The hall flickered with dim red light—an arena carved from iron and heat. For two months, Auren had lived
inside it. Bled inside it. Grown inside it.
Viron watched him now with a predator's patience.
Auren's flame hovered above his palm—a shimmering blue fire, layered and alive. Not normal flame. Not
even Xeon flame. Something else. Something conscious.
Viron circled him.
"This fire isn't following my will," he said. "It's following yours—too closely. A shard of your mind has fused
with it. Interesting. Dangerous. But interesting."
Auren stayed silent, focused. The flame pulsed as though listening.
"Today," Viron continued, "you learn two things: 1. How to truly control your flame. 2. And how to burn your
blood without dying."
Auren's breath steadied. This was what he had fought for.
The Crimson Flow
They sat cross‑legged.
Auren in front. Viron behind.
The Flame Emperor placed his palm against Auren's spine.
FWOOM.
A river of crimson fire surged into Auren's meridians—searing, carving, roaring.
Auren's muscles locked. His teeth clenched. His vision blurred.
"Follow it," Viron ordered. "Trace every path. Learn its rhythm. Own it."
Auren dove inward.
He saw his inner world—a vast ocean of blue fire, restless yet obedient. The red flame coursed through it,
foreign yet bold. Where the two met, sparks danced.
1
He mapped every turn. Every pulse. Every breath of heat.
Hours. Days. Maybe weeks.
Time blurred.
But the flame no longer raged against him. It flowed with him.
Forging the Warrior
The next weeks were a blur of evolution.
Gravity chambers crushed him. Virtual duels sharpened him. Sparring with Viron broke him.
But every time he fell, he rose taller.
His body toughened. His reactions sharpened. His flame—his strange, conscious flame—learned with him.
By the end of two months, Auren's aura had changed. It no longer flickered. It resonated.
The Final Test
The hall was empty. Silent. Expectant.
Auren entered.
Viron sat in the center, cross‑legged, eyes closed. No flames. No aura. No expression.
Auren bowed.
Viron didn't respond.
Then—
CRACK.
His eyes snapped open.
A slash of crimson fire ripped through the hall.
Auren barely raised his flame shield in time.
The blast smashed into him, throwing him backward. The floor cracked beneath his landing.
2
Viron rose.
"Attack me. Use everything you've learned."
Auren's heart pounded.
He nodded.
And charged.
Blue flame erupted behind him—sharp, focused, alive. It shaped into claws of light as he lunged.
Viron moved like flowing lava—slow, inevitable, devastating.
A crimson mark ignited on his forehead.
The Mark of Flame.
Power thundered around him.
Auren attacked. Fast. Precise. Relentless.
But Viron's strands of flame sliced through his defenses, carving burning lines across his skin.
Auren collapsed to one knee.
Pain screamed.
Viron approached.
"Is that all, disciple?"
Auren's breath trembled. Then steadied.
"Be ready, Master." His voice was low. "I won't fall yet."
His core expanded.
Auren roared.
Blue light erupted—no longer a pond, but a storm.
Flames twisted around his body, forming scales and claws. A beast shape. A battle form.
Viron paused.
3
"A beast‑body transformation? Created on your own?" He smirked. "Good. Very good."
They clashed.
Crimson and blue. Master and disciple. Fire against fire.
The hall shook. Stone cracked. Lights flickered.
Auren's claws tore open a small breach in Viron's defenses. A mark. A tiny burn.
But it was enough.
His strength faltered. He crashed into the far wall.
Darkness crept at the edges of his sight.
Viron approached slowly. He touched the faint scorch on his armor.
A rare smile.
"You touched me. That is enough."
Auren managed a smirk. "Barely."
Viron rested a hand on his shoulder.
"You have earned the right to inherit the Mark of Flame. But listen well—if you continue fighting driven only
by rage, your flame will consume you before any enemy can."
Auren's head lowered, breath unsteady.
His flame flickered.
Alive. But unstable.
"Rest," Viron said. "Tomorrow, we begin shaping your true power."
4