Sergei

"I fear I taught him to wield the storm." —Master Zenith Sergei's first memory of the Tides of Darkness was not the screaming—it was the silence afterward. Fields turned to ash, rivers ran thick and slow, and the air filled with black smog. A dark insanity had choked the land, claiming his home and all he knew. Escaping with his life to a neighboring island, he survived, helpless, but alive. And as he reflected, isolation became both his salvation and purgatory, freedom and trigger. He had a choice, and swore to no longer watch the world burn from his knees. He sought the power to transform it, and a legend to guide him. Years later, Sergei found him in a clearing, feet planted in the soil, air humming around him: Master Zenith, weaver of Qi. Under his tutelage, Sergei began to sense the currents in the wind, and those beneath his heels. He learned to bend, borrow, and if necessary, break them. Where Zenith preached balance, drawing only what one could return, Sergei sought power. If life itself could be shaped, why not marshal the forests, rivers, and mountains into one unified will? His questions grew sharper. "Why do we sit in this clearing while cities rot?" he demanded one night, sparks in his eyes. "Try as you will," Zenith answered, "the world is not yours to conscript. Qi is balance—nothing more." The words tasted like ash. Balance had not saved his home. When Lulu arrived, nervous and bright-eyed, Sergei watched Zenith welcome her with the same warmth he once knew. Part of him softened, amused by her clumsy steps and fury at her own mistakes. But as she steadied, that same part soured with envy. Lulu accepted "wait" and "learn" where Sergei only heard "delay" and "surrender." Then the news reached them—another coastal town swallowed by the Tides, the great factions of Tya too busy to intervene. Sergei confronted Zenith once more. "We could have gone," he snapped. "We could have shown them another way." "Qi is not your banner, Sergei," Zenith replied. "It is a mirror. If you grasp it with desperation, it will only reflect fear." Fear. The word struck deeper than any blow. "So we meditate while the world crumbles... out of fear?" The air thickened, and Zenith raised an open hand. "Stand down, Sergei." But pride and panic had already fused. Sergei drew on everything he could reach—trees, soil, the very air he breathed—as power surged through him, a spear of force cracked the ground beneath his feet. He meant it as a challenge. Zenith would block. Zenith always did. But this time, Lulu moved first. She threw herself between them, arms outstretched, Qi flaring into a barrier that met Sergei's spear. He saw it shimmer, fracture, then shatter. Lulu's scream came late, drowned out by the sight of her arms breaking, flesh and bone disintegrating as if they had never been real. The world snapped back. Zenith was there instantly, catching Lulu as she fell. His gaze found Sergei—not furious, not indignant, but heavy with a quiet sorrow. Sergei stepped forward, then back. The taste of metal coated his tongue as words died in his throat. That night, before Lulu woke, he walked quietly into the wilds, guilt his only companion. In the coming years, he hurled himself at the Tides, pouring Qi into the blackened rot until his veins burned. Though the corruption retreated, it always returned. Each failure stripped something from him—mercy, patience, humility. And no matter how far he traveled, the sound of shattering followed him. Somewhere beyond the horizon, he knew Lulu lived, bearing proof of his greatest mistake in her every movement.