The safehold had grown quieter since my training began. Wei Lan stopped jeering and only stared, clutching her gourd as though my sweat and blisters were alchemy itself. Qiao Han tested me with his eyes more often than his blade, respect creeping into the scar across his face. Even Shen Yu, quill ever-scratching, had written less venom between his lines — though cowardice still bled through his ink.
But quiet was never lasting in the Lotus. Storms always found their way inside.
It came at dawn, when the mist clung heavy on the river. Silent Reed appeared without sound, stepping through the fog as if it parted for him. My wolves stirred uneasily, rising to their feet with instinctive fear.
Reed's eyes swept us — not with approval, nor disdain, but as a butcher studies cuts of meat. Then he unrolled a scroll, its seal burned with a crimson mark.
"Crimson Flame," he said.
The name was enough to chill Wei Lan's grin and harden Qiao Han's jaw. Even Shen Yu looked up from his parchment.
"Their pawns have moved south," Reed continued, voice low but heavy. "Villages near our lines burn. They do not strike at soldiers. They do not claim land. They burn fields, homes, and leave only ash. A message."
I knew their creed. Fire does not whisper; it shouts. The Crimson Flame Sect made its intent plain: we are here, and we do not fear to be seen.
"Why us?" Wei Lan asked sharply. "Surely captains should deal with sect movements, not cells."
Reed's smile was thin. "Because a cell can vanish. A captain cannot. The Lotus does not yet wish to bare its teeth. You will burn out these embers quietly. No witnesses. No survivors."
Qiao Han spat. "So they sow fire, and we must smother it in shadows."
Reed's gaze cut to him. "Or you may roast in it. The choice is yours."
Then he looked at me. "Lin Xuan. You have forged your body. Tonight we will see if it is iron or still clay."
The scroll snapped shut. Reed dissolved into the fog, leaving only silence and the weight of his words.
* * * * * * * * *
We set out by nightfall, following the smoke.
The air grew acrid long before we saw flame. Villages had been turned to charred bones, huts collapsed, fields blackened to useless soil. Ash clung to my tongue, bitter and thick.
Wei Lan inhaled with something close to delight. "Even poison does not kill as beautifully as fire."
Qiao Han grunted. "Poison leaves cowards. Fire leaves nothing."
Shen Yu said nothing, but his brush scratched against parchment, trying to keep up with the ruin.
The trail led us to the edge of a hollow valley, where smoke still curled. A handful of men stood there — six, perhaps seven. Robes stained crimson, embroidered with flame motifs. Each bore a torch, their faces lit with fanatic heat.
At their head was a man larger than the rest, his hair bound in fiery knots, skin seared with old burns. His arms gleamed faintly with oil, veins pulsing like embers beneath skin.
A lieutenant, not a captain. But fire enough to burn us all the same.
* * * * * * * * *
"We wait until they sleep," Shen Yu whispered. "Strike swift, unseen—"
I silenced him with a raised hand.
"No," I said softly. "We test them. We test ourselves."
Wei Lan blinked. "Test? You mean fight them head-on?"
Her voice dripped disbelief, but Qiao Han's eyes gleamed. He tightened his grip on his saber, lips curling into a grin.
"Finally," he muttered.
I stepped into the open. Gravel crunched beneath my boots. The Crimson Flame men turned, torches flaring.
The lieutenant's gaze fell on me, then on the shadows where my wolves lingered. His lips peeled into a smile that showed blackened teeth.
"Lotus dogs," he spat, his voice like crackling wood. "I thought shadows would slither eventually. Fire always draws rats."
I let him speak, let his men laugh and jeer. Then I said, calm and low:
"Fire dies when choked. Tonight, you choke."
* * * * * * * * *
They surged forward at once, torches flaring into whips of flame. The valley blazed orange, shadows thrown high against stone walls.
My heart pounded. My muscles screamed with the sudden sprint. But they did not collapse. They held. Weeks of sweat, blood, and stone-strikes surged through me now.
One man lunged, torch swinging. I twisted aside, my shoulder brushing flame — searing pain licked flesh, but my fist drove into his ribs, harder than I remembered being able to strike. He crumpled with a grunt.
Another came, dagger flashing beneath the firelight. I caught his wrist, twisted, felt the bone crack. He screamed, torch falling to dirt. I crushed it beneath my heel, smothering flame.
My lungs burned, but not with weakness. With fire.
* * * * * * * * *
Wei Lan darted past me, her gourd uncorked. Purple smoke hissed into the night, mingling with the torches' blaze. The Crimson Flame men coughed, eyes streaming.
Qiao Han roared like a beast, saber cleaving arcs that scattered sparks. He met two at once, his blade knocking their torches aside. Heat seared his scarred face, but he laughed through it.
Shen Yu — coward that he was — had hidden behind the rocks, scribbling notes even as we bled. But that, too, was useful. His quill would tell the Lotus a story I chose.
* * * * * * * * *
Then the lieutenant came.
His torch was no simple firebrand — it was soaked in oils that burned white-hot, flame licking like a living beast. He swung, and the very air shimmered with heat.
I ducked, the torch missing my face by an inch. Even that breath of flame scorched my cheek raw.
The lieutenant grinned. "Your flesh is soft, dog. Fire will cook it well."
I forced breath through clenched teeth, steadied my stance, and whispered to myself:
Flesh may be soft. But will is iron.
I surged forward, catching his wrist, dragging the torch close not to avoid it — but to smother it. I slammed his burning brand into the dirt, pinning it beneath my weight. His strength was monstrous, arms rippling, but I had learned to cling like a spider. His fire roared — and began to die.
He cursed, swinging his other fist. It crashed against my ribs. Pain burst white-hot. My knees buckled. My breath fled. But I held.
I would not let go.
* * * * * * * * *
Qiao Han's roar thundered as he cut another man down. Wei Lan's poison hissed, choking two more into spasms.
Only the lieutenant remained, straining against me, flame guttering in the dirt.
His lips peeled back, sweat and oil gleaming. "Lotus shadow… you think you choke fire? Fire burns shadows. Fire—"
I smashed my forehead into his nose. Cartilage cracked. His words drowned in blood.
We toppled together, grappling in the ash. He struck again and again, fists like hammers. My vision blurred, but I clung tighter, forcing his torch lower, grinding it into dirt until the flames coughed and sputtered.
At last, it died.
The night fell silent, save for his ragged breathing and the hiss of poison still fading.
The lieutenant glared up at me, face bloodied, fireless. His men lay scattered — slain or writhing in fumes.
I pressed my dagger to his throat.
"Tonight," I whispered, voice low and raw, "fire chokes."
His chest heaved. His eyes burned. But he did not fight.
Not yet.
* * * * * * * * *
The torch hissed its last breath, a thin wisp of smoke rising where flame once roared. The valley smelled of ash, poison, and iron.
The lieutenant squirmed beneath me, blood painting his lips, fury seething in his eyes. His chest rose and fell like bellows, strength still coursing through him — but his fire was gone. My dagger's edge pressed close enough that I felt his pulse hammering against it.
Behind me, Wei Lan corked her gourd with a hiss, disappointment twisting her lips. Qiao Han leaned on his saber, his scarred grin wide and wolfish. Shen Yu hovered at the edge, brush trembling, ink smeared across parchment in frantic strokes.
I looked down at the lieutenant. "You live," I said quietly. "That is my gift to you. Few receive it."
He spat blood at me. It splattered across my cheek, hot and bitter.
"You think shadows can strangle fire?" he rasped. "Flame always spreads. You will choke before it does."
I smiled thinly. "Perhaps. But fire burns what it touches. Shadows reach where fire cannot."
* * * * * * * * *
Qiao Han growled, lifting his saber. "Enough words. Kill him."
Wei Lan licked her lips. "Or better — let me try something new. His veins are strong. I wonder what song they'll sing when filled with toxin."
Shen Yu said nothing, but his quill scratched furiously: Cell fractured — indecision — leader hesitates with blade.
I ignored them all. I pressed harder on the dagger until a bead of blood welled at the lieutenant's throat. His breath hitched.
"You think yourself flame," I murmured, leaning close enough for only him to hear. "But to your captain, you are kindling. One spark to burn, then ash, forgotten. Do you believe Huo Baizhan knows your name?"
His jaw clenched. His silence was answer enough.
"Serve me," I whispered. "Not Lotus. Not fire. Me. Carry a leash around your neck instead of flame in your hand, and you will live. Better — you will matter. You will burn him instead."
His eyes widened a fraction. Fury still lived there, but behind it… a flicker. The first glimmer of doubt.
* * * * * * * * *
Wei Lan scoffed. "He'll never bow. Fire does not kneel."
"Doesn't it?" I asked, not looking at her. "Every fire kneels to wind. And I am the wind that carries it."
I pushed the dagger away, slowly, deliberately, though his eyes stayed locked on me. He did not lunge. He did not strike. He only breathed, ragged and heavy, ash and blood mixing on his lips.
"Your name," I said.
His lips curled. "…Zhang Hui."
"Good," I murmured. "Zhang Hui, you will return to Crimson Flame. You will tell your captain that the Iron Hand stoked these fires, not Lotus. You will swear you saw their banners in the smoke. Do this, and I let you live. Fail me, and I will not send wolves. I will come myself."
His gaze hardened. He saw my body still trembled, still bore the marks of strain. He saw flesh, not iron. But something in my eyes must have convinced him, because he did not laugh.
He nodded once, curtly.
* * * * * * * * *
Qiao Han snarled. "You can't trust him! He'll crawl back to his flames and spit your name into their fire."
I turned to him. "Then let him. If he obeys, we have leash. If he betrays, then his words still plant suspicion. Either way, fire spreads where I choose."
Wei Lan frowned, but there was hunger in her eyes. Hunger for the chaos such lies could sow.
Shen Yu's brush scratched faster. Leader manipulates pawns. Turns enemy into leash. Dangerous ambition.
Good. Let them all see it. Let them all write it.
* * * * * * * * *
I stood, hauling Zhang Hui upright. His knees buckled, but he caught himself, blood dripping from his broken nose. His eyes stayed on me, unreadable.
"Go," I said. "Carry my fire."
He staggered, spat again at the ground, and limped into the night. The flames of his sect had dimmed, but his ember now glowed in my web.
* * * * * * * * *
When he was gone, silence settled heavy.
Qiao Han sheathed his saber with a curse. Wei Lan looked at me as though I were a vial she could not read the label of. Shen Yu's brush slowed, uncertain.
I wiped blood from my cheek, smearing it across my skin like war paint.
"Storms are coming," I said. "We cannot fight thirteen sects head-on. We drown them in each other's blood first. Tonight was not about killing. Tonight was about planting."
Qiao Han's grin returned, savage and sharp. "Planting fire in Iron Hand's house. Hah. I like it."
Wei Lan tilted her head. "If Crimson Flame believes Iron Hand moved first, they will burn each other. And we…" Her lips parted in a poisonous smile. "…we gather the ashes."
Shen Yu lowered his brush. For once, he said nothing. His eyes darted to me, fear and awe mingling.
Good. Fear was leash enough.
* * * * * * * * *
We returned to the safehold at dawn, the valley behind us a grave of smoke and silence.
Silent Reed waited.
He leaned against the doorframe, as if he had stood there all night, knowing precisely when we would arrive. His eyes swept over us — bloodstained, smoke-marked, weary but alive.
Then he looked at me.
"Where is the lieutenant?" he asked.
"Gone," I answered.
Reed's brows lifted faintly. "Dead?"
"Alive," I said. "Carrying truth to his master."
"Truth?" His voice curved around the word, tasting it.
"That Iron Hand burned the villages," I replied evenly. "Not Lotus."
Wei Lan smirked. Qiao Han barked laughter. Shen Yu froze, quill hovering.
Silent Reed studied me a long moment. His eyes were sharp, hawk-like, slicing past flesh and bone to measure the marrow beneath.
At last, his lips curved in a shadow of a smile.
"You twist flame into leash," he murmured. "Ambitious. Dangerous."
He stepped close, close enough that I could smell the faint iron tang of his robes. His voice lowered.
"But remember this, Lin Xuan. Leashes break. And when fire escapes the leash, it burns its master first."
I met his gaze without flinching. "Then I will strangle the fire before it breathes."
The silence stretched, heavy as stone.
Then Reed chuckled — soft, brief, almost amused. He turned, shadows swallowing him once more.
"Too quickly," he murmured as he vanished. "You learn too quickly."
* * * * * * * * *
When he was gone, I exhaled slowly. My ribs ached where Zhang Hui's fists had struck. My knuckles split again, blood seeping. My body was still fragile, far too fragile.
But my web had grown. One ember of Crimson Flame now glowed in my threads, carrying lies to ignite storms elsewhere.
Storms gather fast when fed.
I flexed my bloodied hands, felt the tremor of weakness still in them — and the iron will behind that weakness.
Soon, I promised myself. Soon this vessel will no longer tremble.
And when the storms break, it will not be me who drowns.