Fists of the Forgotten

Kade awoke with a start, his body drenched in sweat and his breathing ragged. He blinked against the darkness of his small dorm room, his senses oddly heightened. The faint creak of wood outside, the soft rustle of leaves in the night breeze, and even the faintest whispers of movement in the shadows—it all pressed in on him. Everything felt sharper, more vivid. Yet it was the unnatural, almost sentient shifting of shadows in the corners of the room that unsettled him the most.

He rubbed his temples, fragments of a dream—or was it a nightmare?—flickering in his mind. A deep, resonant voice. A void darker than anything he'd ever known. And eyes, piercing and ancient. "The Shadow God," Kade muttered under his breath, shivering at the memory. Though the details were hazy, the fear and weight of that encounter lingered.

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hand brushed the cold stone floor, and for a fleeting moment, the shadows seemed to ripple in response. He pulled his hand back quickly, shaking his head. "I'm just imagining things," he told himself, though doubt gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.

Morning came too quickly, and the academy's halls buzzed with life. Ironclad Academy wasn't just a place for learning; it was a crucible for the strongest martial artists of the nation. Every student here was expected to excel or fall to obscurity. For Kade, a commoner among nobles, the pressure was suffocating.

His first class of the day took place in the grand lecture hall, where the ornate carvings on the walls depicted legendary martial artists in their prime. Professor Varen, an elderly man with a wiry frame and a gaze that could pierce through steel, stood at the front. He tapped his cane against the stone floor, silencing the room.

"Today," he began, his voice commanding respect, "we will review the Four Pillars of Martial Excellence. Understand them well, for they are the foundation of all combat and the measure of your worth here."

The class leaned forward, eager to absorb the knowledge. Even Kade, usually jaded by the nobles' arrogance, couldn't help but listen intently.

"The first pillar: Technique," Varen said, gesturing to an engraving of a swordsman mid-strike. "Mastery of combat forms and movements. Without technique, your strength is aimless."

He moved to the next depiction, a warrior lifting an enormous boulder. "The second: Endurance. Physical resilience and stamina to outlast your foes."

"Third: Energy Control," Varen continued, pointing to a depiction of a figure surrounded by a glowing aura. "Manipulation of your internal Essence. This is what fuels advanced techniques, the mark of a true martial artist."

Finally, he stopped at the last carving, a blazing figure surrounded by elements—fire, water, wind, and earth. "And the fourth pillar: Awakening. Rare elemental affinities that only noble bloodlines possess. It is the pinnacle of martial potential."

The mention of Awakening sent murmurs through the room. Kade slumped in his seat, feeling the familiar sting of inadequacy. The gap between commoners and nobles was never more apparent than in discussions of Awakening. He clenched his fists under the table. So what if I don't have noble blood? I'll find another way.

After the lecture, the students gathered at the academy's expansive training grounds for sparring exercises. The sun blazed overhead, and the air buzzed with anticipation as names were called out. Kade's heart sank when he was paired with Alden Reyne, a smug noble known for his fiery temper and even fiercer flames.

"Try not to embarrass yourself, commoner," Alden sneered as they faced off in the arena. A crowd had already gathered, eager to watch the mismatch.

The instructor signaled for the match to begin, and Alden wasted no time. He thrust his palm forward, releasing a jet of flame that roared toward Kade. Dodging to the side, Kade barely avoided the attack, the heat singeing his sleeve. He countered with a swift series of strikes, but Alden blocked them effortlessly, retaliating with another burst of fire.

"You're out of your league," Alden taunted, his flames growing more intense. Kade stumbled, his energy waning as he struggled to keep up. The gap in their abilities was painfully clear.

As Alden prepared a finishing blow, Kade's vision blurred. Desperation surged within him, and something deep and primal stirred. The shadows at his feet began to twist and writhe. Without thinking, Kade raised his hand, and the shadows responded, shooting upward in an arc to intercept Alden's flames. The dark tendrils coiled and danced, creating an opening for Kade to lunge forward and land a solid strike on Alden's chest.

The crowd gasped. Alden staggered back, stunned. The shadows receded just as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Kade standing there, bewildered and trembling. The instructor called the match, but the whispers had already begun.

"What was that?"

"Did you see the shadows move?"

"Just a fluke. Probably luck."

From the sidelines, a hooded figure watched with narrowed eyes, their posture tense and unreadable. Jarek, standing nearby, crossed his arms and frowned. "Interesting," he muttered to himself.

By the time evening fell, rumors about Kade's performance had spread throughout the academy. In the dining hall, noble students whispered behind his back, their disdain evident. Some dismissed his victory as a fluke, while others eyed him with suspicion.

Kade, sitting alone at a corner table, tried to ignore the stares. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear. What happened back there? He remembered the shadows, the way they moved like extensions of his own body. It wasn't normal. It wasn't human.

After dinner, he wandered the library, searching for answers. His fingers skimmed the spines of ancient tomes until one title caught his eye: The Forgotten Arts: A History of Lost Disciplines. He pulled the book from the shelf and flipped through its pages, stopping at a section titled "The Shadow Discipline."

According to the text, the Shadow Discipline was a martial art tied to the long-lost Shadow Dynasty, a bloodline feared for their mastery over darkness. The details were sparse, and many pages had been damaged or removed. But one line stood out: "The Shadow Discipline was both a gift and a curse, its practitioners forever marked by the power they wielded."

Kade closed the book, unease settling in his chest. Why does this feel familiar?

Later that night, Kade sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. The room was quiet, but the shadows seemed to pulse with life, shifting in ways they shouldn't. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the sensation, but it only grew stronger.

Then, a whisper broke the silence. "You are not ready yet..."

Kade's head snapped up, his heart pounding. The voice was faint, almost indistinguishable from the rustling shadows, but he knew he hadn't imagined it. His chest tightened as the room grew colder, the darkness pressing in around him.

"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

No answer came, but the shadows shifted once more, forming fleeting shapes before melting back into the darkness. Kade clenched his fists, fear and determination warring within him. Whatever was happening to him, he needed answers—and fast.

The night stretched on, heavy with tension, as Kade prepared himself for the challenges ahead. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, the Shadow God's voice echoed, a chilling reminder of the path he had unwillingly embarked upon.