The sun broke over the horizon like a blade through mist, casting long shadows over the training grounds. A tense quiet filled the air. Ever since the attempted assassination, the sect had locked itself into a near-paranoid state—gates guarded by triple the usual guards, disciples forbidden from wandering after dark.
Kieran stood alone on the southern cliffs, wind pulling at his robes. Below, waves crashed against jagged stone, echoing like distant thunder. Damon's kiss haunted him, not because it was unexpected, but because it had felt… right.
Dangerously right.
He sighed, brushing a finger against his lips. Then, with practiced ease, he slipped back into focus, summoning his qi. The flame in his palm glowed warm and steady.
"Still thinking about last night?"
Damon's voice was quiet behind him.
Kieran didn't turn. "Yes."
Damon moved beside him. "I shouldn't have done that. You were vulnerable."
"You were scared," Kieran corrected. "And so was I. But I'm not running from it. Are you?"
Damon hesitated. "Not anymore."
They stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder. Neither said more.
---
Later that morning, the sect convened in the Grand Pavilion. Elders sat elevated on carved stone thrones while hundreds of disciples knelt in concentric circles.
Elder Shu rose. "The sect has weathered storms for centuries, but never through fear. Let us not forget—we are cultivators of fire, forged in pressure, strengthened in flame."
Kieran studied the elder's face, lines carved deep with age and ambition. Beside her, Elder Luo leaned heavily on his cane, eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk.
Then came the announcement.
"We have uncovered the name of one possible conspirator within our walls," Shu said. "He will be questioned by the Inner Council."
A name was called.
Yun Hao. A senior disciple from the Outer Ring.
A boy Kieran had seen maybe twice, quiet and unremarkable.
He was dragged forward, shaking.
"I swear, I had no part—"
His words were cut short by a slap from one of the elder guards.
"You will speak when spoken to," Luo snapped.
Kieran's stomach churned. Something wasn't right. This felt too sudden. Too clean.
Damon leaned toward him. "A scapegoat. They're cleaning house to keep us calm."
"But what if he's innocent?" Kieran whispered.
"Then he'll disappear quietly."
Kieran gritted his teeth. The sect he'd once admired was starting to look like a cracked mirror—distorted, dangerous, and full of secrets.
---
Over the next few days, unease spread like a sickness. Training was resumed, but the fire in the disciples' eyes had dulled.
Kieran buried himself in his cultivation. He practiced long past dusk, his flames sharper, cleaner, more precise. Damon often joined him, teaching, watching, correcting.
One night, after training, Kieran entered the library to look up ancient texts on reincarnation. A dream had haunted him—a golden lotus drowning in black water. It had stirred something in him, a whisper of memory.
As he pored over scrolls, a voice interrupted.
"I know who you are."
Kieran looked up.
A girl stood before him. Slender, with pale eyes and an unsettling smile.
"You're the boy who wasn't supposed to be reborn," she said.
Kieran's spine straightened. "Excuse me?"
She stepped closer, her presence like a blade just out of its sheath.
"I'm Yanmei. Disciple of the Mirror Sect. I came with a diplomatic envoy two weeks ago, but I stayed behind."
"Why?"
"To find you."
Kieran stood, flames sparking faintly at his fingertips.
She laughed. "No need for dramatics. I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to warn you. That prophecy? It was never about salvation or ruin. It was about imbalance. Your rebirth shouldn't have happened. Your soul was... rerouted."
"What do you mean?"
"Your past life ended naturally. But someone interfered—pulled your soul across planes. You weren't meant for this world."
Kieran's heart thudded. "Who?"
Yanmei tilted her head. "I don't know. But I intend to find out. Because your presence has awakened more than just old prophecies. It's stirred things best left buried."
Before he could ask more, she slipped away, vanishing between the stacks.
Kieran stood alone, pulse racing.
---
That night, he dreamt again.
He stood in a scorched field under a blood-red moon. In the center, the golden lotus trembled. From its petals oozed black tar, writhing like snakes.
A voice echoed.
"Return... return... or all shall burn."
He woke sweating, chest heaving.
Damon sat beside his bed.
"Another dream?"
Kieran nodded, pressing a hand to his heart. "It felt... real. Like a memory."
Damon touched his shoulder. "We'll figure it out. Together."
Kieran looked at him.
"Why are you helping me? Really."
Damon's jaw clenched. "Because when I was younger, I believed this sect stood for justice. That belief died a long time ago. But then you came along—lighting fires in all the dark corners. I'm not letting you be snuffed out."
Kieran reached for his hand. "Then don't leave. Not tonight."
Damon froze.
Then lay down beside him.
They didn't speak again.
But sleep came easier.
---
The following day, word spread that Yun Hao had "confessed" and been executed.
Kieran attended the burning. His corpse was set ablaze in the Ritual Pit—a shallow crater where traitors were sent to ash.
Yanmei appeared beside him.
"They fear you, you know."
Kieran's eyes didn't move. "Let them."
She smiled. "That's the spirit."
But even as the flames roared, Kieran's mind raced.
He wasn't just fighting for survival anymore.
He was fighting for truth.
---
In the coming weeks, training intensified. The sect announced that the annual Trials of Ascension were approaching—an event where top disciples competed before the elders for advancement.
Kieran and Damon both were chosen.
It would be a public stage.
And if someone wanted Kieran gone...
They'd strike then.
........