’d crafted himself, each piece a tangible link to the life he was leaving behind. He then gathered his supplies – a worn map of the Shifting Peaks, where the raiders were rumored to have a hidden base, and a small pouch of dried herbs and rations. Lastly, he carefully wrapped a piece of charcoal in a soft cloth, a reminder of his starting point in the world of cultivation. His core, as yet unformed, was in the coal rank, the first rung on the long ladder of power. He would need to reach at least the brass rank to be considered a serious cultivator, but the iron rank was his first major goal, where he could begin to enhance his body and endurance for the journey ahead.

Kai knew that the journey to the Shifting Peaks would be perilous. The mountains were home to not only bandits and raiders, but also to a variety of dangerous beasts and the ever-present threat of primal cultivation areas, where the raw mana could overwhelm an unprepared mind. He would need to be vigilant, to hone his senses and learn to harness the world’s mana.

As he closed the door to his workshop, Kai cast one last glance at the familiar space. It was a goodbye, for now, to the life he knew. The path of cultivation was uncertain, fraught with danger, but it was the only path that led him toward his family. He set off towards the mountains, the weight of his grief a heavy cloak on his shoulders, the spark of determination a flicker in his heart. He was no longer just a blacksmith. He was a man on a mission and he was going to bring his children home.