The elder's voice boomed through the hall, the single word echoing the emptiness that began to fill me. It hung in the air as a final judgment on my worth in the eyes of these people.
My potential was nonexistent and my very existence was worthless.
It felt like a brand seared onto my soul, marking me as a failure, an outcast, unworthy of even bearing the clan's name.
Exile.
A final word proclaiming our lack of worth that no argument could convince otherwise.
Not to them.
I stood alongside four other children, all bearing the same mark of shame, the hole in our servant robes where the clan emblem had been torn. We were the ones with the blank stares. We were those deemed unworthy of the clan's resources, the castoffs, the failures. We were a motley crew with different hair colors and heights. Each of us carried the weight of shattered dreams and unfulfilled expectations.
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Without ceremony, we were herded onto a rickety wagon, its wooden frame groaning under our combined weight. The journey began, taking us through the bustling streets of the Havenrun clan compound in Green Area City, the heart of the second ring bordering the inside of the first ring.
I observed the vibrant life around us from the wagon flap. The laughter of children who were lucky enough to be born outside of clan and the calls of merchants along with the rhythmic clang of blacksmiths' hammers served as a painful contrast to the despair that gnawed at our hearts.
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Hours bled into one another as the wagon rumbled through the city, the sun climbing higher in the sky, casting long shadows that seemed to mock our dwindling hopes.
We passed through the gates separating the second ring from the third, leaving behind the opulent homes and manicured gardens of the wealthy, entering a realm of modest dwellings and bustling marketplaces.
The air grew thick with the smell of cooking food and sweat, the sounds of commerce and industry replacing the genteel murmur of the inner ring.
The sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, as we finally reached the outer edges of the third ring.
The buildings grew sparser of apparent wealth and the streets shifted into a narrower and dirtier road.
Poverty and desperation clung to the air like a miasma. But if this was inside a city, it was a clear reminder of the harsh realities that awaited us beyond the city's protective walls.
I hope they would at least not shove us outside the walls to die.
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As twilight descended, casting long shadows that stretched across the ramshackle buildings and garbage-strewn streets, we reached the fourth ring, the slums of Green Area City. The air hung heavy with the stench of decay and human waste. The sounds of laughter of the clanless children were replaced by the cries of children and the rasping coughs of the sick and dying.
The wagon finally lurched to a stop before a dilapidated building, its boarded-up windows and sagging roof a testament to years of neglect. This, we knew with a sinking feeling, was our destination. The final stop on our journey..
The rusty hinges groaned in protest as the gate swung shut, sealing us within the decaying embrace of the abandoned orphanage, a forgotten relic amidst the slums of Green Area City.
The oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of our ragged breaths and the pounding of our hearts, each beat a drumbeat of despair echoing the emptiness within us.
"This will be your new home," one of the guards announced with a sneer while the clan’s caravaneer guard, the man who drove us here , laughed. "Consider yourselves fortunate the clan has even provided this much."
Who were they fooling? This was an abandoned hole, anyone who actually stayed the night here would definitely die of illness or worse!
They shoved us through the creaking gate and left us to our fate.
Dust mites danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows, illuminating the desolation within.
Cobwebs draped the corners like disgusting tapestries, and the floorboards creaked under our hesitant steps.
They were clearly mocking us, there wasn't anyone here, and the roof looked ready to collapse.
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The air hung heavy with the horrid smell of mildew and decay, evidence of years of neglect, a microcosm of the state of things that existed within this entire ring of the city.
We stood there, five small figures huddled together in oppressive silence, united by our shared misfortune.
No tears were shed, no words were spoken.
Our eyes met, reflecting a mixture of fear, anger, and a desperate yearning for escape, a yearning that mirrored the desire of everyone trapped in this ring to reach the inner rings and a better life.
Without a word, we scattered. Knowing instinctively that staying in one place was death in this place. Each child fleeing in a different direction, propelled by instinct and the primal urge to survive.
Contrary to my previous life’s logic, sticking together, especially when coming from a clan, just put a huge target on your back, the books in the library I had snuck out were clear.
I had no choice.
I bolted through a broken window that lacked glass but stupidly bumped my foot on the edge of the stones outside.
This was minor pain compared to the sting of rejection and the aching uncertainty of the future.
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I found myself lost in the labyrinthine alleys of the Green Area City slums. Despite its name, the city was ancient, its foundations laid over two millennia ago.
It was a sprawling metropolis, encompassing four distinct rings, each representing a different stratum of society, and a fifth, burgeoning ring of shantytowns threatening to solidify its place within the city's structure.
The buildings, though constructed from sturdy wood and stone, bore the marks of time and neglect, especially within this fourth ring.
Their paint peeled, roofs sagged, and walls were marred by graffiti and the grime of countless years. The streets were unpaved, a muddy mess of potholes and refuse.
This was clear and obvious evidence of the city official’s disregard for its poorest residents.
Yet, even in its dilapidated state, the fourth ring of Green Area City pulsed with a chaotic energy.
Merchants hawked their wares from rickety stalls, their voices competing with the cacophony of street vendors and the cries of children playing amidst the filth.
Cultivators, though a rare sight in this part of the city, occasionally passed through, their robes billowing in the wind and their presence a stark reminder of the power and privilege that was gained by cultivating.
And then there were the beggars, a legion of the destitute and forgotten, their faces etched with hardship and their bodies ravaged by hunger and disease. I was one of them now, a castoff, a failure, with nothing to my name but the ragged clothes on my back and the gnawing emptiness in my stomach.
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Shame burned in my throat as I forced myself to beg, extending a trembling hand towards passersby.
I never thought as a modern man from a first world country that I would be turned into a child beggar.
Most ignored me, their gazes sliding past as if I were invisible, a common occurrence within the slums where hardship was commonplace and compassion a luxury few could afford. A few tossed me scraps of food or a few copper coins, their charity tinged with disgust, perhaps a reflection of their own fear of falling to such depths.
Each day was a struggle for survival. Every single day I scrounged for food in garbage heaps and slept in doorways and abandoned buildings. I constantly dodged the city guards who viewed street urchins like myself with suspicion and contempt.
The harsh reality of my exile had shattered any lingering illusions of hope.
I was alone, unwanted, and utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of this vast and unforgiving city, a tiny speck of misery within the sprawling mass of Green Area City.
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One evening, a group of older boys approached me from behind while I was digging my hands through a wallet I had snagged from a merchant who wasn’t paying attention. He was only at the first level of cultivation, so it was still possible.
I was started when one of the boys scoffed aloud. The first thing I noticed were the eyes filled with malice, staring straight into mine.
“Give it here, little shit.” The tall one clearly the leader, demanded, pointing at my earnings.
“Fuck you.” I rasped with my barely used voice.
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They beat me mercilessly, leaving me bruised and broken on the hard, cold ground.
I curled up in a doorway, tears of pain and frustration mixing with the grime on my face.
Sleep offered a temporary escape, but my nightmares were filled with the sneering faces of the clan elders and the echoing pronouncements of my worthlessness.
The next day, while hunger gnawed at my stomach with renewed intensity, I made a decision.
Begging was no longer an option. I had to survive, and that meant taking what I needed.
I became a thief, my nimble fingers pilfering food, coins, and anything else of value. It was an extreme risk and the constant threat of discovery challenged me greatly. But it was also the only way I could survive, if I didn't steal I would die or my growing body would wither into nothing.
Two years passed in a blur of petty thefts and near misses.
I learned to blend in with the crowds, to anticipate the movements of my targets, and to disappear into the labyrinthine alleys before anyone could raise an alarm.
I also discovered a hidden talent- the ability to control my body as I want with no mistakes. This would certainly be good for martial arts, if I could even do the slightest movement with chi, that is.
My body remained stubbornly resistant to Qi cultivation, but my reflexes were sharp and my movements agile.
I learned to fight by observing street brawls and imitating the techniques of experienced fighters.
My newfound skills proved invaluable in the brutal underworld of Green Area City.
They allowed me to defend myself against rival thieves and to establish a reputation as a better than average street urchin who may or may not get his ass kicked.
Five years after my exile from the Havenrun clan, I was no longer a scared child, but a seasoned street rat who had clawed his way up from the bottom of the food chain.
So, basically no progress at all.
I scoffed, "What a useless life. What am I even doing?"
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One rainy afternoon a few years later, while searching for my next target, I spotted a merchant unloading barrels from his cart.
One of the barrels had a loose lid, and curiosity got the better of me. I crept closer, peering inside.
A flash of green caught my eye. Before I could react, a snake, its scales the color of jade and its eyes filled with malice, lunged at me, sinking its fangs into my hand.
Pain exploded through my arm, followed by a wave of dizziness and nausea. I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the wet cobblestones. The poison coursed through my veins, its icy grip stealing the strength from my limbs and the breath from my lungs.
My vision blurred, the world around me fading into darkness. As my life ebbed away, I felt a strange sense of peace, a release from the pain and suffering that had defined my existence.
The last thing I saw was the same god-damned snake that killed me in my first life.
I didn’t even have time to laugh in self-mockery as my heart stilled.
And then, nothing.
I awoke in a misty void, my body feeling strangely weightless. Before me, a message hung in the air, its words formed from shimmering light:
[For surviving 10 years in the Heaven Spark Continent of the Red Dragon Plane, you gain...]
[Open talent purchasing menu?]