They didn't speak for a long time.
The forest stood still, unnatural in its silence. No birds. No insects. Even the wind, which had followed them from the valley, had grown quiet. Kahel kept his gaze on the spot where the figure had vanished, but whatever presence had lingered was gone. The only sign it had ever existed was the strange residue of warped qi, twisting like heat shimmer over scorched earth.
Lyren finally turned to him. "You felt that too."
Kahel nodded. "It looked at me. Like it knew me."
She hesitated. "It might have."
"What was it?"
"I don't know," she said, her voice low. "But whatever it was, it didn't belong in this realm."
They regrouped with the others near the remains of the central watchtower. Reports had already begun to flow—nothing intact, no signs of survivors, not even bones. The entire scouting post had been unraveled. Not destroyed by force, but undone, like a tapestry whose threads had been pulled loose from reality.
Kahel found himself looking to the sky. The Ashen Flame stirred again, as if searching.
Night fell quickly over Green Cloud Ridge. The moon hovered low, veiled in a faint red haze. The squad set up temporary wards around the scorched perimeter, using what resources remained from the failed formation circle. It wasn't ideal, but it was all they had.
Lyren sat apart, eyes closed, fingertips brushing her bowstring in a slow rhythm. Kahel watched her for a time before approaching.
She didn't open her eyes. "You don't sleep much."
"Neither do you."
A faint smile played across her lips. "Hard to sleep when the shadows start whispering your name."
Kahel lowered himself to the ground beside her. The fire between them cracked but gave off no warmth.
"Do you think the Sect knew what happened here before they sent us?" he asked.
Lyren hesitated. "I think they suspected. And they wanted someone who could return with real answers."
"Me?"
She turned to look at him, her eyes unreadable in the firelight. "You're not like the others, Kahel. The elders know it. The flame knows it. Even the shadows seem to know it."
He looked down at his hands. "I never asked for any of this."
"No one worth the power ever does."
A long silence followed, broken only by the rustling of dead leaves beyond the ward.
Then she asked, softly, "What did you see in the cave?"
Kahel told her. Not everything—but enough. The throne. The shadowed figure. His mother's voice. The shimmer of someone watching her die.
Lyren listened without interruption.
When he finished, she whispered, "You're not just carrying a legacy. You're carrying memory."
An hour before dawn, the attack came.
It began with a crackle of energy—not qi, but something colder. More primal. The wards trembled, then fractured, like glass under pressure.
Kahel was the first to move.
He leapt to his feet, flame already in his hand. Lyren rolled into a crouch beside him, bow drawn in a blink.
Something clawed at the edge of the ward—not a beast, but a shape. Tall, too thin. Faceless. It moved not with steps, but with intention, gliding over ground it no longer seemed to touch.
Kahel struck first.
A blade of fire swept from his hand, illuminating the thing in a harsh crimson glow. It recoiled—but only slightly.
Then the others came.
Three more shapes. One tore through the far side of the camp. Another slammed into a disciple wielding talismans, scattering charms into the air like leaves.
Lyren loosed her first arrow, and it sang like thunder. The tip struck the gliding figure and detonated in a flash of celestial script. The creature staggered.
Kahel moved forward, sliding low beneath a lunging shape and slashing upward with his blade. The Ashen Flame roared through the steel, burning through the thing's center. It shrieked without a mouth.
The battle was chaos.
Wards shattered. Dust filled the air. Screams and orders echoed off the ruined stones.
Kahel saw one of the inner-court cultivators fall, torn apart by claws that didn't draw blood, but stole spirit. He saw another collapse, his soul visibly torn from his body and dragged into shadow.
But then Kahel stood still.
In the center of it all, he let go.
The flame erupted.
White-hot. Not wild, but absolute. A ring of fire surged outward, forming a dome around the remaining disciples. The creatures paused, confused. Confined.
And Kahel stepped forward.
No words. No cry of fury. Only motion.
He moved like a blade in wind. Strikes flowed from one to the next, his body becoming flame, his mind emptied. For the first time, the Ashen Flame did not feel like a burden.
It felt like destiny.
The creatures tried to flee.
Kahel wouldn't let them.
Lyren joined him, a streak of silver and light, her arrows humming with sacred intent.
Together, they carved silence into the night.
When it was over, there was no dawn.
Only smoke.
And the knowledge that this had not been the real enemy.
Just the first wave.
Kahel stood with flame still dancing across his shoulders. Lyren touched his arm.
He turned.
"There's more coming," she said.
He nodded. "And next time, we won't be enough."
She looked out toward the forest.
"Then we'd better get stronger."