The path down Bloodroot Mountain was steep, crumbling, and wrapped in a perpetual mist that made it easy to vanish into. Ash moved like a shadow through the early morning fog, the fire in his soul the only warmth in the otherwise bone-deep chill.
Every step he took away from the Yin Clan's compound felt like he was walking out of a grave. No one chased him. No one cared. The world believed Feng Yao was dead.
Good. Let them.
He would return one day, not as a beaten heir of a disgraced bloodline, but as a firestorm that would reduce the entire clan to cinders.
The Hollow Ember Quarry
By noon, Ash stood at the edge of the Hollow Ember Quarry—a gaping scar carved into the earth's skin, where condemned cultivators mined corrupted spirit stones that leaked unstable energy. The surrounding land was blackened, the air thick with ash and sour metal.
Workers—mostly emaciated disciples, criminals, and exiles—moved like ghosts under the eye of cruel taskmasters. Most had broken spirit roots, some had missing limbs, and none of them held hope.
Ash's eyes narrowed. "Rowan Yin sent people here to disappear," he murmured.
He moved past the rusting sign that read Property of the Outer Yin Guard, and approached the stone fields, hood low, aura suppressed.
A Cultivator's World
"Pitiful," came the serpent's voice from within his soul, oily and smug.
"You walk among the lowest of worms now."
Ash didn't flinch. "You always start conversations with insults?"
"You always begin lessons without kneeling?"
Ash smirked. "You want me to kneel? You're the one sealed inside me."
The serpent hissed—a low, ancient rattle filled with disdain.
"You know nothing of the heavens. This world runs on laws far older than your soldier's logic. Without cultivation, you are meat. Without essence, you are dust. You crawl now only because the Soul Flame carries you."
"Then start talking," Ash muttered. "No riddles."
Power System: Essence, Marks, and Paths
The serpent's tone remained mocking, but informative.
"The world is saturated in Spirit Essence—raw energy drawn from Heaven, Earth, and all that breathes between. Mortals cannot see it. Cultivators absorb, refine, and command it."
"You? You carry two Soul Marks—one broken and one alien. The first is a waste. The second… is unnatural. It doesn't draw essence the way this realm understands."
Ash's eyes flicked toward a nearby miner who was struggling to channel a pickaxe coated in glowing jade. His body was surrounded by a weak white aura. "Spirit Essence?"
"Yes. His core draws from the White Vein Path, lowest of all. Stable, but weak. You'll find many paths: Fire Vein, Shadow Pulse, Star Forging, and rarer bloodlines tied to beasts, dragons, or old gods."
Ash grunted. "And me?"
"You are a stain," the serpent said with a snarl. "You don't fit into their heavens. Which means you might shatter their rules, if you live long enough."
There was no reverence in the serpent's tone. Only bitter interest.
Ash smiled. "That almost sounded like praise."
"I should bite you in your sleep."
First Fight: Essence Whip vs Spirit Axe
Ash wandered deeper into the quarry, seeking corrupted spirit stone shards. He needed essence—any kind—to see what his second Soul Mark could absorb.
But he wasn't alone.
Three Yin Guard lackeys noticed him near a restricted section of stone.
"Hey! You're not cleared for that pit," the lead shouted. "Show your mark."
Ash didn't answer.
The guard snarled and raised a spirit-infused axe. "Rebel trash. Kneel or die."
Ash didn't move.
The guard charged.
Ash raised his hand—and the Soul Flame erupted. A jet-black whip of fire lashed forward like a serpent, curling around the guard's weapon arm.
The man screamed as the flame ignored his essence defenses, digging straight into his soul like acid through silk.
Ash yanked the whip—cleanly tearing the axe from the man's hand and sending him flying.
The other two ran.
Corrupted Essence
Ash knelt by a cracked spirit stone. Its surface was blackened, glowing faintly purple at the core.
"Corrupted essence," the serpent warned.
"It burns impure. It scars the meridians. And yet... perhaps you are foul enough to drink it safely."
Ash chuckled. "Thanks."
He pressed his hand to the shard and let the second Soul Mark absorb the energy. Instead of pain, he felt hunger. His mark drank greedily, consuming the essence and purifying it through the Soul Flame.
"You twist the rules," the serpent muttered. "Not a beast. Not a god. Not a cultivator. What are you?"
Ash's eyes flashed. "Something new."
He stood, a thin black aura now coiled faintly around his limbs. His first taste of power—not borrowed, not inherited, but stolen.
The Fire Begins to Spread
By nightfall, rumors were already spreading.
A ghost had returned to the Hollow Ember Quarry.
He wielded flame with no heat, and burned souls instead of flesh.
He bore no sect badge, no clan crest.
He killed a Yin Guard with a single strike.
Ash sat on the edge of a broken scaffold, flame curling lazily around his fingers. Below him, the camp buzzed with whispers and fear.
And far above the mountains, the stars began to shimmer—one of them pulsing a deep crimson, unnoticed by all except one:
Deep in a forgotten heavenly ruin, a sealed oracle stirred.