I floated around, trying to remember. “What happened after that… yeah, I remember. Writer's view is really useful… Raion fled to the forest.”

  The forest swallowed Raion, green shadow, damp breath, branches that clawed at his clothes.

  He ran until his lungs burned. The trees became a smear. His legs gave out one misstep, a sharp slide on wet leaves and he collapsed by a stream.

  Face to cold earth, chest heaving, he whispered to himself.

  “I had left them behind,” he thought, fingers clawing at dirt like apology.

  “All of them.”

  “Soryn, who always protected me;

  Areum, who never even learned how to defend herself.”

  “Even Jarin and Giron, who never showed me kindness but bled the same blood… gone. All of them are gone.”

  “I wasn’t fast enough, and I wasn’t strong enough. And Father...” the thought stopped him cold.

  He didn’t see him die. He didn’t have to. He knew.

  That hug he gave him before he fled was comfortable and final.

  It was his last decision telling him to run. He chose to die standing Not for glory Not for revenge For him.

  He rose slowly and stared into the stream. His reflection, bloodied, a stranger, shimmered on the black water, barely recognizable.

  No more family.

  No more sect.

  No more protection.

  Only silence remained.

  But this silence wasn’t empty. It was heavy A burden. He had given his life for him.

  He thought he didn’t deserve it, a bitter stone in his throat.

  They were born strong: Giron, Jarin, Soryn. Even little Areum carried a light that could melt ice.

  “But me? I was always the weak one. The one who stayed behind. And yet I was the one left breathing.”

  “Why me?” he whispered.

  No one answered.

  He clenched his fists and forced himself to stand.

  Even if it broke him.

  Even if he had to claw through the ashes of everything they’d built.

  He would not let his father die for nothing.

  He would live for them. For him.

  But as he took one shaky step, the world tilted. Rings of light bloomed at the edges of his vision; the trees blurred.

  His knees buckled again; this time he didn't catch himself. The world narrowed to a single image.

  White cloth flashing through the trees, a ribbon on a sleeve, and then everything went black.

  And then.

  Hands caught him.

  Strong and steady.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  A voice, low and unfamiliar, spoke just above a whisper. “So this is the one he chose to protect.”

  Then Warmth. That was the first thing Raion noticed.

  Not fire, but something softer. Sunlight, maybe. Or chi, gentle and steady, flowing over him like a slow-moving river.

  His eyes fluttered open.

  A quiet room: white paper walls, bamboo whispering outside. He wasn’t dead, not yet.

  Then footsteps. Bare, deliberate.

  A man entered the room, clothed in flowing white robes with not a speck of dust on them. His hair was long, tied with silver thread.

  His eyes calm, clear, and impossibly deep. He didn’t speak at first. Just sat across from Raion and poured tea.

  When the silence stretched, Raion finally asked. “Where am I?”

  The man answered gently. “In my home. Alive.” his voice was deep but soft like embers.

  Raion forced himself up on one elbow, wincing, and asked. “Who are you?”

  The man offered him the tea, then finally spoke his name. “Zhuyin. I knew your father.”

  Raion blinked. “You what?”

  Zhuyin didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

  “I fought beside Daeryon Kang before you were born. Before your sect fell into the hands of elders who feared the fire they helped build.”

  Raion stared. The man spoke of his father like no one else ever had. Not as a monster. Not as a tyrant But as a comrade.

  “He was not a gentle man,” Zhuyin said, “but he burned for those he loved even when he could not show it.”

  Raion looked down at the cup in his hands. His fingers trembled slightly.

  “He died saving me,” he whispered.

  Zhuyin nodded once. “As he always meant to.”

  Silence settled. Then Zhuyin added quietly, “He asked me, once, what legacy was. I told him legacy is not in what we leave behind. It’s in who remembers.”

  He stood, cupped Raion’s face, and said: “You are his last flame, Raion Kang. I will not let it go out.”

  Time passed differently under Zhuyin’s watch.

  There were no sects. No throne. No family. No more halls soaked in ambition, only silence.

  Under that silence, Raion trained, not because he wanted to, but because he had been given a task.

  He had never wanted this life. As a child, he would sit beside his mother while others fought.

  While Soryn sparred with joy. While Giron struck to kill. While Jarin moved like shadow.

  Raion just listened And when his mother died, he still didn’t pick up a sword He only did it after the world tore itself apart around him.

  Zhuyin had trained many, but none like Raion. His movements were precise but cold. His strikes flawless but hollow.

  Each mastered technique left no joy, no hunger. Only a grim, silent resolve.

  One day, as the wind howled and the sky cracked with storm, Zhuyin watched Raion dodge a technique he had never been taught.

  “You saw me use that once,” Zhuyin murmured. Raion said nothing.

  They moved again. Zhuyin changed form: hips shift, a coiling step, and Raion mirrored him perfectly.

  Zhuyin let out a long, slow exhale. “You’ve always had this, haven’t you?”

  Raion lowered his head and said, “Yes. Since I was little.”

  Zhuyin’s gaze darkened, not with anger but with grief. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Do you know how much could have changed if you used it?”

  Raion whispered, voice like dry paper. “I didn’t want it.”

  Zhuyin froze. “All that power… all that talent… and you didn’t want it?”

  Raion looked him in the eyes tired, unflinching. “I only wanted my family.”

  He swallowed. “I never cared for the throne or strength or being noticed. They forced it on me. And now… there’s no one left to protect me from it.”

  The wind stilled. Zhuyin sat in the grass, silent. “Do you know why your father never trained you?” he asked softly. “It was not because he didn’t care.”

  “It was because you never asked.”

  Raion did not respond. He could not argue he had never asked. He had chosen to sit at his mother’s side instead.

  Zhuyin continued. “He thought leaving you untouched by war was mercy.”

  Zhuyin looked out across the valley. “But mercy cannot survive this world.”

  Raion trained for years.

  Zhuyin taught him sacred Kang techniques lineage moves fueled by Black Dragon Chi.

  And Raion He absorbed each motion like ink on white paper faster than Zhuyin expected, until his teacher’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  One evening, after hours of grueling sparring, Zhuyin asked a question. “What do you know about your father?”

  Raion froze. For the first time, he realized he couldn't answer. “Do I even know him? What did he like? What did he hate?”

  “Then let me tell you what I know,” Zhuyin said.

  And he did, piece by piece, a portrait of a man Raion had only glimpsed in fragments. Some truths cut sharp. Some made his chest ache with wonder.

  By the time Zhuyin finished, Raion’s hands were clenched, his chest tight, and he realized how little he’d truly known about his father.

  The wind whispered through the training grounds, carrying a devastatingly quiet silence.

  Days later, on the final day of their training, Zhuyin asked, “Why are you doing this?”

  Raion stood, bruised and bloodied, sweat dripping down his arms. “To kill them.”

  Zhuyin nodded. “And after that?”

  Raion replied. “Then I’ll be free.”

  Zhuyin’s voice grew low, like a bell struck in a canyon. “Will you be happy with that decision?”

  Raion’s reply came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m only alive for that.”

  Zhuyin looked at him for a long time eyes filled with something ancient and mournful. “Then he will not be happy in his grave after all.”

  He turned away, leaving Raion beneath a red sky sword in hand, no peace in his heart.