Across the Hollow Winds
Li Shen stood at the threshold of the Vale of Mirrors, the newly claimed Mirror Vale Blade sheathed across his back beside the Ocean Soul Blade. The path before him was no longer marked by map or scroll—it was written in the pressure of fate, in the gathering winds that whispered his name.
He traveled north.
The world changed around him.
The verdant echoes of the Sapphire Reach gave way to starker lands, where twisted pine trees clung to cliff faces and the skies were streaked with charcoal clouds. Thunder cracked with no rain, and beneath Li Shen's feet, the earth trembled as though warning him back.
By the fourth day, he crossed into the domain known as the Furnace Line—a jagged expanse of broken mesas and rivers of simmering magma that had flowed since the Age of Unbinding.
Few passed here. Fewer returned.
But above it all, like a thorn of glass stabbed into the sky, stood his destination: the Citadel of Aetherflame.
A relic of the First Dynasties, once a beacon of arcane power, now held by an exiled sect known only as the Thousand Lantern Sect, rumored to serve the Hollow Council in secret. The Mirror Vale Blade had awakened something within him—an urgency, a pull. And now it guided him here.
The Ascent of Scorched Steps
The only path to the Citadel was carved into the side of a molten gorge, a thousand jagged stairs known as the Steps of Regret. It was said each step reflected a regret from the traveler's soul—illusions meant to deter the unworthy.
At the base, Li Shen paused and touched the hilt of the Mirror Vale Blade.
No illusions greeted him.
Only the silence of one who had already faced them.
As he climbed, sweat poured from his brow. Ash rode the wind in choking bursts. Strange lights flickered in the cracks of the stones—arcane remnants of forgotten rites.
Halfway up, a shadow blocked the path.
A tall man in ragged monk's robes stood with bare feet upon the glowing stone. His face was hidden by a mask of obsidian lacquered in crimson lines.
"I am Keeper Ashveil," the man intoned. "No one climbs the Aetherflame without first burning."
Li Shen drew both swords—Ocean Soul in his left, Mirror Vale in his right.
"I've burned before," he said. "What more can you show me?"
The monk bowed.
And struck.
Duel on the Ashen Steps
Ashveil moved like smoke—each step flowing into the next, his sleeves snapping with hidden blades that glowed orange from intense heat. He used a forgotten fire style: The Crimson Spiral, once lost during the Wars of Heaven.
Li Shen countered with Second Form: Rolling Undertide, slipping beneath a scything ember arc.
Their blades met.
The Ocean Soul hissed against heat. The Mirror Vale Blade shimmered, reflecting the monk's movements a half-beat before they happened.
Li Shen's mind split—each hand dancing to a different rhythm. The Ocean Soul struck wide, fluid. The Mirror Vale thrust sharp, surgical, each angle aimed at potential rather than presence.
Ashveil responded with blinding speed, incanting short fire sigils that exploded from his palms in rings. Li Shen rolled forward through flame, his cloak ablaze, and lashed out with Tenth Form: Horizon Spearfall, an extended arc of qi that cracked the stone.
Ashveil faltered.
Li Shen surged in.
Unnamed Form: Mirror Breaks the Flame.
A blur of mirrored strikes carved an opening—and with a final, inverted slash of the Ocean Soul, Ashveil was disarmed and sent spinning across the steps.
Breathing hard, Li Shen approached.
The monk looked up and removed his mask.
He was young—no older than Li Shen himself. Eyes burned with sorrow, not hatred.
"I thought I was guarding this place from invaders," he whispered. "But perhaps I was guarding it from the truth."
Li Shen offered him a hand.
Ashveil took it.
The Gates of Aetherflame
At the summit, black walls of volcanic glass rose like towers of obsidian crystal. Flames danced along their surfaces, fed by no visible source. Between them stood a massive circular gate etched with sigils of all Five Elements.
As Li Shen approached, the Mirror Vale Blade began to hum.
The gate responded, shifting its carvings—removing Water and Metal, leaving only Fire, Mirror, and Void.
"Only those who have confronted the unknown," Ashveil said, now walking beside him, "may pass into the inner sanctum. The Thousand Lantern Sect believe that knowledge is fire—and fire consumes."
Li Shen raised the Mirror Vale Blade and pressed it into the center glyph.
The gate shattered like ice.
Secrets Beneath the Flame
Inside, the Citadel was nothing like he expected.
It was not a fortress of soldiers, but of scholars—men and women in white robes moved like wraiths between halls of molten light. The central atrium held a massive orb of suspended flame, within which danced glowing fragments of memory.
"The Thousand Lantern Sect stores truth in fire," said Ashveil. "Each flame is a forgotten history."
A woman approached—her robes were silver, her eyes blank.
"Li Shen," she said. "We have been waiting."
She extended a hand.
And in it, he saw a flame with his master's face.
The Flame of the Past
Li Shen took it.
The fire did not burn—it pulled.
And suddenly, he stood within memory.
He saw his master—Master Yuan Qiu—standing at the shores of the Sapphire Reach, not alone, but beside a man cloaked in crimson. They spoke in hushed tones.
"The Mirror Vale Blade must not be found," Master Yuan said. "Not yet. Not until he is ready."
The man in crimson nodded. "And when he is?"
Yuan Qiu turned toward the fire. "Then he must go to Wraithbone Hollow. That is where it all began."
Li Shen staggered as the vision faded.
The woman in silver spoke again.
"You are the last of your master's blood-oath line. The Reaping Hand did not kill him for his power. They killed him to stop this."
She pointed north.
"To Wraithbone Hollow—the grave of the First Sword."
Northward Once More
That night, Li Shen stood on the spire balcony, looking toward the distant, frozen horizon. Snowstorms danced in the far distance, where glaciers met dead woods.
Ashveil stepped beside him.
"You will go?"
Li Shen nodded. "There's more than one blade in this world that reflects truth. But not all truths should remain buried."
He sheathed both swords.
"The Hollow Council is moving. And I don't intend to let them reach the First Sword before I do."
And with that, he leapt from the spire and vanished into the wind.