The Horizon Breaks
The city of sparks had been awake for weeks. Its walls glimmered silver, its streams ran clear, its murals told stories of pilgrims who had become students, and now of students who had become guards. Under the Temple of Sparks, Hei Long's first generation of disciples had become a true First Guard — disciplined under Qingxue, sharp-eyed under Yexin, steady under Yuran.
But fire draws not only pilgrims and remnants. It draws power.
One morning the watch at the eastern gate called out. A ship had appeared beyond the black shoals, its sails painted with a sigil no one recognized: a phoenix, wings folded, rising from dark waves. It did not anchor. It drifted to the shore as if guided by an unseen hand.
Hei Long stood at the gate with his three flames. The Origin's glow pulsed faintly beneath his cloak.
