The serpent's awakening wasn't a prophecy. It was a cycle—one that always ended in ruin.
But this time, something changed.
> "You weren't chosen by fate," the old man says, standing at the edge of the overgrown forest. "You were chosen by consequence."
The moment you touched the shrine back in Japan, it responded to something dormant within you—a sliver of spirit long forgotten. Not inherited, but born. Carried in bloodlines faded from memory.
That night, he leads you beneath the roots of a sprawling banyan tree in the heart of the Philippine jungle. There, seated in silence, waits a spirit: a woman with hair like vines and glowing amber eyes. She speaks in riddles, but her voice anchors something in you. Yet behind her eyes lies a secret—one she keeps even from the old man.
Something about you unsettles her. Not fear. Recognition.
The old man turns once to glance at her, then at you. He says nothing. Only a faint tension lingers—like something once lost has somehow returned, but naming it would unravel everything.
The fate entwining you did not begin here; it was stirred by something older, gentler… a love so deep it defied the will of gods and woke the spirit within you.
> "Foxfire is not flame. It's memory," she says. "A spirit's essence. Yours is young—unshaped."
The training begins not with strength, but silence. You are told to still your breath until you hear yourself thinking in echoes. To walk blindfolded until your soul guides your steps.
> "You don't command foxfire," she whispers. "You offer it. It only burns when it believes your will is true."
You fail—again and again—until, one night, a flame answers your call.
But the spirit frowns.
> "It listened. Good. But next time… it will test if you're worthy."
Behind her quiet words lingers a truth: your soul has done this before. But the past is locked, hidden even from you—for to speak it might alter what must still unfold.
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