The Rootless Flame

Wei Feng descended in silence, each step drawing him closer to the pulsing heart of the Fire Origin Temple. The temperature was no longer just heat—it was memory, thick with the weight of ancient trials and forgotten war cries.

Beside him, Lin Yue's breath grew shallow. "This... this feels alive."

"It is," he muttered. "This fire remembers everything we've forgotten."

At the end of the path, a wide chamber bloomed open like a lotus of molten stone. In its center floated a brazier—no larger than a lantern, yet its flames licked the ceiling like an inferno.

Wei Feng stepped toward it. The fire flickered, then flared, forming a shape—a twisting root suspended in midair.

"A flame without a source," he whispered. "The Rootless Flame."

A voice crackled from within the brazier, older than time.

"To claim this fire is to sever all anchors. Bloodlines. Sect. Even fate. Do you burn for yourself, or do you still carry someone else's shadow?"

Wei Feng hesitated. For a breath. Then two.

He remembered the faces—the expectations, the pain, the doubts. He remembered being the forgotten son, the discarded heir. The boy who knelt in the ashes.

Then he stepped into the flame.

Lin Yue gasped, but didn't stop him.

The fire consumed him instantly—no scream, no collapse. Just silence.

Then, a heartbeat later, the Rootless Flame dimmed... and Wei Feng emerged.

Changed.

His robes were scorched black, veins glowing with fire-forged spirit energy. In his palm flickered a quiet flame, gentle but eternal.

"Are you still you?" Lin Yue asked.

He looked at her, and for the first time, there was no weight behind his eyes. Only clarity.

"No. I'm who I was meant to be."

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