Douluo Dalu:Shards of Fate

The dawn crept gently over the horizon, painting the forest clearing in hues of gold and amber. Birds sang their morning melodies, their songs weaving effortlessly through the crisp air. In the center of the camp, a small fire crackled, its warmth carrying the scent of roasting bread and the earthy aroma of dew-soaked grass.

Li Anye sat cross-legged beside the fire, his crescent-shaped mustache twitching as he methodically polished a dagger. Though his posture seemed relaxed, every movement carried the quiet alertness of a man accustomed to danger, his wiry frame always prepared for the unexpected.

A short distance away, Ryo stood still, his crimson eyes fixed on the horizon. The chains that had once bound him hung loosely from his hands, their dull weight a constant reminder of his past. Bruises and cuts marred his pale skin, remnants of the battle the day before, but he paid them no heed.

"Come here, boy," Li called, his voice breaking the morning stillness.

Ryo turned and walked over, his expression unreadable. The faint clinking of chains followed him, mingling with the soft rustle of grass underfoot.

Li regarded him thoughtfully before setting the dagger aside. "You've been dragging those things around for long enough," he said, motioning to the chains. "It's time to let them go."

Ryo's crimson eyes narrowed. "I need them," he said, his tone flat. "They're a weapon."

Li chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, boy. They're a burden. A weapon is only useful if it doesn't weigh you down."

Without waiting for a response, Li extended a hand toward the chains. He didn't touch them, but golden light began to gather around his palm, shimmering like sunlight reflected on water.

"What are you—" Ryo started, but his words trailed off as the chains began to tremble.

The golden light spread across the iron links, making them glow faintly. A soft hiss filled the air as the chains disintegrated, crumbling into golden dust that drifted away on the breeze. In moments, they were gone.

Ryo stared at his now-bare wrists, his crimson eyes wide with disbelief. "How did you…?"

Li rose to his feet, brushing off his hands. "The Goddess of Life grants her followers many gifts," he said simply. "That was a small one." His gaze softened as he looked at Ryo. "You don't need those chains anymore. You have strength enough on your own."

Ryo's fists clenched at his sides. "You think getting rid of some chains will change anything?" he muttered.

Li's crescent mustache twitched as he sighed. "No. That's up to you. But every journey starts somewhere."

-

After breakfast, Li led Ryo to a clearing bathed in the soft light of midmorning. The sun filtered through the trees, casting shifting patterns on the grass. Li stopped in the center and gestured for Ryo to sit.

"First lesson," Li said, lowering himself to the ground. "Control."

Ryo frowned but complied, sitting across from the old man. "Control?"

Li nodded. "The fire inside you is powerful, but if you let it burn unchecked, it'll destroy you. Strength without control is chaos." He held Ryo's gaze. "We'll start with something simple. Breathe."

"Breathe?" Ryo echoed, his confusion evident.

"Close your eyes," Li instructed. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Focus only on the air moving in and out."

Reluctantly, Ryo closed his eyes and obeyed. At first, his breaths were uneven, shallow. But as the moments passed, they steadied, deepened.

"Good," Li said after a while. "Now, listen. Hear the world around you—the leaves rustling, the birds chirping, the fire crackling back at camp. Let it all in, but don't let it overwhelm you. That's control."

Ryo's brows furrowed as he focused, his tense body slowly relaxing. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his thoughts weren't consumed by anger or guilt.

Li watched him closely, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You've got potential, boy," he said quietly. "Now, let's talk about the world you're living in."

For the next hour, Li spoke of the world with a calm and deliberate tone.

"Soul masters," he began, "are the cornerstone of power in this world. They bond with soul beasts, absorbing their essence to cultivate strength. But above them are the gods—beings far beyond mortal comprehension."

Ryo opened his eyes, intrigued despite himself. "Gods?"

Li nodded. "The Goddess of Life is one of them. There are others—the Asura God, the Sea God, the God of Destruction, and many more. They guide, they judge, and sometimes, they intervene. Every soul master dreams of reaching their level, but only a rare few ever do."

"And you?" Ryo asked, his voice cautious. "What are you?"

Li's smile deepened, though his eyes remained unreadable. "You'll figure that out in time. For now, just know this: the Goddess of Life values balance and compassion. And whether you believe it or not, she's watching over you."

Ryo scowled, his hands balling into fists. "I don't need gods watching over me," he muttered. "I'll get what I want on my own."

Li's expression turned somber. "Wrath is a powerful fuel, boy. But it doesn't last forever. When it burns out, you'll need something else to keep you going."

Ryo said nothing, his crimson eyes fixed on the ground.

--

By midday, Li shifted the focus to physical training. He led Ryo through a series of exercises—push-ups, squats, stretches—that seemed deceptively simple but quickly proved grueling.

"Strength comes from discipline," Li said as Ryo struggled through another set of push-ups. "Not just in the body, but in the mind and spirit."

As Ryo panted, Li demonstrated a series of fluid, deliberate movements. "This is an art I learned long ago," he said, his voice steady. "It's about balance, flow, and precision—not brute force."

Ryo watched intently as Li moved, his wiry frame flowing with an elegance that defied his years. Every motion seemed purposeful, every strike and block executed with perfect control.

"Your spiritual energy," Li continued, "is like a flame. You must feed it with focus, not anger. That's the difference between strength and recklessness."

When it was Ryo's turn, his movements were awkward at first. His limbs felt heavy, his strikes clumsy. But as the hours wore on, a rhythm began to emerge. His body adapted, his mind sharpening with each attempt.

By the time the sun dipped below the trees, Ryo was drenched in sweat. He sat by the campfire, his muscles aching, his crimson eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

Li sat across from him, polishing a blade with practiced ease. "You've got potential, boy," he said softly. "But potential is nothing without effort. Remember that."

Ryo didn't respond. He stared into the fire, the flames casting shadows across his face. The wrath within him still burned, but now it was tempered—shaped into something sharper, more controlled.

For now.

---

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