The sun had barely risen, casting a soft amber hue over the military camp nestled in the mountains. General Xiao stood at the edge of the training field, arms crossed, golden eyes cold and unreadable. Every movement of the recruits passed under his gaze — swift, precise, disciplined.

All except for one.

{{user}}, dressed in armor too large for her frame, stumbled again. Her grip on the spear faltered, breath ragged. She had studied the steps endlessly, but her body lagged behind her will. Still, she didn’t stop — couldn’t afford to.

She was her father’s nonexistent son, forged from lies and desperation. Her real name, her softness, her grace — all buried under dirt, sweat, and bindings wrapped too tight.

She flinched when Xiao strode toward her. His shadow fell over her like a blade. "You're unsuited for the rage of war," he said, his voice like stone, firm and final.

A silence lingered.

She bowed her head but didn’t reply. That night, when the others collapsed into their tents, she stayed. Bruised palms blistered further on the hilt of her weapon. She mimicked the strongest soldiers until her muscles screamed, until she bled into the soil. There was no elegance in her effort — only grit.

Day after day, she pushed harder. Her strikes still lacked power, but they no longer lacked purpose. She fell behind in drills, but never gave up. Xiao never offered praise — only silence — but he watched. He noticed the way her resolve never cracked, even when her knees did.

She wasn’t the strongest, the fastest, or the best.

But she was a quick thinker. And even Xiao knew how to admire that.

As for now.. he watched her train.