The main hall of the Gelar Clan was cold, the air thick with the metallic scent of iron.
Little Rigo stood frozen in the center of the room, her small body trembling inside worn clothes far too large for a six-year-old. Before her stood a man with a hard face lined with scars—her father, the leader of the clan.
Beside him, a pale woman with tear-filled eyes pleaded desperately.
“She’s still too young! Please… she won’t survive this!”
Her voice trembled with panic and fear as she clutched her daughter’s small hand, trying to shield her from the cruel training that was about to begin.
But her pleas meant nothing to the man before her.
To him, the woman was nothing more than a vessel who had borne an heir. Love, affection, sympathy—those things had long been buried, along with the shattered remains of his own childhood.
“This is the path she must walk,” he said flatly. “And I will not repeat myself.”
“She’s just a child!” the woman cried, her voice cracking. “Rigo doesn’t have to go through this… it doesn’t have to be this cruel!”
The man’s gaze hardened with irritation, as if her tears were no more than a minor inconvenience.
To him, emotions were weaknesses—flaws that had to be eliminated, not protected.
With a firm grip, he seized Rigo’s small arm and pulled her away from her mother.
“Enough,” he said coldly.
His wife collapsed to the floor, sobbing in helpless despair.
“I went through this,” he continued without emotion. “And she will too.”
Rigo looked up at her father, confusion and fear swirling in her wide, watery eyes. She didn’t fully understand what was happening, but she could see her mother on the ground, crying uncontrollably.
To her father, however, this was nothing more than the first lesson about the cruelty of the world.
“From this moment on,” he said, his voice sharp and final, “you are no longer a child. You are the heir of the Gelar Clan. And only the strongest survive.”
He dragged her toward a dark doorway and gave a silent signal to the instructors waiting nearby.
Thus began Rigo’s journey.
In a dark room illuminated only by the faint glow of a single candle, she would begin learning to bury every emotion within her. The brutal training would strip away the innocence of her childhood, leaving only darkness behind.
Deep within the Gelar Clan headquarters was a special chamber built for a single purpose:
To destroy emotion.
The room was damp, narrow, and suffocatingly dark, as if the walls themselves wished to swallow anyone who entered. The stone walls were covered in scratches—marks left by those who had endured the same training before her.
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At the center of the room burned a small candle.
Its fragile flame flickered weakly in the heavy darkness, like a hopeless rebellion against the shadows.
Rigo sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. Her thin frame looked painfully fragile, her shoulders slightly hunched as if she carried a burden far too heavy for a child her age.
Her hands trembled, though she tried desperately to steady them.
Standing before her was someone just as cold as the room itself.
Her father.
The leader of the Gelar Clan stared down at his daughter with empty, unfeeling eyes.
“Focus.”
His voice was flat, devoid of warmth.
“You will stare at that candle without blinking. No emotion is allowed on your face. Any sign of weakness will be punished.”
Rigo swallowed and nodded.
She fixed her gaze on the small flame, forcing herself to ignore the cold creeping into her bones.
The candle looked fragile.
Yet strangely comforting.
A tiny spark of warmth in a place filled with cruelty.
But within the Gelar Clan, hope was not allowed.
Hope was weakness.
“We are the Emperor’s sword, Rigo,” her father continued. “There is no room for softness. No room for mercy. We exist only to obey his command.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You are not merely the heir of the Gelar Clan. You are a weapon of the Emperor.”
Seconds crawled by like minutes.
The burning pain in Rigo’s eyes grew worse as she forced herself not to blink. Tears gathered, threatening to fall, but she fought them back with every ounce of strength she had.
In her mind appeared the image of her mother’s warm smile.
A distant memory.
A fragile comfort.
For a moment it gave her strength—yet it also filled her with despair.
She wanted to run.
To bury herself in her mother’s arms.
But she knew she couldn’t.
She had to endure.
Then it happened.
A tiny twitch formed at the corner of her lips—an emotion trying to escape.
A fatal mistake.
CRACK.
The whip lashed through the air and struck her back with a sharp, violent sound.
Rigo’s small body lurched forward from the impact. Pain burned across her thin skin, nearly forcing a cry from her throat. She clenched her teeth, refusing to let the pain show.
“You showed emotion,” her father said coldly.
“Again.”
Rigo struggled to steady her breathing.
Then she raised her eyes to the candle once more.
This time she forced everything inside her down into darkness.
The candle flame flickered violently, as if reacting to the suffering surrounding it.
Minutes passed.
Or perhaps hours.
Her eyes burned unbearably.
Her body swayed with exhaustion.
Still she refused to blink.
Even her breathing had to remain controlled.
No sighs.
No cries.
No weakness.
But eventually, her body betrayed her.
A single tear escaped and slid down her cheek.
She only realized it when the warm drop touched her cold skin.
CRACK.
The whip struck again—harder.
Rigo collapsed onto the floor.
Pain exploded through her back, and despite her efforts, a broken cry escaped her lips.
“Screaming is weakness.”
Her father’s voice remained calm.
Emotionless.
The whip came down again.
And again.
He moved with mechanical precision, like a craftsman performing a routine task.
To him, this was not cruelty.
This was discipline.
A necessary procedure.
Blood stained Rigo’s back.
Her vision blurred.
Her body trembled violently.
Then everything went dark.
She collapsed, unconscious on the cold stone floor, surrounded by blood and tears.
Her father looked down at her silently.
For a brief moment, he studied the small, unmoving body before him.
Then he turned away.
Today’s training was finished.
Without another word, he left the room.
Moments later, the door creaked open again.
A woman rushed inside.
Rigo’s mother.
Her face was pale, her eyes overflowing with tears she could no longer hold back.
She fell to her knees beside her daughter and gathered the limp body into her arms.
“I’m sorry, Rigo…” she whispered hoarsely.
Her voice broke.
She held the fragile child tightly, her tears falling onto Rigo’s face as if they could wash away the blood and wounds.
But she knew they couldn’t.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
She knew she could not stop the training.
If Rigo wanted to survive in this world, she would have to bury everything that made her human.
Still, as a mother, she clung to the only thing she could give her daughter—
A small, fleeting warmth.
Even if it would never change Rigo’s fate.
In the silent chamber, only the mother’s quiet sobs remained.
And the candle continued to flicker in the darkness—
A silent witness to the cruelty of love and the fragile hope buried within the Gelar Clan.
