#sect:minor

two shadows zipping between the trees, engaged in a potentially fatal dance. the branches shook underneath their feet, leaves quivering in fear as swords met with a loud clang. a dance that used to occur monthly became weekly and before too long, was a nightly affair. as much as he enjoyed the fight, he knew it wouldn’t last.

before long, his chest was burning, vision rapidly blurring. agony rush through his veins in waves and with considerable effort, he swallowed back down the blood that rose in his throat.

“i am fine, i am fine,” he said with a chuckle, waving off his companion’s concern as he sheathed his sword. a steaming bowl of foul smelling concoction was passed over and he wrinkled his nose at it. this was his least favourite part of the night, where he must down the entire bowl because he got caught. a deal was struck and he had never gone back on it, which was likely the only reason the other still agreed to participate in this detrimental game.

still, tonight, he didn’t want to make it easy.

“convince me,” he said, mischievous smile radiant under the moon.

in response, a honey soaked date was offered.

“no,” he whined, rolling his eyes. “i mean, really, convince me.” he tapped his lips, because sometimes, certain things needed to be spelled out.

[ tw: blood and abuse ] fealty.

an audible scoff cuts through the silence at the end of his father’s long-winded tirade. the sound had elicited from his mouth after an hour of kneeling, fingers curling into tight fists with anticipation. a split moment passes, and no one comes to his rescue. no one dares to diffuse the situation, and he doesn’t blame them. his father’s anger is his to brunt.

he hears his father’s heavy footsteps, full of uncontrollable rage. his socked feet appear in front of him, but he remains unmoving, teeth clenching with his eyes downcast. his father raises a hand, and there is no hesitation. it hadn’t been a threat, but a purposeful punishment. his father had grown tired of his disobedience.

what he failed to realize was that he was no longer a child. there was no pleasing his father, and he refused to bend over backwards for the old man until he took his final breath. he wasn’t willing to offer unquestionable loyalty to someone that treated others like they were expendable.

palm meets cheek, knuckles meet cheekbone. he doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t bother to lift his hands up to protect his face. he doesn’t cry out or fight back.

instead, he laughs past the stinging pain, finally lifting his head to look at his father. his expression was covered partly in a shadow, and he wonders when the sun had set. his father slows down drastically, but the pain feels unquestionably real. he discerns that he must be dreaming, feeling his heart pounding in his chest with adrenaline.

he moves, at last, taking advantage of his father’s exhaustion to scrabble to his feet. he doesn’t attack back or waits for another strike, but he instead he runs without looking back.

he runs and runs until he reaches a waterfall, lungs protesting and demanding an actual breath. he steps closer to the edge of the cliff, taking several quick gasps until he caught his breath. he reaches up to touch his mouth, fingers smearing with blood. he grimaced at the sight, wiping his hand against the fabric of his robe.

the sound of the roaring waters had silenced his mind, and his chest no longer ached. he took a deep breath before utilizing the adrenaline he felt earlier and stepping off the cliff, allowing gravity to take over. he wonders how cold the water would be, knowing the cold temperature would be a shock to his system. the sun wasn’t out to warm him up when he resurfaced, but he closed his eyes and —

The cultivation world is packed with many great and legendary names, idolized figures. Often, the wayward young man would look into his future with great expectations of what he could become. To lay in the flowers, at peace with a world which broke out into chaos every once in a while.

As he lay there, they called out his name with the title of ‘chief cultivator’ attached. He would smile, gracious to be needed, to be respected for his diligence across his lifetime. Even if he wasn’t blessed with a name or lineage from one of the great sects. Big things had small beginnings.

The room is quiet, in a way too quiet, in another way the perfect amount of quiet. Ming can hear his own breath, and he hears it clearly when he takes a sip of his drink, the way he gulps it down, the porcelain when it touches the table. In the distance if you listen hard enough then maybe you can hear birds chirping. Ming lets his eyes wander the room, he scans everything, everything. He does not have as good memory as his sister, the female who seemed to remember everything, even memories from when she was a mere baby she had, Ming still remembers the stories she told. He looks down at the thought of her, it’s saddens him that she’s no longer here, it saddens him even more that he doesn’t know why she isn’t here, or who’s the reason for why she’s not here. He shakes his head, it’s been a plenty of time since she died.