Aizel floated in and out of consciousness.
He remembered vague voices… warmth near him… the scent of herbs.
For the first time since his mother died, someone had carried him, cared for him.
A soft voice had spoken to him—gentle as moonlight.
But that warmth disappeared when darkness dragged him under again.
---
When Aizel awoke, he was lying on a thin bamboo mat, beneath a leaky roof barely holding itself together. Sunlight slipped through broken patches above him. Cold breeze brushed across his thin clothes.
He blinked slowly.
"…Where…?"
His body felt unusually light—bandaged poorly, but bandaged nonetheless.
He pushed himself up, groaning. His ribs screamed; his leg trembled.
Outside, unfamiliar voices traveled through the air.
Aizel stepped outside.
Dozens of wooden huts scattered in disorganized clusters. Many were rotten, some half-collapsed. These were the homes of outer disciples—those barely tolerated by the sect.
Suddenly, muffled sobbing reached him.
A boy, around his age, sat beside a broken fence, face buried in his arms.
Aizel approached quietly.
"…Why are you crying?"
The boy jerked, startled. Red eyes, swollen from tears, stared back at him.
"…Who are you?"
"Aizel," he answered softly.
The boy struggled to pronounce the name.
"A-Ai… zel? Strange name…"
But he laughed helplessly—bitterness in his voice.
Aizel didn't mind.
He sat beside him.
"Why were you crying?"
The boy hesitated, shame twisting his face.
"…My cultivation stones were taken. My senior brothers beat me. I… I couldn't stop them."
His voice trembled.
"I want to be strong… I want to protect people like me… but I…"
Aizel listened quietly.
He remembered his mother—her weak smile, Maybe this boy was the same: weak, powerless, trying.
Without hesitation, Aizel pulled out the single spiritual stone he himself had been allotted—his only cultivation resource.
"Here," he offered.
The boy froze.
"…W-what…?"
"You can use it. I can't."
Aizel smiled faintly. "No root."
Mo Zheng stared wide-eyed. Others would have mocked him for being worthless, a mortal among cultivators. But this boy—this stranger—simply gave away what he had, without expecting anything.
Mo Zheng's heart tightened.
"I… I'm Mo Zheng…" he whispered.
And that was the beginning.
---
Days passed.
Where others saw Aizel as irrelevant, a toy picked up by senior sister Zhinü, Mo Zheng saw something different.
Though their huts were frail, though their food was scraps, Aizel shared what little he received. They repaired each other's shelters, cooked simple meals together. For the first time, Aizel felt… companionship.
But nothing pure lasts long.
One afternoon, Aizel returned from washing his clothes near a creek when he heard shouting—panicked, pained.
Mo Zheng.
Aizel sprinted, heart screaming, limbs aflame.
He turned the corner—
Several outer disciples surrounded Mo Zheng, beating him ruthlessly. Blood stained the dirt. Mo Zheng's hands trembled as he tried to protect the small bag of cultivation stones.
"Stop!" Aizel shouted.
They paused—not out of guilt, but amusement.
"Well, well… the mortal dog came back."
Aizel rushed to cover Mo Zheng with his body.
"Why are you hitting him? He's your brother!"
"Brother?" one sneered. "Trash doesn't deserve equality."
Another yanked the stones from Mo Zheng's bloodied hands.
Aizel clenched his fists—but he couldn't fight. He was weak. Powerless.
The disciples left laughing.
Mo Zheng cried silently.
Aizel gently touched his friend's shoulder.
"It's okay. I'll ask senior sister… she will help."
He tried to sound confident.
After all… she had saved him once.
That night, Aizel helped Mo Zheng repair his destroyed hut. The moon hung low, cold, watching silently.
Aizel slept on the floor of his own hut, exhausted.
He didn't know eyes watched him—hungry, calculating.
---
Su Fu stood outside, arms crossed, a cruel smirk stretching across his face. Behind him were his followers.
"He trusts her too much…" he muttered.
And if that trust was twisted, crushed, broken…
He grinned.
"Perfect."
They moved through the night—to Mo Zheng's hut.
The boy jolted awake—startled, confused.
"S-senior brothers…?"
Su Fu leaned down, voice soft like poison.
"If you help us… I'll give you everything you lack. Resources. Food. Women. Power."
Mo Zheng's breath hitched.
Power…
He wanted it—desperately. To stop being weak. To stop being a victim.
"…What do I have to do?" he whispered.
Su Fu smiled like a beast revealing its fangs.
"When senior sister comes, you will say that Aizel is the bully.
Say he threatened you. That he used senior sister to take resources.
Blame him entirely."
Mo Zheng froze.
"…H-he's my friend."
"Friend?" Su Fu snorted. "He is a mortal. Trash. He won't stay here long anyway.
But you… you can rise."
Mo Zheng's hands trembled.
"Think carefully," Su Fu said.
"Even if he gets kicked out… he will forgive you.
And you will share your rewards with him later, right?"
Temptation gnawed at Mo Zheng's mind, drowning reason.
"…I… I'll do it."
He tried to justify it.
Just one lie…
Just one betrayal…
He'll say sorry later… share what he gains… and everything will be fine…
But some bridges, once burned, never rebuild.
Su Fu whispered his plan in detail.
The trap was set.
---
When dawn arrived, Zhinü came to check on Aizel.
Her steps were light; she carried medicine.
"Aizel," she called warmly.
But before Aizel could speak, Su Fu and his group approached, bowing with exaggerated politeness.
"Senior sister," Su Fu said smoothly, "we were bullied.
He threatened us.
Took our resources.
Said… you belonged to him."
Aizel's eyes widened.
"…What?"
Zhinü frowned, confusion flickering.
She turned to Mo Zheng.
"Is that true?"
Aizel looked at Mo Zheng—at the only person he trusted here.
Mo Zheng looked anywhere except his eyes.
His heart raced. Regret twisted his gut. But fear… desire… drowned it.
"…Y-yes…" he whispered.
Aizel froze.
His ears rang.
"…Why?" he whispered.
Mo Zheng continued, voice trembling.
"He… he hit me… he said you protect him… he… used you…"
Aizel stepped back as though struck.
His throat dried.
He tried to speak, but words failed.
Zhinü's gaze trembled.
"Aizel… is this true?"
He shook his head vigorously.
"No! I would never—!"
Before he could finish—
More disciples rushed over, fake injuries painted on them.
"Yes! He bullied us too!"
"He said he would make you his woman!"
"He used your favor!"
Aizel felt the world spinning.
All lies.
All strangers.
Why… why were they saying this?
Why was Mo Zheng silent?
A cold voice sliced through the chaos.
"Move."
Lin Wo arrived, followed by his senior brother Lin Fye.
In Lin Wo's hand: a glowing silver crystal.
Immortal recording crystal.
He activated it.
The crystal projected an illusion—Aizel laughing, boasting, speaking filthy words about Zhinü.
He threatened disciples.
He insulted the sect.
Aizel froze.
"That's not—!"
Zhinü's world shattered.
Her hand trembled… then—
SLAP!
Aizel's head whipped sideways.
His cheek burned.
His ears rang.
He stared at her—shocked.
His breath halted.
Why…?
He had never felt warmth before meeting her.
Now her hand felt colder than the deepest winter.
"I never want to see you again," she spat, disgust flickering in her eyes.
She walked past him.
Aizel's trembling fingers lifted toward her sleeve—but never reached.
Lin Wo leaned forward.
"Well? Didn't you hear?
Get out, mortal dog."
Aizel didn't move.
He couldn't.
Everything… everything felt unreal.
Lin Wo sneered.
Disciples seized Aizel—dragging his battered body across the ground.
He reached toward Mo Zheng—eyes begging for truth.
Mo Zheng looked away.
Aizel's voice broke—barely a whisper.
"…Why…?"
But silence answered him.
Sect elders watched from afar, amused, unconcerned.
The sect master merely chuckled.
"Children will be children."
No one defended him.
The gates opened.
And Aizel was thrown out—into the beast-ridden wilds.
His body rolled down a slope, crashing through roots and thorns, until he lay at the base of a towering, ancient tree.
His leg was broken.
His ribs cracked.
Vision blurred.
The sky above him was gray.
Cold.
Empty.
He had been starved, beaten, betrayed… but never broken.
Now, something in him cracked.
Not bone.
Something deeper.
He dragged himself forward, clawing dirt, trying to escape the forest he had been thrown into. Beastly roars echoed far away, shaking the trees.
"I… I must live…"
His voice was a broken whisper.
For his mother.
For the unknown future she believed he had.
Branches snapped somewhere behind him.
Something… was watching.
Hunting.
Aizel forced himself forward, fingernails tearing, blood dripping behind him like a trail inviting death.
The night grew darker.
And death approached.
---