Kai stood before the Grand Flame Pool, the sacred spring nestled within Emberheart's inner sanctum. The silver-blue water shimmered with dense flame Qi, yet remained cool to the touch—a paradox that only those marked by the sect's core flame could approach.
His clothes were torn from the battle. His Sabre was chipped.
But his gaze held fire.
Elder Xuan entered quietly behind him, his long sleeves brushing against the stone as he moved.
"You held your own," the elder said. "Impressive for an outer disciple."
Kai didn't respond immediately.
"They were after me. Not the sect."
Elder Xuan's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You've begun to understand."
The Grand Flame Pool rippled as Kai stepped into it.
Pain hit him like a wall—not physical, but spiritual.
The pool tested the soul.
It peeled away falsehoods, doubt, and ego-leaving only one's true essence to soak in the flame. Most disciples could only endure it for a minute or two before collapsing.
Kai stood still, neck-deep.
Inside, his mind drifted to the dragon's voice—silent since the battle.
What was he becoming?
Why has the seal broken now?
And why was he hunted before he even knew what he carried?
On the far side of the chamber, Elder Xuan spoke with two robed figures from the Inner Council. Kai couldn't hear their words, but he didn't need to.
They were not debating how to protect him.
They were deciding how to use him.
Or contain him.
Hours later, Kai emerged from the pool, steam rising from his skin. His flame had changed again—less violent, more refined.
Linya was waiting outside.
She handed him a new sabre—lightweight, polished steel, etched with fire glyphs.
"Replacement. Forged with your flame signature."
Kai took it and nodded. "Thanks."
She walked beside him for a while, silent.
Then: "They're watching you now." All of them."
"I know."
"They don't trust you."
Kai smirked faintly. "They shouldn't."
That night, under cover of darkness, a messenger pigeon landed in the Emberheart archives.
It carried a sealed letter addressed to one man: Sect Master Jinhai.
The letter bore crimson insignia.
Inside, a single line is written in blood-red ink:
"The Matron offers a trade. The boy's head for peace."
Far to the east, deep within a crimson temple lit by soul flames, the Matron of the Blood Sect stood before a bloodstained altar.
Around her kneeled eight masked cultists, each humming low chants in a forgotten tongue.
Before them hovered an orb of mist, glowing red, pulsing with heat.
Inside it was Kai's face—blurred, but burning with golden light.
"He is young," one cultist muttered. "Barely tempered."
"But he carried the mark," another said. "The Dragon Flame sleeps inside him."
The matron raised her hand.
"We do not need him alive to harvest the fire."
Her voice was calm. Cold. Timeless.
"Summon the Soul Hunter."
Back in Emberheart, Kai trained under the moonlight.
He moved through the Flame Sabre forms with sharp grace, each step echoing through the stone courtyard.
From the shadows, Wei Chen watched him, arms crossed.
After a long silence, he spoke.
"If you survive what's coming," he said, "you won't just be a disciple."
Kai paused mid-strike. "Then what?"
Wei Chen's eyes narrowed.
"You'll be a threat."