The morning sun barely pierced the thick fog that lingered over the northern district of Huo City. Cracked cobblestones glistened with leftover rain, and the faint smell of smoke from burnt-out lanterns clung to the alleyways. In one of the narrower, darker alleys, a small figure hunched over on the ground, covering his face from a torrent of kicks and punches.
"Hit him again! Don't let him get up!" a boy shouted, his face twisted in cruel delight.
"Why are you even crying? You don't have parents anyway!" another spat, slamming his foot into the smaller boy's back.
The boy on the ground flinched with every strike, but he didn't scream. His golden-brown eyes were wide and alert, reflecting a strange depth, almost as if he could see past the alley into another world. Something about him unsettled the older children, though they didn't know why.
Why do they hate me so much? he thought quietly. I didn't do anything… I just exist.
He tried to push himself up, but another kick sent him sprawling into the mud. Dirt smeared his clothes, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wanted to cry, wanted someone to save him—but no one came. Not that he expected them to.
Then, a faint sound echoed from the edge of the alley—a moan, low and pained. It was soft, barely audible, but there was a strange resonance in it that made the boy freeze.
"What's that?" one of the bullies muttered, glancing nervously toward the sound.
Curiosity overcame fear. The boy crawled carefully toward a pile of broken crates, pushing aside a damp burlap sack. There, slumped against the wall, was a creature unlike anything he had ever seen. Its skin was pale gray, almost metallic in the dim morning light, and two black horns twisted from its head. Blood ran down its chest, dripping onto the cobblestones. A broken talisman hung loosely from its neck.
The boy's breath caught. His small heart pounded in his chest. There was fear, yes, but also a strange pull, as if something deep inside him recognized this creature.
Help… please… a faint thought trembled in his mind.
He knelt beside the wounded demon, his small hands trembling as he reached out. "I… I'll help you," he whispered.
The creature's lips moved, but its voice was not human. And yet, the boy could hear it clearly. Pain… cold… I do not want… to die…
The boy's eyes widened. No one had ever taught him the language of demons. No one had told him they could speak—or that he could understand them.
"I… I can understand you," he said softly. "I don't know why, but I can. Don't worry. I'll help you."
The demon's eyes widened, surprise flashing through its pain. After a moment, it reached into a torn pouch and produced a small black pill, rough and almost glowing with faint power.
"Eat this when you are alone," the demon rasped, voice weak but urgent. "It will help you… survive."
The boy hesitated. "Survive? Survive what?"
"Trust me… one day… it will matter," the demon said, barely able to lift its head.
Before he could ask more, a shout echoed from the alleyway. The older children had returned, their malice undiminished. Panic surged through the boy, but as he tried to stand, a strange, chaotic energy stirred within him. It was unfamiliar and wild, a clash of fire and ice in his chest. His immortal bloodline tried to suppress it, but the demonic surge pushed against it, begging for release.
He didn't understand what was happening. He only knew that the world had suddenly grown heavier, sharper, and somehow… more dangerous.
The bullies stopped mid-step, sensing the strange aura surrounding the boy. But before anything could happen, a voice rang out—clear, cold, and commanding.
"Who dares to touch my grandson?"
The alley seemed to shiver under the weight of the voice. From the end of the narrow passage, a figure emerged. Tall, imposing, draped in flowing robes that shimmered with faint celestial energy. His eyes were sharp, piercing, and full of authority. Even the bullies instinctively faltered.
"M-Marquis of the Heavenly Palace…" one of them stammered, bowing reflexively.
The marquis approached, his gaze locking on the small, muddy boy. His stern expression softened slightly as he saw the bruises and dirt streaking the child's face.
"You are hurt," he said calmly. "Come with me."
The boy hesitated for only a moment before nodding, relief washing over him like a cool stream. As they walked away, the demon whispered one last thing, barely audible, yet heavy with meaning:
"Remember… one day… everything will change."
Life on the Mountain
The boy's new home was a secluded part of the northern mountains, far from the crowded, cruel alleys of Huo City. The marquis, his adoptive grandfather, took him under his care, teaching him patience, manners, and the basics of survival. But cultivation was forbidden. His bloodline was too chaotic, too dangerous. Any attempt could destroy him or worse.
Instead, he learned the arts of alchemy. He spent hours grinding herbs, boiling mixtures, and forging talismans. It was meticulous work, and though he sometimes despaired at his lack of supernatural power, he found solace in creating things that could heal, protect, or aid others.
Evenings were his favorite. When the sun dipped below the mountains, he would climb to the highest peak, where a solitary tree waited—a tree unlike any other. Its bark glimmered faintly under moonlight, and its leaves whispered in voices older than the mountains themselves.
"You came again," the tree said one night, its voice like rustling leaves.
"I… I just needed to think," the boy said softly, sitting under its sprawling branches. "Grandfather says I can't cultivate. Everyone else… they have power. I don't even know what I am."
"You are unfinished," the tree said, a faint glow illuminating its bark. "Chaos is not weakness. It is potential. One day, you will understand… all that you are meant to be."
The boy nodded silently, pressing his hands into the cool grass. The wind whispered through the leaves, carrying a faint promise of what was to come.
A Friend in the Shadows
The injured demon had disappeared after that first encounter, leaving only the black pill behind. The boy kept it hidden, unsure of what it was or why he had received it. But he often wondered if the creature had survived. Every night, he imagined the demon recovering, walking free, and remembered the gratitude in its strange eyes.
And even though he had no power of his own yet, the boy began to understand something vital: strength was not just measured in fists or magic. It was measured in the courage to act when no one else would, the compassion to help even when danger lurked, and the patience to endure a world that did not understand you.
The alleyways of Huo City had taught him fear. The mountain had taught him patience. And the immortal tree, ancient and wise, had begun to teach him understanding.
For a boy whose parents were unknown, whose bloodline was hidden, and whose destiny was intertwined with realms beyond the mortal, these were the first lessons that would shape him into someone extraordinary.
I will survive. I will grow. And I will protect those who cannot protect themselves… no matter what world they come from, he whispered into the night, the leaves of the immortal tree rustling in approval.