Chapter 61: The River That Burns
The river screamed.
When Le Wai plunged into its depths, the black current closed around him like a thousand grasping hands. Cold, thick, suffocating—yet the fire within him did not die. It erupted.
Light burst outward in golden arcs, boiling the water, searing the shadows into ash. The river convulsed, thrashing like a living thing, its voice a cacophony of whispers shrieking in pain.
Wai… Wai…
The chorus of the dead rose again, louder, endless. Faces pressed from the liquid darkness, mouths wide in accusation. Their eyes were hollow wells, their fingers skeletal hooks.
"You burn us still," they cried. "You take what was never yours."
The ember roared against them, fire lashing out in whips of molten light. They are lies, it thundered within his skull. Ash cannot accuse flame. Ash cannot rise again.
But Le Wai's chest clenched, his heart stuttering against the weight of memory. Seris's face lingered in the water, clearer than the rest. Her lips moved, though her voice was not her own—twisted, warped by the river.
"You could have saved me."
The fire surged, searing the vision apart, yet the words stabbed deeper than the shadows' claws.
Le Wai's scream broke free—not of pain, but of defiance. His body blazed brighter, every golden crack splitting wider until he was more light than flesh. The current fought to drown him, but he did not sink. He walked across the water's surface as if it were stone, each step leaving fire boiling behind.
The soldiers on the shore stared in awe and terror. Some fell to their knees, others lifted weapons that seemed pitiful before such fury. Ryn only watched, wide-eyed, fists clenched as if he could hold the flame with his will alone.
"Wai…" he whispered.
---
The River Fights Back
The current rose in towering columns, shadow-water twisting into beasts with many arms, many mouths. They hurled themselves at him, their roars like storms breaking mountains.
Le Wai met them with fire. Each strike of his sword erupted in arcs of molten gold, cutting through the black tide. The beasts dissolved, but for every one that fell, three more clawed their way from the river.
The ember exulted. Yes. More. Let them come. The river is endless, but so are we. Burn, and be unbroken.
But each burst of flame cost him. The cracks on his skin widened, bleeding light instead of blood. His vision blurred with brightness, the line between his body and the fire fraying.
At what point, he wondered, do I stop being a man at all?
The question hissed in the back of his mind, and the river answered with laughter.
"You are already gone," it whispered. "Only fire wears your face."
He struck harder, burning the voices away.
---
On the Shore
The survivors watched in stunned silence as the river itself ignited, black waves boiling gold. Steam rose in choking clouds, the heat searing their faces though they stood far back.
"Gods preserve us…" one soldier breathed. "He's burning the water."
The grizzled captain, once Le Wai's fiercest doubter, stood rigid, jaw tight. "Not the water," he said. "The corruption in it."
But his voice carried no certainty, only fear.
Ryn stepped forward, past the others, until the fire's heat nearly blistered his skin. He did not look away.
"You can do this," he whispered, though Le Wai could not hear him. "You're not fire. You're you."
His words were drowned by the roar of the river, but he kept speaking, as if faith alone could bridge the distance.
---
The Breaking Point
Le Wai's breaths came ragged, each one crackling with heat. His skin was nearly gone, his body an outline of molten veins. Yet still the river fought, endless waves hurling themselves upon him.
The ember pressed harder. Give me more. Tear away the last of your flesh. Become flame fully, and we will consume it all.
Le Wai staggered, the weight of its hunger nearly toppling him. His sword trembled in his grip.
If I yield… I may end the river. But I will end myself too.
Through the haze of fire and steam, he saw Ryn on the shore, the boy's small frame silhouetted by the light. His lips moved, silent at this distance, but Le Wai knew what he said.
You're not fire. You're you.
He clenched his jaw. "I will not vanish into you," he told the ember, not with defiance, but with command. "You are mine. My fire. Not the other way around."
The ember snarled, furious. Without me, you are nothing.
"Then I'll be nothing that burns on my own terms."
And for the first time, Le Wai did not let the ember surge unchecked. He seized it—gripped it like a blade—and bent it to his will. The fire screamed as though alive, twisting, thrashing, but it yielded. Slowly, agonizingly, it obeyed.
His form steadied, no longer unraveling into light. His sword burned brighter, focused, honed. The cracks upon his body did not widen further; they shone like veins of molten gold, controlled, restrained.
The ember's roar echoed in his skull, but beneath it was silence—his silence, his choice.
---
The River Burns
With a cry that shook the valley, Le Wai plunged his blade deep into the heart of the current.
Light exploded outward, not wild, not consuming, but sharp and purposeful. The fire coursed through the river, racing along its veins like molten arteries. The black water writhed, shrieking, collapsing in on itself.
For miles, the corruption shriveled. Shadows clutched at the banks, howling as the fire devoured them. The land trembled, mountains echoing with the sound of boiling stone.
The survivors shielded their faces, blinded by the brilliance.
When at last the fire dimmed, the river was no longer black. It steamed, clear and wounded, but no longer alive with shadow. Its whispers were gone.
Le Wai staggered on the bank, smoke rising from his skin. His sword dimmed, its glow fading back into steel. He fell to one knee, the ground hissing beneath him.
Ryn was the first to reach him, throwing his arms around him despite the heat.
"You did it," the boy breathed, trembling. "You're still you."
Le Wai managed a hoarse chuckle, though his body ached with every movement. "For now."
---
Ashes and Aftermath
The survivors gathered slowly, reverent, wary. They looked not at the river, but at Le Wai, their expressions a mixture of fear and awe.
The captain stepped forward, eyes narrowed. Then, with a slow motion, he bent his knee, lowering his head.
One by one, the others followed. Not out of worship, but of recognition. Not of fire, but of the man who wielded it.
Le Wai's gaze drifted to the steaming water. The ember within him purred, satisfied.
This is only the beginning, it whispered. The river is wounded, not slain. The source still waits. Deeper. Darker. Stronger.
Le Wai closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him, yet he could not deny the truth. This victory was not an ending. It was a doorway.
Ryn squeezed his arm, grounding him. "We'll face it," the boy said firmly. "Together."
Le Wai looked at him, then at the survivors who had chosen to stand instead of flee.
His voice was quiet, but it carried across the silence.
"Then together we walk into the dark."
The river steamed behind them, whispering no more.
For now.