The entrance to the Tomb of Withered Fire loomed before them like the open mouth of a giant beast—wide, broken, and reeking of scorched spirit ash.
Flickers of red mist curled from the cracked stone, carrying a strange, almost melodic hum.
Each breath Liun took here felt heavy. Not from fear.
But from expectation.
As though the tomb itself remembered him.
---
Ranyi lit a foxfire talisman, casting pale blue light across the shattered stairwell.
"The energy here is old," she said, crouching to trace a glyph carved into the steps. "These wards were made to keep things in, not out."
"Which means something escaped," Ning'er added, her fingers resting on the hilt of her twin blades.
Liun said nothing. He stepped forward, the token Elder Tsang had given him now glowing like a coal in his palm.
Each step down was colder than the last, despite the heat of the Ashen Flame flickering faintly within his core.
As they descended deeper, the air changed—no longer just stale or ancient, but thick. Charged.
Like walking into a room filled with unspoken oaths.
---
At the bottom of the stairwell, they found a circular antechamber.
Thirteen statues lined the wall—robed figures with no faces, hands extended as if in judgment.
Each statue had a different sigil etched across its chest.
Liun stepped forward and froze.
One of the sigils was the Ashen Verdict.
But beneath it… a second mark. Twisted. Unstable. Like a flame that refused to hold shape.
Ranyi examined the base of the statue.
"It's written here in ancient runes," she said. "Ember of Sovereignty."
Aoshen stirred inside Liun's soul.
> "This is the core of Wudi's forbidden path," the spirit whispered.
"He took judgment and twisted it—not to balance, but to dominate."
"He believed the world didn't need fairness. Only a will strong enough to burn everything in its way."
Liun clenched his fists.
"That's not judgment," he said quietly. "That's tyranny in flame's clothing."
Ning'er touched his shoulder.
"Then maybe it's your job to stop it. Or… to change it."
---
The room trembled suddenly.
A low thrum echoed through the stone walls.
At the center of the chamber, a seal—long dormant—snapped open, releasing a wave of raw Qi.
Liun flinched.
Not from pain.
But from recognition.
The flame that poured out was like his… but not.
It was wild. Darker. Deeper.
A single voice whispered out from the darkness beyond the seal:
> "Who dares wear my flame…?"
The voice was low. Gravel and thunder. Ancient… and still alive.
Liun stepped forward.
"I am Shen Liun. Son of Shen Yulan. Bearer of the Ashen Verdict."
He raised his hand.
"And I am here to know the truth."
Silence.
Then—a single flame ignited at the far end of the tomb. It hovered above a coffin of black stone, floating without heat, flickering like a heartbeat.
Then…
The coffin cracked.
A figure slowly rose, veiled in shadows and ember-light.
His body was thin but unbroken, hair cascading down his back like strands of midnight fire. He wore no crown, no armor—only black robes scorched by time.
His eyes opened.
They were gold.
Like Liun's.
But deeper. Older. As if they had stared into the abyss and refused to blink.
> "So," he said softly, "the world finally dares to wake a ghost."
Liun stepped closer, but not too close.
"Are you… Yan Wudi?"
The man tilted his head. "That name belongs to the one who died. The one who defied the Heavens and paid the price."
"Then what are you?"
Wudi smiled.
> "I am what remains when a soul survives its own destruction."
---
Ning'er and Ranyi stood silent behind Liun, weapons still drawn but lowered.
There was no killing aura from Wudi. No threat.
Only something deeper.
The pressure of a man who had once been crushed by the heavens… and stood back up anyway.
"You carry my flame," Wudi said, eyes scanning Liun's soul. "But you carry it differently."
"Because I don't want to rule," Liun said. "I want to free."
A faint smirk touched the old legend's lips.
> "Then you will fail."
Liun's expression hardened.
"Why?"
"Because the world does not want freedom," Wudi said. "It wants order. Fire brings light—but also chaos. When you burn away the chains, people build new ones."
He raised his hand. A flicker of dark-gold fire danced on his fingers.
"I tried to give them a god."
"But I am no god."
Liun stepped forward.
"Neither am I."
Their eyes met—flame to flame.
A moment of stillness.
Then Wudi laughed. It was a hollow sound, but not unkind.
> "Then perhaps, Shen Liun… the flame has found its balance after all."
---
Behind him, the tomb shuddered again.
But this time, it wasn't Wudi's power.
It was something else. Something coming.
His eyes narrowed.
"The Empire has already followed your trail here," he said. "They're waking the Heavenbinders. You don't have much time."
Liun stepped forward. "Then help me."
Wudi studied him.
"Why should I?"
Liun held out his hand. Not with demand. But with purpose.
"Because whatever you were… you once believed in something worth dying for."
A pause.
Then, slowly…
Wudi raised his own hand and placed it against Liun's.
The flames between them merged—not perfectly, not cleanly—but willingly.
> "Then let the world see what happens… when the past and future burn together."
---