Time had lost its value in the cave. There was no light to shape the days, but only the endless cold and the stench of decay. I had grown used to it--the scent of blood, the feel of bones beneath my fingers, the quiet companionship of death that clung to me.

  Initially, I held onto the belief that someone would show up. That there would be a search party dispatched to find us, I'd wake up to the sound of the voices I knew. But as the days passed, harsh reality dawned.

  No one was coming.

  I was alone.

  Hunger gnawed at me relentlessly. It started as a dull pain, slowly building into a searing ache that tormented my belly. My body trembled, frail and fragile, barely standing upright. I searched the bodies, hoping for something--anything--that would satisfy my hunger. But there was nothing.

  No food.

  No water.

  Only death.

  The first time, I hesitated.

  The second time, I didn't.

  I tore into the meat with shaking fingers, compelling myself to eat. It was loathsome, but my body had to be fed, and I had to do as it needed. I drank the blood to quench my thirst, my mind yelling in my brain, my belly churning in disgust.

  And I lived.

  I kept telling myself it was only to survive. That I had no other choice. But the guilt was overwhelming. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see their faces--the faces of the ones who had fought with me, now nothing but a means to sustain my survival.

  I was no better than the monsters that had sin them.

  Or so I thought.

  Among the dead bodies, I found something surprising.

  A male figure, attired in the robes of the Mo Sect, his lifeless hands wrapped around a sword and an old book.

  I knew the sect immediately. The Mo Sect were renowned for their swordpy, their ruthless proficiency in battle, and their powerful cultivation of arts. Even in death, this figure did not release his sword, as if he would not part with it.

  I pulled the book out of his clenched fingers, wiping away the dried blood that covered its surface.

  A cultivation manual.

  My hands trembled as I scanned the pages. The words were ancient, and the techniques were described in detail. I barely understood half of it, but I understood enough.

  This was my chance.

  A way to become stronger.

  To never be this weak again.

  I sat in the dark, guidebook spread out in front of me and began my training.

  Growing up was not at all what I had expected.

  When I first tried to direct qi into my body, it felt like fire coursing through my veins. My muscles spasmed, my breathing was in fits and starts, and I colpsed, barely able to move.

  I did not give up.

  I fought through the agony, again and again, until my body would let the energy pass. It was faint at first, a fading ember, but with each attempt, it grew stronger.

  Days blurred into an exhaustion of will and effort. I pushed my body to the breaking point, wielding the Mo Sect sword until my arms would no longer hold it.

  Every hit was a lesson. Every mistake is a pain.

  But I continued.

  Because if I quit, I would die.

  And I wasn't dying here.

  The Breaking Point

  I don't know how long it has been.

  Hunger had faded to a distant ache, repced by something more ominous. The weight of my actions crushed me, the memories of what I had done seeping into my mind when I didn't want them to.

  I sat in the dark, my sword gripped so tightly in my fist that my knuckles turned white. My chest ached, my breathing short, ragged gasps.

  I had devoured another human being.

  No expnation. No expnation that would erase what I had done.

  My hands shook. My vision blurred. I felt as if I was choking on my shame.

  "Someone…" My voice cracked, raw from disuse. "Please. help me."

  Silence.

  I clenched my teeth, my gasp. I so desperately wished that all of this was some illusion. That I would awaken and things would be as they were before.

  But I wouldn't.

  Because the world didn't care.

  No one was going to come and rescue me.

  I pushed back against the cave wall, my body shuddering. I didn't know how much longer I could continue like this.

  That's when I noticed it.

  A bck butterfly, such as night itself in its loveliness and elegance, just beyond my reach.

  It moved in a way that no normal insect could. It drifted in the air as though it didn't possess a weight, its wings fluttering with an otherworldly, heavenly glow.

  I believed I was dreaming, that it was only another trick in my sleep-addled mind.

  It nded gently on my hand, its small wings beating against my skin.

  And in that moment, something changed within me.

  The hopelessness, the bme, the crushing loneliness--everything disappeared.

  I was no longer alone.

  No more.

  A New Resolve

  I did not know what the butterfly was or where it had come from. But I did know one thing:

  I was still alive.

  And as long as I was still alive, I could continue.

  I dried my face, pushing away the persistent doubts. The past was out of my hands, but the future. Remained mine to create.

  I returned to the Mo Sect manual, working through its pages with intensified focus.

  If I were going to live, I needed to master this ability.

  If I were going to escape, I needed to strengthen myself.

  And if I craved revenge.

  I needed to become greater.

  No longer a desperate boy cowering under dead bodies.

  No longer the strongest of the weak.

  I would stand.

  And when I did--

  I would make certain no one would ever throw me away again.