Kieran stood at the edge of the sect's outer wall, the thick pines beyond stretching like silent sentinels into the morning mist. Behind him, Mount Talon glowed golden with the rising sun. Before him, a sea of unknowns awaited.
He tightened the straps of his travel satchel.
"Ready?" came Damon's voice.
Kieran turned to find him in full uniform—black travel robes embroidered with silver thread, twin blades strapped to his back, and a steady gleam in his eyes.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Kieran said, adjusting his own belt. His uniform felt too clean, too ceremonial for a mission beyond the sect.
"This isn't some routine patrol," Damon warned, scanning the treeline. "Reports say there's something corrupting the border villages. Disappearances. Mutations. Magic rotting from the inside."
Kieran nodded. "The Grandmaster mentioned demons."
Damon looked sharply at him. "She told you that?"
Kieran shrugged. "She didn't say the word. But I saw one—in my dream."
Damon frowned but didn't question it. Instead, he motioned forward. "Let's go. We'll make for Whisper Hollow by nightfall."
The gates groaned open.
And together, they crossed into the outside world.
---
The first part of their journey was uneventful.
Kieran found himself hyper-aware of every sound—bird calls, leaves rustling, the snap of twigs underfoot. The world beyond the sect was wild in a way no training yard could replicate. The trees were older, gnarled and wise. The shadows felt alive.
Damon, ever the stoic, barely spoke.
Kieran broke the silence. "You've done this before."
Damon nodded. "My father sends me on missions every few months. He thinks hardship builds strength."
"Is he wrong?"
"No. But it also builds loneliness."
That caught Kieran off guard.
"I thought someone like you would be surrounded by people."
"I am," Damon said. "But they only see the son of a general. Not me."
Kieran looked at him, the firm line of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow. "I see you."
Damon glanced over but said nothing.
Still, he walked closer after that.
---
By dusk, they reached Whisper Hollow.
Or rather, what remained of it.
The village was half-collapsed—roofs sunken, windows shattered, livestock gone. An eerie silence hovered, broken only by the cawing of crows. Smoke curled from the chimney of the largest building, but otherwise, it looked abandoned.
"This is wrong," Damon said.
They stepped into the village square, boots crunching on broken pottery and ash.
"Over there," Kieran pointed. "Something's burned."
A wide scorch mark spread across the earth—blackened, unnatural, as if lightning had been called down from the heavens.
"No bodies," Damon muttered.
"Maybe they fled."
"Or something took them."
They approached the only building still intact: the village hall. Kieran knocked, but no one answered.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, a fire crackled low in the hearth. Three villagers sat huddled near it, their faces gaunt and eyes hollow.
"You shouldn't be here," one rasped. An old man with deep scars across his throat.
"We're from Mount Talon," Damon said. "Here to investigate the disappearances."
The old man flinched. "Then you'll die like the others."
"What others?"
"The Flame Cult. The ones who came before you. They screamed for hours."
Kieran exchanged a glance with Damon.
"Tell us everything," Kieran said gently.
And the man did.
---
According to the survivors, it began a month ago.
First, the animals died—cows collapsing with no wounds, chickens turning on each other in a frenzy. Then came the shadows: figures glimpsed between trees, always at the corner of vision. Children went missing. Then adults.
And then came the laughter.
It echoed through the woods, high and inhuman.
The villagers sent for help. A band of Flame Cult mercenaries arrived. They burned a ring of fire around the village.
It didn't stop the thing.
One by one, the mercenaries vanished—until only their leader remained. He was found three days later with no eyes, muttering riddles in a language no one knew.
Kieran felt his skin crawl.
"There's something in the forest," the old man whispered. "Something old."
"Do you have anything it left behind?" Damon asked.
The old man nodded and shuffled to the back of the hall, returning with a bundle of cloth.
Inside was a stone.
Smooth, black, and cold to the touch. But when Kieran held it, something in him flared.
His vision spun.
A flash—a cave of fire. Chains. Eyes like galaxies. Laughter like blades scraping glass.
He dropped the stone, breath ragged.
Damon caught his arm. "What did you see?"
Kieran didn't answer right away.
But his eyes burned silver.
---
That night, Kieran couldn't sleep.
He stood outside, staring at the forest edge. Something called to him—soft, insidious. A whisper in the back of his mind.
He didn't hear Damon approach until he felt a cloak draped over his shoulders.
"You're shaking," Damon said quietly.
"It's too quiet."
Damon stood beside him. "The stone… you recognized it."
"Not recognized," Kieran murmured. "Remembered."
Damon stiffened.
"In my last life," Kieran whispered, "my sister told me stories. About a world filled with magic and monsters. About a demon sealed beneath the world. They called him the Laughing Flame."
"And you think it's real?"
"I think I'm in the story now."
Damon studied him, gaze intense.
"You're not crazy," he finally said.
Kieran gave a weak smile. "You sure?"
"I've seen crazy. You're haunted."
"Thanks."
They stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder.
Until a sound snapped through the night.
A scream.
---
They ran.
The forest glowed with unnatural firelight. Trees smoldered. A woman, hair aflame, shrieked and collapsed at the village's edge.
Kieran skidded to her side.
Her skin burned from within, but no flame touched her robes.
"She's possessed," Damon growled. "The flame's inside her."
Kieran focused. Reached for his core.
And this time, instead of raw mana, he reached deeper—into the part of him that wasn't from this world.
A thread of math unspooled in his mind—equations folding into patterns, magic into logic.
He drew a circle with his finger, murmuring numbers.
A runic grid sparked beneath the woman.
The fire flickered. Then shrieked.
Damon gasped as a creature tore from her chest—smoke and fire and teeth. It howled, lashing toward them.
Kieran raised his hand.
Light exploded.
The demon vaporized.
The woman collapsed, breathing but unconscious.
Damon stared at Kieran. "What was that?"
"A firewall," Kieran muttered. "A real one."
"You—" Damon paused. "That wasn't normal."
"No," Kieran said softly. "It wasn't."
---
They spent the rest of the night guarding the village.
By morning, the flames had retreated.
The forest was quiet again.
Too quiet.
"We need to find the source," Damon said. "This thing isn't done."
Kieran agreed. "It's calling others."
"We'll head east," Damon decided. "Toward the Flame's Hollow."
Kieran's stomach dropped. "You think the Laughing Flame is returning?"
"I think it never left."
---
They traveled light and fast.
Kieran noticed the change first—trees warping, bark blistering with runes. The birds had vanished. The air buzzed with pressure.
Then they found the crater.
A wide basin, ringed with stone pillars. Runes burned along the ground. Chains lay shattered across an altar.
And in the center, a figure knelt—cloaked in red, humming a lullaby.
Kieran stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The figure looked up.
It was a boy. No older than fifteen.
But his eyes were ancient.
"I am the Ember Heir," he whispered. "The first mouth of the Laughing Flame."
Damon drew his blades.
But Kieran raised a hand.
"You're the one who summoned it."
The boy nodded. "We are all echoes of fire. I simply opened the gate."
"You killed innocents."
"They were fuel. Nothing more."
Kieran's temper flared.
But instead of attacking, he asked, "Why?"
The boy smiled.
"Because the world has forgotten fear. I am its reminder."
And then he vanished in a plume of smoke.
---
The ground split.
Fire erupted.
From beneath the altar, something stirred.
A claw.
Huge, charred, and bound in chains.
The Laughing Flame.
Damon shouted, dragging Kieran back as the earth trembled.
"Not yet," Kieran said. "I can stop it."
"You'll die."
"Maybe. But not today."
He drew a circle again—this one more complex, layered with primes and runes and mirrored arrays.
As the claw rose, he slammed his palm down.
A shockwave tore through the crater.
The claw recoiled. The altar shattered.
And the flames went dark.
---
They limped back to the village two days later.
The people were wary at first—until the woman who had been possessed stepped forward, eyes clear.
"You saved us," she whispered.
Kieran said nothing.
He didn't feel like a savior.
---
At the gates of Mount Talon, the Grandmaster waited.
Damon bowed.
Kieran stayed standing.
She looked at him.
"You've changed."
"So has the world," Kieran replied.
She nodded. "You've seen the true flame. It will burn again."
"I'll be ready."
"And the Heir?"
"Gone. For now."
The Grandmaster nodded. "Then prepare, child of stars. The game begins anew."
---
That night, Kieran stood atop his balcony.
The stars above pulsed softly.
Behind him, Damon appeared.
"You burned too brightly," he said.
"Did I?"
Damon hesitated. Then, quietly: "You scared me."
Kieran turned. "Why?"
"Because you're not from here. But you belong more than any of us."
Kieran laughed. "That's not true."
Damon stepped closer. "I think it is."
Then, in a whisper: "Stay."
Kieran looked at him.
And for the first time, something gentle passed between them.
Not fire.
But warmth.
---