Sons of Heaven

The ruins of Wu Village were still smoldering as Xing Wuye stood at the edge of what was left of his home. His heart was heavy with grief, but his mind had begun to race, piecing together a horrifying possibility. The destruction wasn't random—it was focused, targeted. The pursuer, that dark, monstrous figure, had come for the spirit.

And the spirit had been carrying something—the Akashic Records. Now, somehow, they were inside Wuye. He could feel it's presence, a weight in the back of his mind, vast and incomprehensible. The more he focused on it, the clearer it became: the pursuer had been hunting the spirit for this power.

But the spirit was gone, and he had the relic now.

A cold chill ran through him as he realized what would happen next. When the pursuer caught up to the spirit—if it hadn't already—it would soon discover that the Akashic Records were no longer with it. And then it would come back.

Back to the village.

Back for him.

Panic seized him for a moment, the thought of facing that terrible power again nearly freezing him in place. But then, almost as quickly, the cold logic of survival set in. He couldn't stay here. The village was gone, his family was gone. There was nothing left for him here but death.

He needed to leave. Now.

Wuye turned his back on the charred remains of the village, his feet carrying him down the narrow, winding path that led away from the shore. The sea breeze, once a comfort, now felt like a ghostly whisper behind him, urging him to keep moving. He had never ventured beyond the village before. In his sixteen years, the world had never seemed larger than the stretch of sea that surrounded their small, quiet home. But now, the vast unknown was his only hope.

The path was rough, uneven, and unfamiliar. He had no idea where he was headed, only that he needed to put as much distance between himself and Wu Village as possible before the pursuer realized its mistake and returned.

Hours passed as Wuye wandered through dense forests and along rocky trails, his mind spinning with a strange mix of fear and wonder. The Akashic Records still thrummed inside him, their presence growing more distinct with each step. He didn't understand them, not yet, but there were flashes—brief, fleeting moments where he could almost sense what they held. The knowledge of countless worlds, the wisdom of forgotten civilizations, the secrets of life and death.

But it wasn't something he could unlock. Not now. His mind was still too clouded by grief, and the danger was too immediate.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows through the trees, Wuye stumbled upon a road. It was a worn dirt track, barely wide enough for a wagon, but to him, it felt like the first real sign of life beyond the village. He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, his heart still racing from the fear of pursuit. The road stretched out ahead of him, leading somewhere—anywhere—far from the destruction behind him.

It wasn't long before he heard the sound of wheels and hooves in the distance. Wuye stepped back into the cover of the trees, wary, as a caravan came into view. A line of wooden carts, some covered, others open and piled high with goods, trundled down the road, their drivers chatting loudly amongst themselves. The travelers looked like merchants or traders, their clothes dusty from the road but their expressions lively and full of purpose.

For a moment, Wuye hesitated. He had never met people from outside his village before, and the idea of approaching strangers filled him with unease. But he couldn't stay in the forest alone, and the caravan was his best chance to reach the city—wherever it was. He needed to blend in, to disappear into the crowds and avoid the pursuer's attention. The city would offer that.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out from the trees, waving his hand toward the lead cart.

"Excuse me!" he called, his voice hoarse from hours of silence.

The driver, a bearded man in his forties, squinted at Wuye from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. "You lost, boy?"

Wuye nodded, keeping his voice steady. "I—I need to get to the city. My village was destroyed by a…storm."

The driver raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but not unkind. "Storm, eh? Can't say I've heard of a storm around these parts, but I ain't one to argue with a lad in need." He looked Wuye over, as if assessing him. "City's a long way from here. We're heading that direction, though. Tag along if you want."

Relief washed over Wuye, though he forced himself to stay calm. "Thank you. I won't be any trouble."

The driver grunted and motioned for him to hop onto the back of the cart. Wuye climbed aboard, settling into a space between sacks of grain and barrels of supplies. The caravan resumed its slow, steady pace down the road, the rhythmic creak of the wheels lulling him into a strange sense of calm.

As they traveled deeper into the fading light, Wuye watched the world pass by—the forests, the hills, the fields. It was all so new, so different from the narrow, familiar life he had known. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, the weight of the Akashic Records pulsing in the back of his mind like a heartbeat.

He knew he couldn't hide forever. The pursuer would come, and when it did, he would have to be ready. The Akashic Records had chosen him for a reason, and whatever that reason was, he would need to discover it if he had any hope of surviving.

For now, though, he let the steady rhythm of the caravan's journey carry him forward. Away from the ashes of his past. Toward a future he could barely imagine.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the road, the caravan began to slow. The warm, golden light of late afternoon gave way to twilight, and the air cooled, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Wuye sat quietly in the back of the cart, his eyes fixed on the darkening sky, the weight of his thoughts heavy in the growing silence.

The lead driver, the bearded man who had let him join, called out to the others. "We'll camp here for the night!" His voice carried through the small line of carts, met with nods of agreement and the groaning sound of wagons coming to a halt.

The forest stretched out on either side of the road, thick with trees that rustled softly in the evening breeze. It was quiet—too quiet, Wuye thought. Even though the village had always been peaceful, there had still been the constant sound of the sea. Here, in the deep forest, the silence felt different. More foreboding.

Wuye climbed down from the cart and watched as the travelers began to set up camp. The merchants and drivers went about their tasks with practiced efficiency—unloading supplies, setting up tents, and building a small fire at the center of their makeshift camp. The flickering orange light soon cast dancing shadows against the trees, and the warmth of the flames cut through the night's chill.

Wuye hesitated near the edge of the camp, unsure of his place among these strangers. The driver who had spoken to him earlier noticed and waved him over.

"Don't just stand there, boy," the man said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Come sit by the fire. You look like you could use some warmth."

Wuye nodded, grateful for the invitation, and made his way over to the circle of travelers gathered around the campfire. He sat on a fallen log, keeping a little distance, unsure how much he should say or reveal. His mind was still racing with the weight of everything that had happened. The destruction of his village. The death of his family. The Akashic Records, humming faintly in the back of his mind like an echo of something ancient and powerful.

The others around the fire talked in low voices, sharing stories of their travels. Most of them were merchants, making their way to the city to sell their goods—spices, fabrics, tools, things that seemed so mundane in contrast to the horror Wuye had witnessed. Their laughter and easy banter felt surreal to him, as if he were watching from a great distance.

"First time away from home?" one of the merchants asked, a plump, older woman with kind eyes. She sat across from Wuye, stirring a pot of stew over the fire.

Wuye nodded, his voice quieter than he intended. "Yes… first time."

"You've got the look of it," she said with a small chuckle. "Wide-eyed and all that. Don't worry, lad. The city's not so bad once you get used to the noise. What brings you out here, anyway? Storm, you said?"

Wuye's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected her to bring it up again, and the lie about the storm tasted bitter on his tongue. He lowered his gaze, trying to keep his voice steady. "Yes. A storm destroyed my village."

The woman's smile faded, replaced by a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. It's never easy, losing a home. But you're young. You've got time to rebuild, find your way. The city might be a good place for you to start fresh."

Wuye forced a nod, but the knot in his stomach tightened. There would be no starting fresh—not while the pursuer was still out there. He was running, yes, but how far could he run before the shadow caught up with him?

Another of the travelers, a lanky young man with a crooked grin, chimed in. "You'll like the city, kid. Always something going on. Lots of opportunity if you know where to look. You got family there?"

"No…" Wuye shook his head, feeling the familiar pang of loss in his chest. Through gritted teeth he spat, "No family."

The group around the fire grew quiet for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the flames and the distant rustle of wind through the trees. It was a shared silence, one that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken griefs and losses, each traveler's life touched in some way by hardship.

The bearded driver, who had been sharpening a blade by the fire, glanced over at Wuye. "You're not the first to leave a broken home behind, boy," he said, his tone gentler now. "The road ahead's long, but there's a place for everyone if they're willing to fight for it."

Wuye didn't respond, but he appreciated the sentiment. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks into the cool night air. He pulled his thin cloak tighter around his shoulders, staring into the flames. Could he really survive on the road? Could he outrun what was coming for him?

As the conversation drifted into lighter topics, Wuye's mind wandered back to the Akashic Records. He could feel them more clearly now, a faint presence humming with ancient knowledge. It wasn't just a collection of memories or facts—it was something deeper, something that felt almost alive. Yet, try as he might, he couldn't access it fully. It was like standing before a locked door with no key.

As the night wore on and the campfire began to die down, Wuye's resolve hardened. He couldn't go back, but he couldn't stay hidden forever, either. He would travel to the city, blend into the crowds, and find answers. The Akashic Records held a vast, untapped power, and if he was to survive what was coming, he needed to learn how to unlock it.

But for tonight, he would rest, surrounded by the warmth of strangers and the safety of the firelight, knowing that in the morning, the road would carry him further into the unknown.