Smoke drifted lazily from the incense burners, curling into strange shapes in the half-darkness. Somewhere deep beneath the temple ruins, far from moonlight or stars, the Ashbound gathered.
Hooded figures stood in a circle, their faces hidden. At the center, seated on a jagged obsidian throne, was their leader.
He did not speak.
He didn't need to.
One of the robed figures finally stepped forward, voice raspy with fear. "The heir has touched the Mirror, my lord. The echoes stir again."
Silence. Heavy and absolute.
Then, the leader lifted his head. His face was ageless—too smooth to be old, too sharp to be young. His eyes were voids, and when he smiled, it was like the cracking of stone.
"So," he murmured, "the fire stirs in his blood again."
He rose, and his cloak swept the floor like liquid night. "Then the time for whispers is over. Ready the Shadowbinders. Tell the Sealed Sisterhood to begin the rites. We strike before the flame learns to burn."
Another figure knelt. "Should we eliminate the heir?"
The leader paused.
"No," he said, almost fondly. "Let him come to us. Let him remember everything. Let him rise, thinking he has a choice."
He turned to a wall etched with ancient symbols—drawings of flame, chains, and a broken crown.
"Because that's when it will hurt the most."
---
Meanwhile, back in the forest
Yuren flopped onto the grass, arms spread. "Nope. Done. Absolutely dead. Carry me."
Zhaoyan raised an eyebrow. "We trained for one hour."
"One hour too long," Yuren groaned. "Also, your idea of 'training' is just trying to kill me with flying knives!"
"They were paper talismans."
"They were sharp paper talismans!"
Zhaoyan tossed him a bottle of water and sat beside him. The clearing they'd chosen for training was secluded, shielded by trees and the runes carved into nearby rocks. Even the wind here felt old.
"You've gotten faster," Zhaoyan said quietly.
Yuren opened one eye. "Really?"
Zhaoyan nodded. "But your fire is still locked. It's responding to emotion, not control."
Yuren sat up slowly, the seriousness returning. "How do I unlock it?"
"You can't," said a voice.
Both turned.
The ghost girl from before—barefoot, silver-eyed—stood at the edge of the clearing. She wasn't alone anymore.
Beside her hovered three glowing wisps, each flickering with a different hue: blue, red, and gold.
"You must be chosen by it," she said. "Just as she once was."
Yuren stood. "Chosen by… fire?"
She nodded. "The sacred flame isn't a tool. It's a being. A spirit older than this land. You can't command it. You must earn it."
Zhaoyan crossed his arms. "And how does he do that?"
The girl's eyes dimmed. "By proving his heart can bear the weight of its memory."
Suddenly, the three wisps darted forward, circling Yuren like curious birds.
The red one whispered, "Show us your fury."
The blue one coiled tighter, "Show us your sorrow."
The golden one burned brightest, "Show us your truth."
Yuren felt something inside him begin to crack open—not painfully, but deeply, like an old wound finally breathing.
He clenched his fists. "Then watch."
---
That night
He stood alone in the clearing.
Zhaoyan had gone to prepare wards in case of ambush, and the ghost girl had vanished into mist.
Yuren stared into the small fire he'd lit.
His voice was quiet.
"I don't remember everything. But I know what loss feels like."
The fire flickered.
"I know what it's like to be afraid of who I am. To think I'll hurt the people I care about just by existing."
The red wisp drifted close.
"I know what it's like to be left behind."
The blue one followed, slow and gentle.
"And I know I'm not that person I saw in the mirror. I'm me. I'm Yuren. I fall on my face, I complain too much, I eat snacks during demon-hunting missions—"
The golden one hovered before him.
"—but I don't run. Not anymore."
He opened his hands.
The three wisps flared—
And suddenly, fire erupted around him.
Not hot. Not wild.
It was alive.
It danced with his breath, pulsed with his heartbeat.
The red, the blue, the gold—swirled into one.
Zhaoyan returned at that moment—and stopped cold at the edge of the clearing.
He stared.
Yuren stood within a ring of living flame, eyes glowing faintly, hair swept by wind that didn't exist.
He looked both entirely himself… and like something reborn.
Zhaoyan took a slow step forward.
Yuren smiled shakily. "Uh… surprise?"
Zhaoyan smiled back. "Now you're ready."
---
Elsewhere
In a distant cave, the Ashbound leader stirred as the air shifted.
He turned toward the open flame beside him.
It bowed low, like it had seen something greater.
The leader's eyes narrowed.
"So… the flame has chosen again."
He turned to his followers.
"Prepare the Revenants. We march at dawn."
---
To be continued