Kahel returned to his peak before the sun rose. Morning mist clung to the trees, and dew coated the stone in a thin sheen that reflected silver. The mountain was still, save for the ever-present hawk that circled above, its cry more distant than usual.
The conversation with Enlai lingered in Kahel's thoughts. Echoes of a devoured realm. A flame that remembered. And a force that hunted not just for power—but for meaning.
He stood before the great tree again—the same ancient sentinel that marked the heart of his peak, its roots thicker than stone, its leaves still despite the wind. The place where it had all begun. He pressed his hand to the bark.
It was warm.
The flame stirred in him, but this time it did not rise with urgency. It guided.
A pulse of heat moved from his chest into his palm. The roots shimmered faintly. Stone groaned, then parted. Where there had only been earth and silence, a staircase spiraled downward into the heart of the mountain.
Kahel did not hesitate. With the flame as his lantern, he descended into the unknown.
The chamber beneath the tree was older than the Sect itself.
Carved into smooth marble, the room pulsed with faint life. A ring of ancient stones surrounded a dais of obsidian veined with gold. The air was heavy with forgotten qi, and the walls—oh, the walls—were covered in murals depicting figures of impossible majesty. Beings not quite human—too tall, too angular, their robes aflame with the same wing-star sigil he had seen in the flame's vision.
Kahel stepped into the center.
The dais lit beneath his feet. One by one, the glyphs around him shimmered with light.
And a voice—not heard with ears, but felt deep in his bones—spoke.
"Heir of the Flame, child of ash and memory, why do you descend into forgotten fire?"
Kahel stood firm. "Because I am tired of not knowing. Tired of being chased by shadows. I want to know what I am."
A long pause followed. Then, a flicker of flame took shape before him. A figure—regal, indistinct, cloaked in light.
"You are not the first to bear the Flame," it said. "But you are the first it has chosen freely."
Kahel frowned. "What does that mean?"
"The Ashen Flame is not merely power. It is a will. Forged from those who burned for more than survival. It answers not strength, but purpose."
Kahel's heart pounded. "And what purpose does it see in me?"
"You have not chosen yet. That is why it tests you."
He clenched his fists. "The shadows... they called to me. They looked at me like I was one of them."
"They knew the Flame. They knew what it did to their realm. What it will do again if left unchecked."
Kahel's breath caught. "You're saying I'll destroy worlds?"
"No. But you could. And they know that too."
The vision flared brighter, then dimmed. The chamber fell into stillness. Only the faint outline of the wing-star sigil lingered in the air.
A final whisper echoed through the stone.
"Forge your path. Or become a tool for someone else's."
Kahel stood alone, flame steady in his chest.
He emerged into daylight, his robes dusted with ash from the chamber below. The sun had climbed above the peaks now, casting golden light across the valley.
Lyren stood near the edge of the peak, arms crossed. She turned when he approached.
"You disappeared." Her tone was casual, but her posture was taut.
"I needed answers," he said.
She studied his face for a moment. "Did you find any?"
"Enough to know we're not done yet."
She nodded once, then handed him a scroll sealed in jade. "Orders. From Enlai."
Kahel cracked it open. His jaw tightened.
"Another outpost fell. North ridge. Same signs."
"They want us to investigate again."
Kahel looked up at her. "This time, we don't just observe. We stop whatever's coming."
Lyren's eyes narrowed. "Good. Because if these things spread any further, there won't be a valley left to protect."
They turned together, walking toward the transport array. Every step forward felt heavier than the last—not because of fear, but because of certainty. Kahel wasn't the same boy who had walked into the Garden. That boy had been shaped by grief and anger.
Now he was being shaped by purpose.
As the sigil activated and light wrapped around them, Kahel felt the Ashen Flame surge—not in hunger or rage, but in resolve.
Something waited beyond the ridge.
And this time, Kahel would not wait to be hunted.
He would burn the truth from the shadows himself.