The blind herbalist moved through the narrow cave path with steps as precise as a blade's edge. Kael followed, sweat beading on his brow—not from fear, but from the weight of silence that pressed on his back.
"How do you see?" he asked at last, voice low.
"I don't," she replied, her lips tugging into a knowing smile. "But the mountain speaks in scents and echoes, boy. You've simply never learned to listen."
The path opened into a hollow chamber deep beneath the sect grounds—twisting roots coiled like serpents through cracked stone, and a faint blue glow pulsed from ancient moss on the walls. The air was heavy with earth and something older—forgotten.
"Before there were sects," she said, brushing a hand against a blackened vine, "there were keepers of the flame. Guardians of the blade that shaped kingdoms, ended wars… and chose its bearer."
Kael's breath caught. "You mean the sword I found?"
She turned toward him, blind eyes staring straight into his soul. "No, boy. I mean the sword that found you."
The old woman knelt and pressed her hand into the ground. Stone shifted with a grinding moan. A panel opened, revealing a spiral staircase descending into darkness lit only by flickers of red firelight.
"These are not tales for disciples," she murmured. "But your path… it was never meant to be theirs."
As they descended, walls carved with ancient runes came into view. Kael could not read them, but the symbols throbbed with a presence that made his spine tense. At the bottom, a massive stone tablet stood, cracked and veined with dried blood.
"This is where the first Warden fell," she said. "He died protecting the last ember of the Flame."
"What… is the Flame?" Kael asked.
She didn't answer directly. Instead, she reached into her robes and drew out a tiny vial of glowing ash. "This is what remains of it. And perhaps… it's what remains in you."
Kael stared at the swirling ember. It pulsed once—like a heartbeat—and then dimmed.
"Pain carved you hollow, Kael," she whispered. "But hollow things can be filled. And fire... always needs a vessel."
Kael clenched his fists. His journey had been one of rejection, of fists and fury and desperation. But now, beneath stone and root, something deeper stirred in his bones.
"Tell me what to do," he said.
The blind herbalist gave a rare nod. "Then your real trials begin."