The Invincible Young Master

The city buzzed with restless energy, a strange mix of awe and urgency gripping its people.

The immortals were gone, but their presence lingered, the pale, moon-like portal hanging in the sky above the mountaintop.

Its soft, ethereal light spilled over the landscape, casting an otherworldly glow that seemed both inviting and untouchable.

The crowd gathered beneath the shimmering bridge of light, their faces illuminated by its radiance. Whispers rippled through the air like an unrelenting current.

"Look at it! The pathway remains!"

"Could we ascend it?" a voice asked, trembling with hope.

"If we could step onto it," another murmured, eyes burning with ambition, "we might reach the immortal world. We could become like them!"

The idea sparked a wildfire of excitement. Word spread quickly, drawing ascendants from every corner of the city and beyond.

Figures streaked through the sky, their energy trails glowing like shooting stars as they converged on the mountaintop.

At first, the crowd approached with caution. No one dared make the first move, their instincts urging restraint. The portal's divine glow tempted them, but the danger was palpable.

Finally, a brave, or perhaps reckless figure stepped forward. His robes fluttered as he soared upward, eyes alight with determination.

The crowd held its breath, watching as he reached for the spiraling bridge of light.

The moment his foot touched it, an invisible force lashed out.

A loud crack echoed through the air as his body was flung backward. He slammed into the mountainside with a sickening thud, his groans of pain cutting through the stunned silence.

The crowd recoiled, their greed tempered by fear.

"It's not enough to dream of becoming an immortal!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Only those with unshakable determination can succeed!"

A man in azure robes stepped forward next. His calm movements exuded confidence.

The crowd parted for him, their eyes fixed on his every step.

He ascended slowly, his foot making contact with the radiant pathway.

To their amazement, he did not falter. The bridge held firm beneath him, a flare of hope for those watching below.

Gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd.

But as the man took another step, his progress halted. His body trembled, veins bulging at his temples as he strained to push forward. It was as if an unseen barrier blocked his way. Despite his efforts, he could go no further.

"It is possible!" someone shouted, igniting a frenzy among the onlookers.

Chaos erupted. Ascendants surged upward, their ambitions overwhelming any sense of caution.

The sky filled with streaks of energy as they fought to reach the glowing bridge.

Most were repelled, their bodies flung back by the same invisible force that had obstructed the first.

Cries of pain and frustration echoed across the mountaintop as they crashed to the ground. Yet a few managed to plant their first steps upon the radiant spiral, their trembling figures standing as proof that the pathway was not entirely unreachable.

For those who succeeded, pride and determination burned brightly in their eyes.

Meanwhile, the crowd below seethed with envy, their failure fueling their resentment. The air grew thick with tension as more ascendants arrived, jostling for their chance to ascend.

Amidst the growing chaos, no one noticed the lone, broken figure slipping away.

The boy moved through the shadows, his battered body barely holding together. Every step was a struggle, his breathing shallow and ragged. His arms shook as he braced himself against the rubble, using it to steady his uneven steps.

Unlike the crowd, he didn't look up at the glowing bridge or the figures ascending it.

The light meant nothing to him now. The radiant path to immortality, the hope it offered, those dreams were no longer his to chase.

His eyes stayed focused on the uneven ground ahead, each step carrying him further from the frenzied crowd and their desperate cries.

The brilliance of the portal above seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of the power he had lost.

As the mountain bathed in the portal's divine glow, the boy disappeared into the shadows, his silhouette swallowed by the light.

For the crowd, the immortals' departure marked the start of a dream, a chance to ascend beyond mortal limits.

For the boy, it was a bitter reminder of the world's harsh truth: strength was everything, and without it, he was nothing.

…

The boy's feet dragged against the rough cobblestones of the city streets, his eyes locked on the ground as if refusing to meet the gazes of the bustling crowd.

His battered body swayed unsteadily, brushing against passersby and scraping along cold walls.

There were murmurs of annoyance, but he didn't react. He didn't even hear them. Experience new stories on empire

The city's lively clamor faded into an indistinct hum, drowned by the bitterness flooding his thoughts.

This city… this cursed place where his dreams shattered.

The dream to become strong.

The dream to protect.

His lips pressed into a tight line as his fists weakly clenched at his sides. A swirl of memories surged unbidden, taunting him with images of what could have been.

If only he had stayed in the village. If only he had never left.

In another life, he could still be there, standing at the edge of the forest as the sun dipped low on the horizon.

He could hear their laughter again, teasing each other as they raced through the trees. Time would have carried them gently, weaving their lives together, growing older, falling deeper into each other's warmth.

They would have married, built a home, raised a child, and eventually faded from the world in quiet peace.

But all of that was gone now. Stolen.

He came to a sudden halt, his breath catching in his throat. The memories clawed at his chest, leaving an ache that went deeper than his physical wounds.

His knees buckled momentarily, but he caught himself, hands gripping the edge of a nearby wall. He forced his trembling legs forward.

He did not wish to stay here.

The looming gates of the city appeared ahead, their massive frame blurred through his unfocused vision.

He staggered toward them, a singular purpose driving him: escape. Anything to leave behind the oppressive shadow of his failures.

As he approached, the towering figures of two armored guards came into view, their polished steel glinting in the faint sunlight.

One of them, a burly man with a weathered face, stepped forward, his expression shifting to concern as he took in the boy's haggard form.

"Little brother," the guard called out, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "What happened to you? You're badly injured!"

"I'm fine," the boy murmured, though his voice was barely audible. His steps faltered, his body swaying as he tilted his head slightly toward the man. "Does this gate… lead out of the city?"

"Yes," the guard replied cautiously, watching the boy closely. "It leads out. But-"

"That's… good…" The faintest hint of a bitter smile tugged at the boy's lips before his legs gave way beneath him. His body collapsed to the ground, stirring a thin cloud of dust as his consciousness slipped away.

"Little brother!" the guard's shout echoed dimly, fading into the void.

…

When the boy's eyes fluttered open, he was greeted by the sight of a rough wooden ceiling.

The dim light filtering through cracks in the walls revealed shelves lined with jars of herbs, their pungent scent mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

His body ached, though the sharp pain he remembered had dulled to a faint throb. He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.

"You're awake," a familiar voice said.

Turning his head, the boy saw the guard from the city gate standing in the corner of the room, holding a steaming bowl of green liquid.

The man's rugged face softened as he stepped closer, relief evident in his weathered features.

"Where… am I?" the boy asked, his voice hoarse.

"In the guardhouse," the man replied, setting the bowl down on a small table. "You collapsed at the gate. We couldn't just leave you there, so we brought you in and treated your wounds. You're lucky to be alive."

The boy struggled to push himself upright, he winced, lowering his gaze to his trembling hands resting atop the coarse blanket covering him.

"I didn't ask for this," he muttered.

"And yet, here you are," the guard replied calmly. He pulled a creaky wooden stool closer and sat, the joints of his armor clinking softly. Reaching for the bowl, he held it out toward the boy. "Drink this."

The boy glanced at the liquid, its earthy scent filling his nose. He wrinkled it slightly, hesitation flickering in his tired eyes.

"What is it?"

"A restorative elixir," the guard explained. "It won't heal you completely, but it'll help."

The boy's hands trembled as he accepted the bowl, its warmth seeping into his fingers.

For a moment, he stared into its swirling green depths, his reflection distorted and fragmented. The haunted look in his eyes deepened.

Taking a deep breath, he brought the bowl to his lips and drank. The liquid was bitter, its herbal tang coating his tongue and throat as it went down.

He grimaced but didn't stop, finishing it in one go.

"Good," the guard said, taking the empty bowl and setting it aside. "Rest now. You'll need your strength to leave this place."

The boy leaned back against the makeshift bed, his body sagging as the elixir's warmth spread through him.

His eyelids felt heavy, but his mind refused to quiet.

The guard watched him for a moment before standing, his expression unreadable.

"You've got the look of someone carrying too much on their shoulders," the man said, his voice quieter now. "But whatever it is, you're still alive. Remember that."

The boy didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The guard left the room, leaving him alone.

Alive.

The word echoed hollowly in his mind.

Alive, but for what?

He closed his eyes, the faint scent of herbs still lingering in the air.

As exhaustion finally overtook him, his dreams carried him back to the edge of the forest, where laughter echoed beneath the fading sun.