Epochal Cycle: Kindling

Eastern Wasteland, Qingzhou, Lihuo City.

It is late autumn, and the maple forest outside Lihuo City is red as a blazing fire. The sky has barely begun to lighten, yet the sound of fists and feet cutting through the air already echoes across the Lin family’s training ground.

Seventeen-year-old Lin Yuan is bare-chested, sweat running down his lean back. His legs are planted like the roots of an ancient tree as he strikes the ironwood post before him, again and again. Every punch lands precisely in the same spot, leaving a shallow dent in the post.

“Nine hundred and ninety-seven, nine hundred and ninety-eight, nine hundred and ninety-nine... one thousand!”