In the heart of the Mt. Cliff, a baby boy was found unconscious at the foot of a massive tree. His skin seemed to shimmer under the moonlight, and on his right arm was an ancient mark shaped like a lightning bolt.
"What is this? A child?" exclaimed Elder Jorge, the elder warrior of Mt. Cliff. He couldn't believe the energy he felt radiating from the boy.
Darvey grew up living a simple life, but he was no ordinary child. By the age of seven, he could bring down a tree with a single kick. By the age of ten, he saved the entire village from a giant serpent that attacked the rice fields.
But one night, a dark cloud engulfed the sky, and a shadow descended from the mountain. "The time has come," said a voice from the darkness. "The bearer of light must be destroyed before he becomes a threat.
Days after the black cloud appeared, the village fell silent. But Kidlat felt restless. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a golden temple atop a tall mountain. Inside it was an old man with eyes like fire, repeating:
"Darvey.... the time has come. Your training awaits."
One night, while Elder Jorge kept watch outside their hut, Darvey approached. "Elder Jorge, when can I leave? I feel someone calling me."
Elder Jorge nodded. "I feel it too, son. You weren't born just for this village. That mark is a sign—you must seek the Temple of Light."
Before dawn, Darvey set off northward. He carried an old sword left by his mother, and the blessing of his guardian.
While journeying through the dense forest, a sudden gust of wind struck. From the shadows emerged three twisted creatures with red eyes—Wandering Shadow Souls, minions of the dark god.
"Your blood smells sweet, child of light," hissed one, its tongue slithering like a snake.
Darvey didn't retreat. For the first time, he tapped into the power coursing through his body. His mark glowed, and the earth beneath him flared with light.
In a flash, he charged at the creatures. His fists struck like iron, his kick like a storm. One fell, the others vanished into the night.
But before he could move on, a deep voice whispered through the wind:
"Well done, child. But this is only the beginning."
After surviving the battle in the forest, Darvey pressed forward, wounded but determined. He was drawn by a vision—toward a mountain that seemed to glow with flame at its peak.
"Master Chai," he whispered. "This is where I'm being called."
At the mountain's base, an elderly man greeted him—white-haired, red-robed, eyes burning with fire. He was Fiery, the Master of Fire.
"Child of lightning," he said, "you have reached the first step toward true power. But fire is not just strength—it is discipline, sacrifice, and control. Are you ready?"
Darvey nodded. "I am ready."