Hooves thundered against the packed dirt outside the orphanage.

  “Where’s the bastard who crossed our crew?” a woman shouted. “Hand him over, you piss-drinking drunk, or I start counting graves.”

  The children froze.

  The gate groaned open.

  Ten mercenaries flooded the yard, armour mismatched and scarred by use rather than neglect. Swords, axes, and a heavy iron mace caught the dull morning light. Two women in Trafalgar cloaks flanked their leader—a thick-necked man with a ruined nose and a grin that had learned cruelty early.

  His eyes slid over the yard, then stopped at Myra.

  “Well now,” he said. “That one will do nicely.”

  Myra stepped forward before Mikael could open his mouth. Her posture was relaxed, feet planted lightly, hands loose at her sides. Calm. Measured.

  “Leave,” she said. “Now.”

  The man laughed. “Or what? You’ll kick us to death with those pretty legs?”

  Mikael spat into the dirt. “Piss off, hog. Take your dogs and crawl back to whatever ditch spat you out.”

  The leader’s grin widened. “Feisty family you’ve got, old drunk. Grab the girl. Take a few brats too. Nobles pay well for soft leverage.”

  The mercenaries surged.

  Mikael’s smile showed every broken tooth.

  “Alright, brats,” he said cheerfully. “Practical lesson.”

  The yard exploded.

  Children scattered—not screaming, not panicking, but moving the way they’d been taught. Stones flew from slings hidden in sleeves. Dirt burst into faces from kicked piles. Ropes, pre-knotted in hedges, snapped tight around ankles. Someone overturned a water barrel, turning frost to slick mud under armoured boots.

  “Eyes! Go for the eyes!” Lucca shouted, laughing as he ducked a wild swing and jammed a stick into a merc's boot seam.

  Nerion scrambled onto the attic roof, loose stones clutched in his hands. “Heads up!” He hurled one straight into a mercenary’s temple. The man staggered, cursing. “Oops. Slipped.”

  “Nice throw!” Lena called, darting past with a sharpened stick aimed at knees—striking true, buckling one merc long enough for Brandon to loop a rope around his wrists.

  Tiro and Brandon worked in sync, baiting a sword-wielder into overcommitting. He lunged—too far. Tiro yanked a hidden line; the man hit the dirt hard, cursing as three children dog-piled him with elbows and boots.

  “Spin him, Tiro!” Lena laughed.

  “Already dizzy!” Tiro shot back.

  Miriam—tiny, shaking—scrambled behind a barrel, clutching a rock with both hands like a talisman.

  Myra moved like water through blades.

  A mercenary lunged for her, axe high. She pivoted, heel snapping up in a precise arc. The kick struck his wrist; the bone cracked, the axe flying. Her second strike folded his ribs with a dull thud. He crumpled, gasping—she was already past, intercepting another blade with the flat of her palm, twisting wrist until it snapped. She never overextended. Never killed. Never smiled. To her, they were slow, predictable shadows against her Centurion precision.

  Mikael faced the strongest trio, hands loose at his sides.

  Dull, impure Qi coiled around their fists and weapons—murky grey-white streams, strained and flickering. They charged with roars, blows heavy enough to crater stone.

  “Slow,” Mikael said, stepping aside. One punch whistled past his ear. “Lazy.” He slipped between them, flicking a pebble into an eye—blinding burst. “Sloppy.” A casual elbow to a throat sent another choking to knees.

  “Dodge left!” Mikael barked, eyes scanning. “Use the wall, idiots! Don’t cluster!”

  A burly merc broke through the kids' chaos, cornering Lucca against the shed. His mace rose—Lucca froze, stick raised uselessly.

  Mikael flicked another stone. It struck the merc's knee with pinpoint force; joint buckled, the mace veering harmlessly into wood. Lucca rolled free, grinning wide.

  Silvestre faced one alone, blade nicking his shoulder. Blood bloomed. Panic surged—and Qi answered.

  Level ten.

  BOOOOM!

  A dense earthen glow enveloped him, skin hardening like packed stone. His fist slammed forward—pure, unyielding force.

  The mercenary flew backwards through the fence, wood splintering in a shower.

  Silvestre staggered, knees shaking. “Did… did you see that?”

  “Earth Meridian at nine,” Mikael muttered, casual as commenting on the weather. “One in a hundred. Don’t waste it, boy.”

  The mercenaries grew frantic—all Masters, yet stumbling over children. One red-faced brute spotted Miriam’s barrel. He raised his sword, Qi flaring murky around the edge.

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  Nerion felt something snap.

  Heat tore through his limbs. Two star-like symbols flared across each extremity, embers searing flesh.

  He moved—faster than thought, a cheetah's blur.

  CRACK.

  His kick cracked the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

  Pain exploded in backlash. Nerion collapsed, breath ripped away, blood seeping from torn skin.

  “You’re a freak!” Lucca shouted, hauling him back. “That was awesome! What did you do, Nerion?”

  Mikael’s smile vanished.

  “Careful, runt,” he growled. “That road kills fast.”

  Another merc, desperate, grabbed for tiny Miriam as she darted past—fingers brushing her sleeve.

  Myra was there. A single, effortless palm strike to his chest—Qi redirecting his own force inward. He folded like paper, ribs caving without her breaking stride.

  The leader roared, indignant, charging Myra. His mace surged with thick, violent Qi—impure streams swirling. He smashed a stone wall to rubble, shards flying.

  “I’LL BREAK YOU!”

  Kids scattered from the debris. One shard grazed Lena's arm—blood trickled.

  Myra met him head-on, unmoved. She sidestepped the swing, foot hooking his ankle mid-follow-through. He stumbled—off-balance for a breath.

  That breath was enough.

  A blur slammed into him from the gate.

  The mace fell.

  “Level twenty-nine…” the man rasped, crashing to dirt. “Such a young Grandmaster.”

  Elisha stood there, lion-haired and grinning, pure-white Qi coiling thick and bright around his fists.

  “It seems you’ve come to the wrong place,” he said.

  The leader tried to rise—Elisha slid forward, punch precise to the temple. He hit the dirt and didn’t rise.

  Cheers erupted.

  “Elisha!”

  “Elisha’s back!”

  He moved through the remnants with brutal efficiency—ribs cracked, arms snapped, no wasted motion. The Trafalgar women fled horrified.

  Elisha grinned at the kids, ruffling a younger boy’s hair. “Not bad, runts. You’ve grown tough.”

  He let his sack fall, spilling meat, cheese, and grain—rare treasures to the kids’ star-struck eyes.

  “Real meat? Elisha, you’re a god!” Tiro shouted, earning laughs.

  The kids buzzed, dragging groaning mercenaries to the gate. “This one’s nose looks like a squashed tomato!” Lucca called, dodging a weak swipe from a downed foe.

  “Squashed by us!” Lena added, pride beaming in her face.

  In the dim kitchen, Mikael pulled Nerion aside before the noise could swallow him again.

  Elisha clapped Nerion lightly on the shoulder. “That was gutsy, kid. Nearly took that bastard’s head off.”

  Mikael’s hand closed around Nerion’s arm. His thumb pressed gently near the torn skin, eyes narrowing. “Reckless,” he growled. “Stupid, reckless.”

  “I had it under control,” Nerion protested, wincing as the ache flared. “Miriam was in danger. And—” he hesitated, then blurted it out, “—it makes me stronger. You always say strength matters.”

  Mikael exhaled slowly through his nose.

  “I’ve told you before,” he said, voice low now, stripped of humour. “You do open Acupoints.”

  Nerion frowned. “Why? Everyone says Acupoints are good. Some people are born special. Geniuses. I heard—”

  “That’s exactly why,” Mikael cut in.

  Elisha’s expression sobered. He leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Kid, listen. Acupoints aren’t toys. They’re amplifiers. Whether you’re a Warrior or an Adept, they push power through the body.”

  Mikael nodded. “Normally, an Acupoint stays sealed until it’s linked to a Core Meridian. Four at most per Meridian. Even Legends don’t go past thirty-six.”

  Nerion’s eyes widened. “But I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t them,” Mikael said sharply. “You tore them open.”

  He crouched so they were eye level.

  “Nerion,” he said, slower now, heavier. “You were born wrong.”

  The word hung there.

  Elisha shifted uncomfortably.

  “All forty-seven of your Acupoints,” Mikael continued, “were already half-open when you came here. Not unlocked. Not sealed. ”

  Nerion swallowed. “Is… is that bad?”

  Mikael closed his eyes for a moment.

  “As a baby,” he said quietly, “you screamed every night. Your skin split. Your bones couldn’t keep up. Qi flowed where it shouldn’t. I had to seal them by force just to keep you alive.”

  Nerion stared at the floor.

  Elisha spoke softly. “Even a grown Master would cripple himself by forcing power like that. You’re six.”

  Mikael placed his palm over Nerion’s arm. Qi flowed—controlled, steady, cooling the pain but leaving the deep soreness behind.

  “You felt strong,” Mikael said. “That’s the lie. Acupoints don’t make you powerful. They make you until your body is ready.”

  Nerion’s voice was small. “So… I can never use them?”

  Mikael shook his head. “You . When the time comes. When you have Meridians strong enough to hold them.”

  He gripped Nerion’s shoulder, firm but not cruel.

  “But if you force them again,” he said, eyes hard, “your body will tear itself apart before you ever learn how to fight properly.”

  Silence.

  Nerion nodded, jaw tight, fighting tears more than pain.

  “Good,” Mikael said, standing. “Because I don’t plan on burying you.”

  Nerion limped out, questions burning behind his eyes.

  Mikael stayed where he was, staring at the door.

  “He doesn’t remember,” he said finally. “How close it was.”

  Elisha exhaled. “I figured.”

  “I sealed what I could,” Mikael went on. “But with the smallest push of Qi, they flare open again. I’ve never seen a constitution like his. Not in the Army. Not in the Templo. Not anywhere.”

  He clenched his fist.

  “I don’t know if it’s a blessing,” he muttered, “or a curse that’s waiting for the right moment.”

  Elisha smiled faintly. “Still sounds like Big Brother.”

  Mikael’s expression softened—just for a second.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what scares me.”

  He cleared his throat. “What’s new on the Frontier, kid?”

  Elisha’s grin faded. “Chaos and small skirmishes every month between Rhodar and Ansara. I ran with a caravan and made some friends, even. They wanted me full-time, but I’m aiming for the Army, like Big Brother. Their leader’s got a friend, says he’ll put in a good word.”

  Mikael smirked. “Good for you, runt. But why are you back? I wasn’t expecting you back for months. What, some sugar momma fund that sack of goodies?” He nodded at the bag, teasing but sharp.

  Elisha laughed, rolling his eyes. “Perverted geezer. Nah, a noble’s butler from Ansem hired me. They’re hunting a Green Crystal Flower in Radom Woods—a rare plant, deep in the forest. They heard I’m a local, a Grandmaster at twelve, and offered good coin to guide ‘em.”

  His voice dropped. “It’s for Julieta, the youngest daughter of Old Man Corina, head of one of Ansara’s Five Great Families.”

  Mikael muttered, “That old coot still siring kids? Who knew he had the power?”

  Elisha chuckled. “They’re coming here, so I got permission to visit home. Figured I’d bring Nerion—he knows the Woods better than anyone.”

  “True,” Mikael said. “He’s always running there, despite Myra’s scolding. Says he’s got a friend. Who knows what tree he’s talking to?”

  They agreed to train Nerion for the journey. Then Mikael’s face hardened, his hand extending, Qi enveloping the room in a soundless veil. “Any new rumours from the Frontier?”

  Rumours meant nothing to Mikael. War, nobles, treasures. They didn’t matter. Only one rumour was important.

  Elisha’s eyes darkened. His voice flattened, stripped of emotion.

  “Same tale as always.

  Five years ago, Lirian De Mikaeli—leading candidate to become the Gloria of AEON—fell to depravity.

  He became obsessed with Elara Ten Carolin, heir to the Carolin Family, betrothed to the Serakin, the strongest family of Luztar.

  He approached her within the Templo.

  She refused.

  Enraged, he broke into her chambers. He defiled her. When the Vicar intervened, Lirian stabbed him.

  Hunted by the Knights of the Templo and a Seneschal, he was cornered north of Ansara’s peaks.

  There, in despair, he slew Elara.

  And then he took his own life.”

  Elisha fell silent.

  Mikael’s fist clenched, knuckles white, old scars splitting with blood.

  “BULLSHIT!”

  He roared, Qi erupting like a storm, splintering the table and chairs, the room shaking. The Genesis Stone flared, but the Qi veil held their secret safe. For now.

  Hey, the Doctor here!

  Lirian’s tale is twisted by Templo’s lies, and Nerion’s quest to clear his father’s name is just beginning. What’d you think of the action? Too slow, too wordy?

  TAO: The Way of the Self, Physical Power. Uses Qi. Level 10-19 is Master. Level 20-29 is Grandmaster.

  Acupoints and TIMBER are coming, so bear with me!