The Ashborne Clan courtyard thrummed with anticipation. Torches burned high against the night sky, banners rippled, and youths lined the stone arena, their eyes bright with arrogance and hunger. The Awakening Ceremony was the pride of the clan, the night when talent was measured and futures declared.
But tonight the whispers were not about those standing proudly in line.
They were about the boy who had returned from the dead.
Kael Ashborne.
The cripple. The cursed. The one cast into the Abyss and forgotten.
Now he stood again, thin frame draped in ragged robes, eyes glowing with ember light. Each step he took left faint scorch marks behind, as though the stone itself could not escape his fire.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Elders shifted uneasily. Youths sneered to mask their unease.
"How… how is he alive?""Didn't the Patriarch himself order him cast down?""That flame in his eyes—it's not qi. It's something else."
Kael's lips curled into a half-smile, sharp and arrogant. His voice carried across the courtyard, steady and cutting.
"You stripped me of name, blood, and dignity. You cast me into the pit, thinking I would die with the rest of the clan's forgotten. But in darkness, I found a fire that even Heaven fears. And now, I return—not as your cripple, but as the bearer of the Eternal Ember."
The torches flickered violently, as though bowing to his words.
The Patriarch's face darkened, but before he could respond, a cold laugh cut through the air.
"Still spouting madness, cousin?"
The crowd parted. Joren Ashborne strode forward, silver robes gleaming, aura of qi pulsing like stormlight. At only fourteen, he had already reached 3rd Rank Qi Disciple, the clan's most promising youth. His jaw was sharp, his eyes full of confidence—and contempt.
"You dare flaunt yourself here?" Joren sneered. "You who were born with broken meridians, a parasite dragging on the clan's name? Do you think wearing rags and smearing yourself with ash makes you more than trash?"
The crowd chuckled at his venom. Elders nodded approval. Joren was their pride, their future. Kael was the shame they wanted buried.
But Kael only smiled, and it was not the smile of a beaten dog. It was the smile of a wolf baring fangs.
"Trash?" he echoed softly. He raised his hand. A black-crimson flame bloomed in his palm, burning with no fuel, devouring even the light around it. "Then tell me, Joren—why does your 'talent' tremble at this fire?"
Gasps erupted. Even the strongest elders leaned forward, unease written on their faces.
Joren's sneer faltered for a heartbeat, but pride burned too strong. He raised his own hand, qi surging around him in bright silver light.
"Then let's see whose fire burns brighter," he snarled. "Patriarch, allow me to erase this heresy before it spreads."
The Patriarch hesitated. His gaze flickered between Joren and Kael. But the weight of tradition demanded blood. He nodded once.
The crowd roared.
The duel began.
Joren moved first, his body blurring as qi burst beneath his feet. His palm struck like a spear of silver lightning, the force of a trained prodigy.
Kael did not move.
At the last instant, his ember flared. Black-crimson fire surged, swallowing the strike. The silver qi shattered, disintegrating into ash before it could even touch him.
Joren stumbled, eyes wide. "What—"
Kael's voice was cold, arrogant. "Your qi is nothing before my flame. Even Heaven's laws cannot bind it. And you? You are less than Heaven."
The words cut sharper than any blade.
Joren roared in fury, striking again and again, qi blazing. Each strike shattered on Kael's flame, devoured without trace. Sweat poured down Joren's brow, panic flickering behind his arrogance.
Kael stepped forward, each stride scorching the stone. His ember pulsed, his voice low but carrying like thunder.
"You called me cripple. Trash. Forsaken." He raised his hand. Flame surged, coiling into a serpent of fire. "Then let this cripple show you how trash burns."
The serpent struck.
Joren screamed as his qi barrier cracked, his sleeve ignited, skin blackening beneath the impossible heat. He fell to his knees, clutching his arm, eyes wide in disbelief.
Gasps rippled through the courtyard.
"Joren… lost?""No… impossible…""What is this flame?"
Kael stood over him, flame curling lazily around his fingers, arrogance etched into every line of his face.
"This is the fire that fate itself cannot smother," he said. His gaze swept across the clan, lingering on the Patriarch. "And this is only the beginning."
The Patriarch rose, fury twisting his features, but behind his anger was something else. Fear.
Kael's eyes narrowed. He had seen it.
Even the Patriarch feared the ember.
And that fear was worth more than victory.
He turned away from Joren's trembling form, his voice carrying for all to hear.
"Remember this night. Remember the cripple you cast into the abyss. Remember the ember you tried to extinguish. For one day soon, this fire will not only consume your pride, your clan, your empire…"
His eyes blazed, his voice a vow.
"…it will consume Heaven itself."
The flame roared skyward, drowning torchlight, burning against the stars as though challenging them.
And in that moment, every soul present—elder, youth, even Patriarch—knew one truth.
Kael Ashborne had returned not as cripple, but as calamity.