Chapter 51: Whispers of the Ember
Darkness lingered even after dawn.
The pale sunlight spilled across the battlefield, washing over shattered stone and molten scars, yet it could not erase the weight that pressed upon Le Wai's chest. He sat slumped against the ruined earth, every breath shallow, every heartbeat echoing the ember within him.
The silence was suffocating. No cries of war. No clash of steel. Only the faint rustle of ash carried by the wind.
And yet, within that silence… there was a whisper.
Do you hear it?
Le Wai's eyes fluttered open. The voice was not from the battlefield, not from the shadows that had fled with the mastermind—it was from inside him. A faint murmur, soft and indistinct, yet it resonated with the ember's pulse.
His fingers tightened around the soil. "Who…?"
The whisper grew clearer, threading through his thoughts like smoke through a crack.
You call it yours. You wield it as though it were born of you. But power… power has a price. And mine has been paid in blood.
Le Wai's chest burned. The ember within him flared, not in defiance this time, but in unrest, as though struggling against itself. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he was not upon the battlefield at all.
He stood instead in a place of gold and shadow.
A vast expanse stretched before him, endless plains of ash illuminated by a faint, eternal fire that burned without fuel. Figures moved in the haze—warriors clad in forgotten armor, their bodies half-consumed by flame. Their eyes glowed with the same ember that pulsed within Le Wai's chest.
One by one, they turned to him.
And one by one, they whispered:
We bore it before you.
We fought, and we fell.
The ember is not hope—it is hunger.
Le Wai staggered back, clutching his chest. "No… you're wrong. This fire saved me. It gave me strength!"
A tall figure stepped forward from the haze. His face was obscured by flame, but his presence was crushing—calm, unwavering, yet heavy with sorrow. His voice was the same that had whispered within Le Wai's mind.
Strength, yes. But strength is never given freely. The ember is the remnant of a will older than kingdoms, older than the wars of men. It devoured me. It will devour you.
The ground trembled beneath Le Wai's feet. He shook his head, defiance surging even against the weight of their stares. "Then I'll fight it. I'll make it mine, no matter what it takes!"
The figure tilted his head, as though regarding a child's stubbornness. Then, slowly, he extended his hand—fire coiling like a chain around his arm.
Then take it, heir of dawn. Take the burden we could not bear.
The ember within Le Wai's chest flared, roaring like a living flame. His body seized, agony ripping through his veins as though molten fire replaced his blood. He screamed, collapsing to his knees.
The vision shattered.
He was back on the battlefield, the dawn sky overhead, his body convulsing from the ember's rage. His skin burned with glowing cracks of light, golden fire threatening to spill free from within.
And yet, through the torment, his grip found his sword once more.
"I won't break," he rasped, voice shaking but firm. "Not to Kael. Not to the shadows. Not even to you."
The ember pulsed once. Twice. Then steadied—its flame dimming to a quiet glow, as if conceding, if only for now.
Le Wai collapsed forward, gasping, drenched in sweat. His body screamed for rest, but the ember had left him alive. Alive, and bound even tighter than before.
Somewhere in the ruins, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence.
Le Wai forced his head up, vision swimming. Figures were emerging through the smoke—soldiers, survivors, allies who had fled the cataclysmic battle. Relief flickered across their weary faces when they saw him still breathing.
But in Le Wai's heart, there was no relief. Only the echo of the whisper.
We fought, and we fell.
The ember is hunger.
And for the first time, as dawn rose over the ashes, Le Wai wondered:
Had he truly won… or had he merely delayed the moment when the ember would claim him, just as it had claimed all the others before?