Kazaf: The upside down

Kazaf walked through the grand halls of the Elara Sect, his sharp eyes scanning the intricate carvings on the stone walls. The Down world was nothing like the Upside. Here, power dictated respect, and bloodlines determined one's worth. Even though his mother had told him stories of this world, experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely.

His arrival had not gone unnoticed. Whispers followed him wherever he went. The son of Alaca, the runaway daughter of the great Suleiman. A half-breed. Some looked at him with curiosity, others with disdain. He didn't care. He had come here for a reason—to find his father.

Adjusting to the New Life

Asma stood beside him, her expression warm despite his cold demeanor. She had been assigned to help him familiarize himself with the sect and its surroundings. Unlike the others, she showed no contempt toward him. In fact, she seemed genuinely interested in learning about him.

"This is the training ground," Asma gestured to the vast courtyard where young cultivators practiced under the watchful eyes of their instructors. "Every disciple is expected to train here daily. You'll be given a mentor soon."

Kazaf merely nodded, his thoughts elsewhere.

Asma studied him for a moment before smiling. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"

"I speak when needed," Kazaf replied flatly.

She chuckled. "Fair enough. Come, let's go to the market district. You'll need to get used to the streets of the Down world too."

The Streets of the Down World

The market district of the Elara Sect was bustling with life. Merchants called out their wares, cultivators bartered over rare herbs and weapons, and the scent of roasted meats and spices filled the air. It was overwhelming, yet Kazaf remained unshaken.

As they walked, they passed a group of young cultivators from the Ironthorn Sect—one of the five powerful sects in the Down world. A tall young man with dark hair and a sneer on his lips stepped forward, blocking their path. His name was Rami, a known troublemaker.

"Well, well," Rami drawled, his eyes scanning Kazaf with contempt. "If it isn't the half-breed everyone's been whispering about."

Kazaf didn't react, but Asma's expression darkened. "Move aside, Rami."

Rami smirked. "Relax, lady Asma. I just wanted to see what's so special about him. After all, a half-blood has no place in the Down world, let alone in a respected sect like Elara."

His companions laughed, nodding in agreement. Another one, a shorter cultivator named Faris, crossed his arms. "They say he's strong, but strength doesn't change dirty blood."

Kazaf sighed. He had expected this. He glanced at Asma, who looked ready to snap at them.

Before she could speak, Kazaf stepped forward, facing Rami directly. "I don't care what you think of me." His voice was steady, emotionless. "But if you really want to test my strength, I suggest you stop wasting time talking."

Rami's grin widened. "Oh? Is that a challenge, half-breed?"

Asma grabbed Kazaf's arm. "Ignore them, Kazaf. They're not worth it."

Kazaf didn't need her warning, but he appreciated her concern. He had no interest in unnecessary fights—not yet. He turned away, ignoring Rami and his group entirely.

But Rami wasn't done. "That's what I thought," he scoffed. "You don't belong here, half-blood. You should've stayed in the Upside where you belong."

Kazaf's fist clenched, but he kept walking. This was just the beginning. He would show them all, not through words, but through power.

Asma walked beside him in silence for a moment before sighing. "Don't let them get to you."

"They don't."

She looked at him, searching his face. "Good. Because you're stronger than their petty insults. And I'll prove to you that not everyone in the Down world sees you that way."

Kazaf glanced at her, surprised by her determination. For the first time since arriving, he felt a small flicker of warmth. Maybe the Down world wasn't all bad.

As they continued walking, the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the ancient city. A new life awaited him here, and he was ready to carve his own path—no matter who stood in his way.

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