In a small village nestled between the sacred Himalayas and ancient forests of India, a boy was born under a burning red moon. His name was DaoZun.
From the day he opened his eyes, strange things began to happen. Flames danced around his cradle, yet never burned him. When he cried, the winds howled like storms. When he laughed, the trees bowed slightly as if to greet him.
The villagers called him a child of destiny — or a curse. Some worshipped him. Some feared him. But DaoZun knew only silence. His parents had died when he was just one year old, and he was raised by an old monk named Rishi Anant, who lived near the mountain shrine.
Rishi Anant taught him not just how to read and write, but how to feel the energy around him — the ancient force called Pranashakti, known in other lands as Qi or life essence.
"DaoZun," the old monk often said, "your path is not made of stone or dirt. It is made of fire. You must learn to walk it without burning yourself."
By the age of twelve, DaoZun could meditate for hours without moving. By fifteen, he could light lamps with a touch. But deep inside, he felt a great flame that could not be controlled — a fire that screamed in his dreams.
Then one night, the stars disappeared from the sky.
A shadowy figure appeared at the edge of the village. Everything went cold. Crops died. Birds stopped flying. The villagers trembled.
DaoZun stood before the shadow without fear. The flame in his soul lit his eyes like twin comets — one red, one blue.
"You are not ready," the shadow whispered.
"Maybe not," DaoZun said. "But I was born for this."
With that, fire erupted from his palms — wild, divine, and eternal.
That was the night DaoZun stepped onto the Path of Flame.