Chapter 1 – The Blood of the Weak
The morning sun rose slowly over the ancient peaks of the Inari Clan, bathing the mountain halls in shades of red and gold.
From afar, the clan's stronghold looked like a fortress built into the heavens — elegant towers of jade and white stone surrounded by swirling clouds.
The banners of the fox fluttered in the wind — each thread glinting crimson, like the hair of those who carried the Inari blood.
Every Inari was born with red hair.
A mark of divine blood.
The world believed it to be a symbol of the clan's bond with the skies.
But only one man — the Emperor of Vael'Thara — knew the truth.
The Inari were not human.
They were descendants of the Nine-Tailed Fox, a divine race that once ruled the upper realm.
---
Farhan Inari walked along the narrow stone path leading to the training courtyard.
His footsteps were slow, uneven. The air was thick with the scent of morning dew and burning incense.
Disciples trained in perfect formation — swords slicing the air with divine precision, magic sigils flickering around them like glowing petals.
Their movements were beauty and power woven together — a harmony of sword and spell.
Farhan watched silently from the edge. His body was sore; the bruises on his arms hadn't faded from yesterday's sparring.
He was the only one who didn't shine among them.
The only one whose stars refused to awaken.
Every Inari was a magic swordsman, trained to master both mana and blade.
Their strength was measured by Stars — ten levels of power.
To reach 1 Star could take a decade.
To reach 10 Stars… only legends ever had.
The current Patriarch, Volcan Inari, Farhan's father, stood at 9 Stars, a thousand-year genius capable of crushing mountains with a single strike.
Farhan's brothers were walking toward that legacy.
And he — he was barely even a spark.
---
A voice echoed through the courtyard.
Cold. Clear. Unforgiving.
> "You're late again, Farhan."
Farhan froze.
Standing beneath a red maple tree was Varian Inari, his stepbrother — the second son of the Patriarch. His crimson hair shimmered under sunlight, and droplets of water danced around his fingertips — his natural order, Water, obeying him like a living spirit.
Farhan bowed his head. "Apologies, Brother Varian. I—"
> "Don't call me brother," Varian interrupted, stepping closer. His expression twisted into a faint smile. "You think sharing Father's blood makes you one of us?"
Farhan's hands tightened into fists.
"I didn't mean—"
> "Save it," Varian spat. "You were born from a concubine. A blemish. Be grateful you're even allowed to train in the same courtyard."
Several disciples nearby laughed under their breath.
Varian tilted his head, eyes gleaming.
> "Tell me, do you still dream of becoming a swordsman? Of awakening your Star?"
"Face it, Farhan. You'll die before that happens."
Farhan looked up, lips trembling but silent.
He wanted to fight back.
He wanted to scream.
But every word caught in his throat.
> "If Father hadn't told me to ignore you," Varian said, turning away, "I would've erased that pity from your eyes long ago."
---
From the far side of the courtyard, a voice interrupted — calm and steady.
> "Enough, Varian."
The elder one, Zarek Inari, moved like lightning — every swing refined, every step graceful. His long crimson hair gleamed as his sword whistled through the air, shattering the sound barrier itself
A disciple whispered, "That's the eldest son… he's already a Five-Star Magic Swordsman at only twenty-seven. His control over the Natural Order of Sword is terrifying."
Zarek stopped beside Farhan. His gaze was unreadable.
> "Train harder, Farhan. Talent can be compensated… but hesitation cannot."
His words were neither cruel nor kind.
They simply left Farhan standing there — small, trembling, and uncertain.
When the brothers left, the courtyard returned to its rhythm.
Farhan remained still. His sword hung limp by his side.
The murmurs of the other disciples blurred into the wind.
> Why do I even try?
Why can't I be like them?
He stared at his reflection in the blade — dull, lifeless eyes staring back.
His hair, once a soft red when he was young, now looked faded, almost brownish — as if even his blood had given up on him.
---
Later that day, the path led him home — a small wooden house far from the clan's grand halls.
Moss grew between the stones. Wind chimes made of bones and glass sang softly in the wind.
Inside, the air was warm.
His mother, Amla Inari, tended to herbs, humming quietly. Her crimson hair, though losing its color, still shimmered faintly in the light.
His little sister, Neer, sat by the window, braiding flowers into her hair.
> "You're home," Amla said softly. "How was your training?"
Farhan sat down, avoiding her gaze.
"The same as always."
> "They mocked you again?" she asked gently.
He didn't answer.
Neer jumped into his lap, hugging him tightly.
> "Don't cry, Brother! I'll get strong, then protect you and Mother!"
Farhan smiled faintly, brushing her hair. "You already protect us, Neer."
Amla looked out the window. Her voice trembled, though her expression stayed calm.
> "One day… they'll see what you truly are, my son. The heavens are only silent when they're waiting."
Farhan looked at her, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"
She smiled — sad and knowing.
> "The Inari blood doesn't die… it hides."
---
That night, in the Soul Chamber, the elders convened.
Candles burned with blue flame. Incense smoke filled the room.
"Zarek continues to rise," said an elder proudly. "His sword spirit shows signs of awakening a divine form."
"Varian too. The boy's water order deepens by the day."
Then silence.
"And… Farhan Inari?"
Murmurs spread.
"Still at 0 Star."
"A waste of blood."
"Perhaps he should be assigned to labor work."
Volcan Inari, the Patriarch, sat at the head. His presence dominated the hall — calm, commanding, dangerous.
He didn't speak.
His crimson eyes flicked once toward the report, then closed.
The silence was worse than anger.
---
That night, Farhan sat alone at the edge of the waterfall that ran through the clan's back valley.
He looked at his reflection — dark-haired, fragile, ordinary — so unlike the fiery red that marked his kin.
He whispered to the night,
> "Am I really that worthless…?"
Farhan sank to his knees, tears mixing with the mountain wind.
> "If only… I could be strong enough to protect them…"
His mother's voice echoed faintly in his mind, "You are not weak, my son. You are simply waiting for the right moment."
He clenched his fists. "How long must I wait, Mother? How long until they see me?"
The air trembled around him. For a moment, faint crimson threads shimmered at the edges of his hair — then vanished.
Inside his chest, something ancient stirred — wild, furious, yearning to awaken.
A heartbeat too old to be human.
But before it could burst forth, the power recoiled, sealed once again by unseen chains.
Farhan gasped, clutching his heart as pain rippled through him.
He fell to his knees, panting — unaware that deep within his soul, nine faint tails flickered in the darkness, waiting.