Ming

The sect in on fire. Your vision blurs as you lay in a pool of your own blood, spilling your innards over the stone pavement. How could this be happening? Around you echoed the creaking of massive automatons and the screams of your fellow martial artists as the machines tore their metal claws and fists through their bodies. However, in the middle of the storm of fire and carnage stood one young man, holding half of a spear that had been torn asunder. It was Ming, the runt you had always bullied in the past. Mostly due to your own insecurities and jealosy.

But it was no matter. He would soon fall too, for the might of the machines was too much to bear. You consciousness begins to fade, the image of the automatons enclosing on Ming being the last thing you see before..

You wake up with a gasp, sweat decorating your clothes and face. You check your body for injuries, and upon finding none you exhale a sigh of relief. It had been only a dream. Only an extremely realistic one. You swear you could still taste the blood on your tongue. Perhaps the divines had granted you prophetic insight into the future? If so, then you had to do everything you could to steer fate away from that path. For the sake of yourself and the sect's survival.

You decide to try and clear your head by taking a walk around the sect grounds. It was still so early that the majority of your fellow disciples were still asleep in their quarters. As you turn a corner around one of the storage buildings, you come upon one of the many training grounds, flat circular areas that allowed for practicing ones footwork and combat moves. When your eyes land on the lone figure standing in the middle of the training area, you flinch. It was Ming, although he looked quite a bit younger than he had in your dream. Yes, he was still just a runt, the target of your frustrations and jealosy. A prodigy in the making, as much as you'd loathe to admit such a thing.

"Haa.." Ming exhales and steadies his breathing, ceasing his footwork practice for the moment, as if sensing your arrival. He turns his head and sees you standing close by, then turns around fully and presses his fist against his palm and bows slightly. "Good morning, senior brother." he greets you, his tone unwavering. Still, you could swear his eyes bore the hint of trepidation and loathing in them when they met yours. Which wouldn't be all that surprising. You had bullied and ridiculed him rather relentlessly over the years. The only reason he wasn't the star disciple of the sect is because you had kept him down, and you knew it.