The warning bells had not rung in Ethereal Bloom Valley for nearly a decade. Their echoes rolled across the mountains like the roar of some ancient beast, stirring not just the disciples, but the very spirit veins that ran beneath the valley floor. Kahel watched the red flare fade into the eastern horizon, its light burning briefly across the peaks before darkness swallowed it whole.
He turned from the edge of the cliff and moved quickly back toward his training grounds. The old man had vanished without a word after the cave. But Kahel could feel it—the shift. Like pressure building before a storm.
By the time he reached the courtyard, the hawk was already circling above, its cries sharper, more frequent.
He looked up. "You feel it too, don't you?"
The hawk did not answer, but it dove once toward the treetops before vanishing into the mist.
Kahel gathered what little he needed: a cloth-bound blade, the scroll from his initiation, and a small talisman Lyren had left behind on his arrival. It bore the mark of the Sect's inner court, and though he did not yet understand its significance, something told him it would matter soon.
A whisper in the wind carried voices.
He wasn't the only one who had seen the flare.
At the central plateau, dozens of disciples had gathered. Senior members of the Sect stood at the front—Elder Yen among them, his expression tight with concern.
Lyren stood to his left, no longer in ceremonial robes but dressed for movement. Her eyes met Kahel's briefly as he approached, and she gave the faintest nod of recognition.
Sect Master Enlai arrived last.
The air grew still when he did.
Clad in flowing indigo robes embroidered with threads of gold qi, his presence alone calmed the wind. He raised one hand, and silence followed.
"Brothers. Sisters. Disciples. The flare came from Green Cloud Ridge, a border post held by our scouts. We have not received a communication since the signal was sent."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"We do not know the source of the attack," Enlai continued. "But it bears the mark of outer-world flames. Corrupted qi, tangled in resentment and rot."
Kahel felt the Ashen Flame stir slightly in his chest—not in fear, but interest.
"Two squads will be dispatched," the Sect Master said. "One to recover any survivors. The other to assess the damage and report."
He pointed at Lyren. "You will lead the second."
Lyren bowed.
Then, his gaze swept the crowd and landed on Kahel.
"You will go with her."
Kahel blinked. He had expected resistance, caution, doubt. Instead, he was being sent directly into danger. No ceremony. No test.
He stepped forward. "I will."
Enlai nodded once, as though satisfied.
"The rest of you—return to your cultivation. The valley must not weaken."
The bell rang again. Orders followed. The crowd dispersed.
Lyren met him at the stair leading away from the platform. Her expression was unreadable.
"You keep being where I don't expect you."
"I could say the same."
They moved in silence for a time, crossing bridges and descending paths that led toward the transport sigil platform near the valley's edge. Other members of their squad awaited them—six in all, two senior outer-court disciples, and three inner-court cultivators with various talents. One carried a longbow, another a chain-sickle, the last wore robes adorned with talismans.
Kahel stood slightly apart from them. The others glanced at him, some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled disdain. A newcomer, barely full disciple, now assigned to a reconnaissance team led by one of the Sect's most promising talents.
Lyren addressed the group. "We are not here to fight. We assess. We recover. If necessary, we flee. Understood?"
They nodded. Even Kahel.
She placed a jade token on the central altar. The transport sigil flared.
A moment later, they vanished in a rush of wind and light.
Green Cloud Ridge was silent.
Too silent.
They arrived atop a shattered formation circle. The ground was scorched, the trees near the outpost snapped or blackened. Charred remains of what might have once been wooden palisades lay in heaps, half-buried in the red ash of burned spirit grass.
The stench of scorched qi hung in the air.
Lyren signaled, and the group fanned out.
Kahel moved cautiously, eyes scanning the terrain. No movement. No corpses either. Just... residue. Like whatever had come through had devoured not just the bodies, but the very essence of life.
He crouched near a pile of rubble. The Ashen Flame flickered inside him, then suddenly recoiled.
Kahel snapped his head toward the edge of the forest.
Something watched.
A presence, old and hollow.
He rose slowly, eyes narrowing. Then he saw it—a figure, barely visible, cloaked in flickering shadows at the tree line.
Lyren appeared beside him, her bow already drawn.
"You see it too?" she whispered.
He nodded.
The figure raised one hand.
And the air itself trembled.
Then it vanished.
Not stepped away.
Vanished.
Kahel's heart thundered. The Ashen Flame burned white-hot for a moment, then calmed.
Lyren lowered her bow. "That wasn't a beast. That was... something else."
Kahel didn't respond. He stared at the empty woods.
Something had taken notice.
And it had left a message only he could feel.