Morning brought mist.
It rolled down the mountain in cold waves, curling around the shrine like soft fingers. The flame at the heart of the altar flickered but did not go out.
Jiang Han rose early, blade at his side, as always.
Bo Ren sat on the steps, humming something ancient.
Then—a flutter.
A single black-feathered bird landed on the roof beam, head tilted sideways.
Its eyes glowed red.
Then it burst into flame.
A scroll dropped from the fire, sealed in bloodfire wax.
Jiang Han caught it midair.
Everyone gathered around as he peeled the wax seal open.
It hissed—alive with energy.
He read silently. Then twice more.
Yue scowled. "Who sent it?"
He looked up. "No signature. But the fire speaks truth. This came from someone trained in Flame Sigils."
"What's it say?" Zhao Kai asked, still shirtless, already crackling with pre-dawn static.
Jiang Han's eyes narrowed.
> "A child has gone missing near Hollowroot Village."
"No one has entered or left the village in four days."
"All who step past the stone marker lose their voices."
"This was once a cultivation town."
"Now it is still."
"The kiln watches. The fire remembers."
"Save the child, or lose the flame."
Bo Ren stirred. "Someone's testing you."
"Maybe," Jiang said. "But a child's in danger. That's enough."
He rolled up the scroll.
"We leave at noon."
---
Hollowroot Village – That Evening
The dirt path leading toward the village was lined with spirit-withered trees. Birds no longer nested in their branches. Cracked gourds hung from gates, painted with red circles.
A boundary sigil.
And just past the last tree, a stone marker with a simple word etched in old script:
> "Quiet."
The group stopped just before it.
Jiang Han pressed a toe past the line.
> Silence.
No sound. No wind. No breath.
He stepped back—instantly flooded with the sounds of rustling leaves and Yue cursing softly.
"Whoever cast that isn't using spirit qi," Bo Ren murmured. "It's forged silence. Soul-forged. Old magic."
Jiang Han tightened the straps on his coat.
"Then we walk in together."
One by one, they stepped over the marker.
Sound vanished again.
Even their footsteps left no echo.
The village itself was frozen—doors ajar, food still steaming in bowls, candles half-burned.
No bodies.
No blood.
Just… nothing.
---
Inside a larger home near the center of the village, Lin Yao found a cradle. Empty. Rocking slightly.
She mouthed, "The child was here."
Suddenly—
A vibration pulsed through the ground.
The soil beneath the village center cracked.
Then, like breath exhaled—
> "Help…"
A whisper.
Faint. Childlike.
It had punched through the silence barrier.
Jiang Han's head snapped toward it.
There.
A well.
---
They gathered at the edge.
Inside, only darkness.
Yue dropped a glowstone—it fell for four seconds, then vanished in black.
Zhao Kai sparked his palm. "Wanna jump?"
Jiang Han didn't answer.
He was already climbing down.
---
The Well
The descent took minutes.
Too deep for any normal village.
Finally—ground.
Soft. Damp.
He stepped into a cavern—walls slick with moss, but glowing faintly with red glyphs.
An underground shrine.
Not of the Flame Path.
But of something older.
Something wrong.
He heard breathing.
Turned.
And saw the child.
A boy, maybe six. Eyes closed. Floating six inches above the ground. Wrapped in black mist… and threads of red flame.
His flame.
"Don't take it," the boy said suddenly, without opening his eyes. "They'll hear you."
Jiang Han approached slowly. "Who?"
The boy shuddered.
"The ones under the fire. The ones who remember before remembering."
> "They said if I screamed loud enough… you'd come."
Jiang Han's eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
The boy opened his eyes.
They were glowing red.
> Just like Ember Fang.
---
Then the walls shifted.
Stone gave way to flesh.
Pillars became fingers. The shrine pulsed like a buried heart.
Jiang Han's flame flickered.
The boy screamed—
And the glyphs ignited.