Mikael left early, as he always did when he went to buy alcohol, taking a few coins from Myra and offering nothing more than a grunt in explanation. But today Myra watched him go with a shadow in her eyes — something sad, something resigned.
The children didn’t notice. Nerion did.
He didn’t dwell on it, however. His punishment was over, and he could finally run freely again.
He sprinted for the Radon Woods. Leaves whipped past him, and the air tasted clean after days of chores and drills. At the forest edge, a familiar rumble shook the ground.
“Leo!”
The wolf barreled out of the trees — larger by half, nearly two meters at the shoulder, fur thick and blue, its white tuft of hair on its forehead making it look even more elegant. His aura pulsed with the raw strength of a newly advanced magical beast.
Nerion threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Leo’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For saving my family.”
Leo rumbled softly and licked his face.
Yet, beneath the affection, Nerion felt something else — a flicker of hesitation. Awe. Fear?
It took him a moment to understand. Arbak’s baptism… the lingering scent of a Beast Lord’s blessing… Leo was sensing something primal in him.
That should have thrilled Nerion. But the last weeks had shown him how small he truly was.
So, he decided to train, with Leo by his side.
He trained. Hard. And failed. Hard.
He ran the First Form of the Free Flowing Fist again and again beneath the trees. He tried to recall Arbak and Kerchak’s titanic clash… Sagat’s killing intent… the flowing serenity he had glimpsed in the forest.
But his Qi and Mana were still stunted — both at level 4. The flows were unsteady, disconnected. The more he pushed, the more he felt that gap.
Ego Sum had promised a path forward. Yet every attempt felt clumsy, incomplete. His muscles tensed. His breath turned harsh. His heart sank.
Leo nosed his shoulder gently.
Nerion exhaled, long and shaky. He reminded himself —
He had time. He had life. He had friends waiting at home. He didn’t need to win every battle today.
His shoulders loosened. His breath slowed. He let the forest quiet him.
Then he and Leo played — truly played — sprinting between trees until Nerion collapsed laughing in the moss.
By nightfall, he climbed a tall tree and lay on a branch beside Leo. Above them stretched an ocean of stars.
For the first time in weeks, his worries dissolved. The quiet of the Forest enveloped him.
Under the starry sky, the world opened.
The forest breathed. The heavens shimmered. A warmth bloomed behind his heart.
Nerion rose and began the Form again — calm, unhurried.
Extend. Fold. Circle. Flow.
And then—
Heat.
A sudden pulse against his chest.
The Genesis Stone.
Nerion froze. He touched it — unchanged. Quiet.
He repeated the sequence. This time, at the seventh movement, the stone warmed again — subtly, but undeniably.
More importantly, his Qi and Mana shifted together, overlapping in a way they never had before, like two rivers brushing banks. He tried again, slower. The sensation deepened, a tiny but real improvement in the flow of both energies.
Not luck. A clue.
He took the first movement — the simplest — and began adjusting tiny details.
A different angle. Slightly higher elbow. Fingers looser. Breath softer. Weight shifted.
He tracked every change with perfect clarity — a gift from the pact with Ego Sum — so he would never repeat a wrong motion twice.
Dozens of variations passed beneath the moonlight.
Then—
Heat.
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Nerion’s eyes widened.
He didn’t need the long theories or ancient warnings. He felt the truth in his body:
- The movement must create balance for both energies.
- The world must recognise the motion as natural.
- Qi and Mana must form a single rhythm, like a whirlpool circling as one.
The Genesis Stone was nudging him toward the “correct” form — the one that harmonised with the world rather than forcing it.
Not a model for Qi. Not Meditation for Mana. But something else. Something made for him.
So Nerion continued — testing, adjusting, refining.
The Form became a living flow around him, guided by instinct more than knowledge.
Leo watched, tail swishing, mesmerised by the energy blooming around the boy — not Qi, not Mana, but both, pulsing like twin hearts.
Nerion lost all sense of time.
Just before dawn, he connected the modified first movement to the seventh.
The warmth didn’t fade between them. Instead…
It grew.
Qi and Mana spiralled inside him, tracing a perfect arc. The flow accelerated. His breath caught.
BOOM!
It wasn’t sound — it was sensation.
Like something inside him had cracked open and flooded with light.
Qi surged down his spine. Mana flared behind his eyes. Two points awakened:
The first Heavenly Gate
The first Core Meridian
Both forced open at once.
Fire burst around him, without him noticing, a small spark floating in front of his eyes as the world answered his call. Then, as quickly as it came, so it went out.
Pain. Light. Ecstasy. And then silence.
Nerion stood trembling, then laughing breathlessly. Tears welled in his eyes.
“I did it… I did it… I DID IT!” He screamed aloud.
TAO Master and TIMBER Adept. Both at once.
Not separately. Not sequentially. Together.
A new path.
Fatigue crashed over him. Leo caught him gently before he fell.
Nerion slept curled up against his friend until noon.
Time passed quickly. Nerion woke up to the rumbling of his stomach. He remembered he hadn’t eaten in a while.
He ran home on top of Leo and went straight to search for Mikael and Myra. Wanting to share his findings, his new found strength.
Nerion ran to the backyard. And froze…
All the children were crying.
The Orphanage yard was in chaos. Children sobbed in clusters. Myra’s face was pale and tight. Silvestre punched a tree so hard bark exploded, his one arm shaking.
Nerion felt his stomach drop.
“What happened?” he whispered.
The younger children rushed him.
“Where is Father?” Lena screamed with hope that Nerion was with him, looking towards his back, expecting to see him enter right after her younger brother.
“Sister Myra said he won’t come back!” said Landa, sadness and despair being born in his eyes.
“Is he angry with us?” said Miriam while sobbing miserably, Myra trying to calm her.
Nerion couldn’t breathe.
He looked at Myra. Her eyes — sad, steady — told him everything.
Mikael was gone. Truly gone.
He hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t waited for anyone. He had simply vanished.
For them, who were already orphaned, either having lost their parents, being abandoned, being sold as slaves, or worse… they had all been rescued and brought back to the Orphanage by Mikael. The old beggar had given them a home, food, and even though he demanded a lot from them, and made them do a lot of chores and exercises, he never mistreated them, nor abused them. They knew he deeply cared for them. He was the one true father figure they had gotten to know and love, and now, he…
They had been abandoned a second time. Despair crept into them.
Silvestre kicked another tree. “Why would he just leave?!”
Brandon shook, trying not to cry and failing.
Nerion’s throat tightened. His vision blurred. All the strength he had felt hours ago evaporated.
He bowed his head as tears streamed down his cheeks.
Then he remembered.
The enemy in the Frontier who recognised Mikael. The tension in Mikael’s eyes these past days. The way Myra watched him leave this morning.
A terrible, quiet certainty settled in his chest.
Nerion wiped his tears with shaking hands.
He stepped forward.
“Guys…”
No one heard him.
“Guys!”
Still nothing.
Then—
“GUYS!”
The shout cracked like thunder in their minds — Qi/Mana instinctively woven into the cry.
Silence fell.
Dozens of red-rimmed eyes turned toward him.
Nerion forced himself to smile. A bright, gentle, impossible smile.
“I’m sad too,” he said, voice trembling. “Really sad. Maybe this pain won’t leave us for a long time.”
The children stared at him, wide-eyed.
“But we have to move forward. Father left because he had to. Because he cares for us — too much, maybe. Because staying would have put us in danger.”
Myra’s breath hitched. Silvestre flinched.
Nerion continued, louder:
“If Father left, it’s because we were weak. Because we couldn’t help him. Because enemies could use us against him. Because we… were burdens.”
Shock rippled through the children.
“And I hate it. I don’t want that! I don’t want to be a burden anymore!”
He thumped his fist against his chest, raising his voice in anger. He started cursing an invisible old man standing in front of him.
“You left alone. You did not tell me anything. And you left alone. Who will take care of you, you shitty geezer? Who will help you when you need it? You’re nothing more than an old man, and you still behave like a little child. Don’t you realise we can help you? No, you don’t. So I’ll prove you wrong.”
The children looked at his endless tirade, some of them even chuckled a bit. Nerion turned to them.
“I’m going to get stronger. Stronger than ever. Strong enough to find him. Strong enough to help him. Strong enough to tear apart every obstacle between us!”
His voice cracked — he shouted anyway.
“We might grow up in different places. Elisha’s already gone. Maybe I’ll leave someday, too. But we’re still family! Always!”
Tears streaked his face. His voice was hoarse, uneven, messy — a child’s voice.
But full of fire.
“This is my oath. My path. My fate. I will become unmatched under Heaven. And anyone who took from us…” He clenched his fists. “…will face my judgment. And anyone who dares to try and take away from us will face my retribution.”
Silence lingered for a heartbeat.
Such a young, tender and foolish dream from a small orphan in a forgotten corner of Ansara. But the rest of the children knew better. For they were the children of Mikael’s Orphanage.
“So what are you gonna do? Will you stay crying like little babies, or will you chase me and see if you can catch me and prove me wrong as well?”
Nerion ended his inarticulate, childish speech.
Then Silvestre broke into a shaky grin. “Catch you? Easy!”
He lunged at Nerion.
The younger kids screamed and rushed forward. Myra, laughing through tears, joined them.
And suddenly the entire Orphanage was chasing Nerion through the yard — crying, laughing, shouting, collapsing into a single chaotic knot of grief and joy.
Soon enough, they were laughing aloud with tears in their eyes.
Tears of happiness, tears of sadness, tears of powerlessness. They would cry aloud, and then cry no more.
The bells in Radom tolled for the coming war.
And the children answered with laughter.
And for the first time since Mikael vanished, the Orphanage breathed again.
Aeonian Chronicles
Book 1: Children of the Orphanage - The End