Morning came late to Darnell.
The mist hadn't lifted. If anything, it thickened overnight, draping the village in cold silence. The sun was little more than a pale smudge behind the clouds, barely warming the damp stone paths.
Kahel's body ached from the inside out. Not the sharp pain of injury — something deeper, like his bones had stretched during the night.
He sat cross-legged near the ruined hearth, eyes closed, breathing slowly.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.The rhythm came more easily now. Not perfect, but smoother. Less forced.
The warmth he'd felt yesterday — the curling thread of qi — flickered again in his chest. Brief. Incomplete. But real.
He opened his eyes, just as the door creaked.
She was back.
The old woman entered without a word. Same reed cloak. Same sharp presence. Her steps didn't disturb the dust. Her eyes — or what little he could see of them — gleamed behind the veil like embers under soot.
Kahel stood slowly.
"I thought you said I wasn't ready."
She gave a raspy chuckle. "You're not. But the flame chose you. So here I am."
She placed a wrapped bundle on the broken table and unrolled it. Inside were small polished stones, bones etched with symbols, and a cracked jade slip.
Kahel stared at them, unsure.
The woman gestured for him to sit.
He did.
"What is this?"
"Foundation," she said simply. "Before you gather essence, before you build core or soul or domain, you must become still. If your body is stone, your spirit must be water. Still water sees through all things."
Kahel frowned. "That sounds... vague."
She smacked him lightly on the forehead with her cane.
"It is vague. And true. Now — close your eyes."
He obeyed.
"Listen to the breath. Not yours — the world's. The trees, the wind, the clouds. There is rhythm in silence."
Kahel tried. The wind rustled somewhere above. A bird chirped once. The faint gurgle of a creek filtered through the ruins.
He exhaled.
Then again.
Slowly, his heartbeat softened. The chill of the morning faded.
The warmth returned — a slow burn in his core.
Then the woman spoke.
"The flame you carry is older than you know. It will feed on what you give it — rage, grief, pride, love. All will burn, and it will grow. But if you lose control… it will consume you."
Kahel's brow furrowed. "What is it? Why do I have it?"
The woman was silent for a long moment.
Then: "Ask me again when your bones can shatter stone."
She stood.
"I'll return tomorrow. Keep breathing. Keep still."
Before he could ask anything else, she was gone again.
Kahel sat in the quiet, heart still racing from her words.The flame. It wasn't normal. He knew that much. But what was it? Why did it feel so natural — like it had always been there, just waiting?
He didn't have answers.
But he had time.And time meant training.
Three days passed.
The old woman returned each morning. She never gave her name. Never offered praise. But each lesson drew Kahel deeper into a state of focus he hadn't known was possible.
He could feel the qi now — not just during meditation, but all the time. In the wind. The rain. The breath of animals. It flowed like rivers around the world, unseen, but never still.
And in him — the flame grew stronger. No longer a flicker. Now it pulsed, slow and steady, like a heart of heat buried within his soul.
He hadn't told her about the scroll yet.
Something told him to wait.
On the fourth morning, the mist finally lifted. A rare thing.
Kahel stood on the same northern hill, breathing slowly as the sun broke through the clouds. His shirt clung to him, soaked from morning drills. His limbs trembled — exhaustion wrapped around him like a weight, but the feeling was good.
Earned.
Then he heard it — a sharp cry.
Not a bird. A person.
From the western ridge, beyond the treeline.
He moved before thinking, sprinting downhill and into the brush. The trees were slick with morning dew, but his footing held.
He pushed through a curtain of vines and froze.
There, tangled in the roots of a fallen tree, was a girl.
Her robes were torn, one arm bleeding. A sword lay just out of reach. Her long dark hair was matted with dirt, and her breathing came in ragged bursts.
But her eyes — they were fierce. Like steel pulled from a forge.
She saw him, narrowed her gaze.
"Touch that sword," she rasped, "and I'll kill you."
Kahel blinked.
"I wasn't going to," he said. "Are you—"
A deep growl echoed through the woods.
Kahel turned — just in time to see the brush behind him tremble.
A spirit beast, fur slicked with rain, padded out from the trees. It looked like a panther, but larger, with pale spikes along its spine and glowing green eyes. Its mouth dripped venom.
Kahel's pulse quickened.
The girl cursed under her breath and tried to move, but pain locked her in place.
Kahel stepped forward, placing himself between her and the beast.
He had no sword. No talisman. No armor.
But the flame was there. It rose in his chest like a wave breaking against stone.
The beast hissed, crouched.
Kahel exhaled.
And for the first time, he invited the fire forward.