The wind had changed.
It no longer carried the scent of blooming orchids and clean air alone. Now it bore something else—motion, intention, the quiet ripple of something unseen brushing against the edges of Kahel's growing perception.
He was not alone.
Days had passed since the appearance of the hooded master. In that time, Kahel had trained. Not because he was told to, but because his body demanded it. Each dawn brought him to the edge of the outcrop, where he practiced forms, channeled breath, and listened to the rhythm of the mountain beneath his feet.
The Ashen Flame had grown more responsive. It moved when he moved. Rested when he rested. But it still had moods, flashes of will. Sometimes it flared when he thought of his mother, or when his mind turned to the questions of his birth. Other times it remained utterly still in the presence of the wind-carried hawk that circled his peak each morning at dawn.
That morning, as the mist thinned to reveal distant peaks, Kahel closed his eyes and focused on his dantian.
He could feel it now: the beginnings of condensation. Qi that once scattered like dust now pooled and turned slow, deliberate. A few more days. Perhaps a week. He would reach the threshold of the next realm—Essence Gathering.
A whisper touched his ear.
"Too slow."
Kahel spun, palm outstretched, flame flaring to life.
The cane caught his wrist mid-motion.
The old man was there again.
This time, Kahel didn't step back. His flame didn't retreat. The hooded master looked at his hand, then at the boy's eyes.
"You've stopped asking questions."
Kahel exhaled, lowering his hand. "Because you don't answer them."
The man chuckled. "That's because the answers mean nothing until the body earns the right to hear them."
He tapped the stone with his cane. "Come. It's time you learned something that books can't teach."
Kahel followed without argument.
They walked along a narrow path winding down the backside of the peak. Few had tread here—moss covered the stones, and old vines hung like curtains. The descent was steep, leading into a shaded cavern where qi was heavy in the air, thick like honey.
Inside, there was no torchlight. Only a faint luminescence emitted from crystal veins in the stone walls. The air was cooler here, tinged with minerals, and something older.
The master gestured toward the center of the cave.
A circular platform sat beneath a skylight that filtered moonlight even in daylight. Ancient carvings surrounded it—glyphs, sigils, the lost script of cultivators who had once walked galaxies.
"This is a soul chamber," the old man said. "Made by your ancestors. Used by your parents."
Kahel's pulse quickened.
"You said—"
"I said nothing. I showed you."
Kahel stepped toward the platform. As he did, the glyphs began to glow faintly, reacting to the Ashen Flame.
"They built this?" he asked.
The master nodded. "And left it for someone worthy. For someone with flame that walks between life and what lies beyond it."
Kahel touched the center of the platform.
Pain shot through him.
Not from injury, but from memory.
His mother's face. Her scream. The moment of her death looped again—but this time, clearer. He saw something else now. A shimmer. A figure cloaked in golden light behind the battle. Watching. Not attacking. Not saving.
He gasped and stepped back.
The master did not move.
"Each time you come here, the flame will reveal more. Not just of the past—but of what you carry. You do not wield the Ashen Flame, Kahel. It remembers. And it judges."
Kahel swallowed hard. "Why would they watch and do nothing?"
"They didn't." The old man sat at the edge of the chamber. "They sent me."
Kahel turned sharply. "You—"
"I won't answer the questions you're not ready to accept. But I will train you. So that when the time comes, your questions are not blades pressed against your throat."
Kahel looked down at the platform again.
The glyphs had faded.
He would return. That much was certain.
That evening, after the master left, Kahel stood once more at the edge of his outcrop.
Clouds swirled below like oceans. The sky had turned indigo. And from the far end of the valley, bells began to ring.
Not the sacred bell.
Warning bells.
A flash of red fire lit the sky from a distant peak.
Kahel narrowed his eyes.
Not everything within the Sect's walls was peaceful.
And perhaps not everyone wished to see him rise.