Page 3 of New World

One by one, he dragged them, wrapped in bedsheets, to the shallow graves. He placed his father and little brother in one and his mother and little sister in the other. Then he covered them. First with dirt, then with colorful sandstones.

He didn’t stop.

When he was finished with his family, he climbed the hill. He spent the next five days picking up rocks and covering the bodies of his friends and their families. He wasn’t strong enough to dig their graves. By the time he finished, his body was nothing but exhaustion and emptiness.

Trembling with fatigue, Dorane collapsed inside his home and slept.

The sun rose and set three times before he finally stirred, driven by hunger and thirst to wake up. He crawled into the kitchen, too weak to stand, and picked through the items scattered across the floor. The juice of the fruit soothed his parched throat while the sweet flesh and meat filled his stomach.

There’s nothing left. There’s no one left.

Dorane bowed his head, his thin shoulders shaking. Sniffing, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand as his mother’s gentle voice floated through his mind.

“You are the son of a Knight of the Gallant Order.”

“What does that mean?”

Dorane sniffed again and tilted his head back. He could almost feel his mother’s gentle caress as she brushed his hair back and tweaked his nose.

“You are blessed, Dorane. Both your father and I are Gallant Knights. The Staffs you play with are powerful weapons, and one day, one of them will be yours. We are the protectors of the people—all people.”

“But… why are you and Papa here if you are warriors?”

“Because now we must protect you and your brother and sister.”

“What if the Legion comes? I’ve heard you and Papa say they are not good.”

“Let us hope they do not. If they do, we will do what we have to. One day, you will understand. Now, let us practice.”

Dorane’s gaze turned to the wall where his parents hid the powerful weapons of the Gallant Knights. His father said it was to protect them. That only a true Knight of the Gallant could use them.

He stood and walked over to the metal vent. He pushed aside the end table that had been broken and pulled it out. Inside were two plain wooden boxes. He pulled one out and opened it. His father’s Gallant Staff lay on a bed of velvet.

He lifted it in his hand, running his fingers over the inscriptions. His gaze moved to his mother’s. With a deep sigh, he replaced the vent cover. No one would come here. The village would always be left as it is—a reminder and a place where restless spirits were trapped.

Packing what little he had, he stood in the doorway, looking at the only home he had ever known.

And then—he shut the door.

One day, he would return.

One day, the Legion would pay.

Earth:

Outside Beijing, China – The Zhang Estate

* * *

The courtyard was silent except for the rhythmic whisper of fabric slicing through the air. Twelve-year-old Mei Li Hú stood in the center of the polished stone training grounds, her petite frame poised with unnatural precision. Around her, the shadows of her father’s elite guards lingered, their watchful gazes sharp and assessing.

She moved.

Each step was precise, calculated. The controlled turn of her wrist, the sharp pivot of her foot—each motion executed with the quiet grace of a dancer, but the deadly intent of a warrior.

Her bare feet skimmed the cold stone as she transitioned into Lán Zhao—a sweeping arc meant to redirect an opponent’s energy. The movement was flawless. Too flawless.

Mei did not hesitate. A perfect student. A perfect weapon.

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