The sky wept ash.
Kael Ashborn stood at the edge of the ruined fence, watching smoke rise from what remained of the eastern hunter's camp. Three huts. Fourteen people. Gone before dawn.
The Iron Fang raiders had come in the night again. They always came in the night.
"Chieftain"
The voice belonged to Dren, an old warrior whose scars outnumbered his remaining comrades. He limped forward, favoring the leg that never healed right after last winter's raid. "The elders are calling for the council. They want to.... Discuss our options."
Options. The word tasted like ash in Kael's mouth
Option One: Flee deeper into the mountains where the land was even more barren and winter would kill them faster than raiders ever could.
Option Two: Submit to the Iron Fangs, become their slaves and watch as their people get dragged away by the warlord's people.
Option Three: Die with whatever dignity they could scrape together from the mud.
The Ashwood Tribe, Once three hundred strong people, now barely two hundred and fifty, Ever since the Crimson Plague swept through and took half their numbers, Ever since the Great Houses to the west decided their borderlands weren't worth protecting. Ever since the world forgot they existed.
"Tell them I'll be there soon," Kael said.
Dren hesitated. "They'll want to hear surrender, boy. We can't fight another winter."
Boy.
Kael was 22 years old. He'd been chieftain for three years, ever since his father fell to Iron Fang's arrows while covering a retreat. Three years of watching his people waste away. Three years of rationing meals until children cried themselves to sleep from hunger. Three years of being called "boy" by men who remembered when the Ashwood Tribe mattered.
Three years of being too weak to change anything.
"I'll be there soon," Kael repeated, his voice colder this time.
Dren grunted and limped away.
Kael's hand drifted to his side, to the Iron sword that hung there. It had been his father's sword. His grandfather's before that. Three generations of Ashborn chieftains, each one watching their legacy crumble a little more.
Is this how it ends? he thought, staring at the ash-grey sky. 250 forgotten souls, starving in the shadow of mountains that doesn't even have a name?
The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of coming rain. And something else.
Something... strange.
Kael's breath caught.
The air around him began to shimmer, It was easy going at first, Like heat rising from a sun baked stone, but growing more intense. Invisible currents seemed to swirl around him, pulling at his skin, his lungs, something deeper than himself.
His heart hammered. His vision blurred.
And then...
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING.]
The words appeared in his mind, blazing like fire against the darkness behind his eyes. Not spoken. Not written. Just... Known.
[DETECTING PRIMORDIAL QI SATURATION: 0.01%]
[CULTIVATION ERA: BEGINNING]
[SCANNING HOST...]
[HOST COMPATIBLE.]
[BLOODLINE RECOGNIZED: ASHBORN DYNASTY - FIRST EMBER]
Kael staggered, one hand shooting out to grip the fence. The wood was solid beneath his palm, but the world around him had become something else entirely.
He could see it now, threads of shimmering energy flowing through the air like invisible rivers. They moved through the trees, the earth, the very stones beneath his feet. Some threads were thin and weak, barely there. Others pulsed with strength, converging in patterns that hurt to look at directly.
[ANALYZING ENVIRONMENT...]
[SPIRITUAL ENERGY DETECTED: AWAKENING PHASE]
[WARNING: CURRENT WORLD STATE UNSTABLE]
[CULTIVATION KNOWLEDGE: 0%]
[TERRITORIAL CONTROL: MINIMAL]
[POPULATION: CRITICAL]
[CONCLUSION: HOST WILL PERISH WITHOUT INTERVENTION]
"What...." Kael breathed, his voice barely audible. "What are you?"
[I AM THE PRIMAL SYSTEM]
[YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN]
[OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE. BUILD. CONQUER. ASCEND.]
[THE AGE OF CULTIVATION BEGINS TODAY]
[WILL YOU RISE, KAEL ASHBORN?]
[OR WILL YOU FALL LIKE ALL WHO CAME BEFORE?]
The energy in the air pulsed once, twice, and Kael felt something unlock inside his chest. Not within his heart, It was deeper than that. A well of power he'd never known existed, filling with something warm and electric and alive.
He straightened, His hand falling from the wall.
the ash still fell from the sky. The smoke still rose from the burned camp. His people were still dying, one cold night at a time.
But everything had changed.
Kael Ashborn looked out over the pitiful collection of huts and broken people that was his inheritance, his kingdom, and for the first time in three years, he had smiled.
It was not a kind smile.
"Rise," he whispered to the empty air, to the shimmering threads of power only he could see, to the voice in his mind that promised impossible things.
"I will rise."
[ACKNOWLEDGED]
[CULTIVATION SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[WELCOME TO THE AGE OF THE PRIMAL SOVEREIGN]
The council could wait.
The elders could argue.
The world could forget the Ashwood Tribe existed.
It didn't matter.
Because Kael Ashborn had just seen the future, And it was built on foundations of stone and Iron and the ashes of every kingdom that would dare to stand in his way.
The age of cultivation was beginning.
And he would be its one and only emperor.