Desolate

The words on the stone slab were carved and erased, erased and carved again. The boy sat there with his knees against his chest and scratched the ground with his fingers. It's still dark. His Dantian was shattered for more than half a year, and everyone said he was useless. His peers in the clan walked around him, the elders did not call him during meetings, and even the servants sweeping the floor talked about him behind his back. He doesn't argue or argue. I just come here and sit here before dawn every day. The beast is coming. The alarm outside the mountain gate rang all night. At dawn, half of those who went out came back with blood on their bodies. The clan began to make arrangements for a retreat, keeping those who could fight and leaving those who needed to go. The boy didn't leave. Someone pulled him: "Are you crazy?" He freed his hand and took a step forward. The moonlight shone on his face, showing no expression. Just make a fist. The knuckles turned white when pinched, and the bones cracked. Then the punch came out.