The Shape of the Fire to Come

The corpse had been found at dawn. Not like before—no clean slit, no muffled struggle beneath the blanket of night. No, this was a message written in viscera. The body of the boy was torn as if something inhuman had made art with it. Bones snapped backward, throat flayed like an offering, and something—someone—had carved the symbol of a crown with eight points into his chest, glowing faintly in ash.

The North Gate was no longer a gathering of boys and girls, or even humans. It had become a cage. And in cages, even doves start sharpening beaks.

Rin stood among them, arms crossed, hood casting shadow down his face. His eyes no longer pleaded with the world to be fair. They judged it. Measured it. And, quietly, discarded it.

He hadn't slept. Not after The Advocate. Not after the voice like velvet steel whispering prophecy in meter, not after those words still etched into his skull like scripture:

"Mercy is a rope made of snow. Pull it, and you'll hang."

The others whispered about the murder. Some said a beast had gotten loose. Some said it was one of them. One boy, cocky and thin-eyed, started pointing fingers.

That was when the wind changed.

The sky trembled above them, just a shudder of the blue. And then came the judges—those cloaked shapes in white, Wardens, silent and terrible. They did not speak when they arrived. They simply watched.

Then the crimson flare of fire from above.

And with it—

A horn.

Long. Cold. Hollow.

The gates behind them rumbled. Dust fell from above. A voice, too soft for thunder, too loud to ignore, bloomed through the chamber:

"Let blood divide the dawn. Let blades break the stars. Let the Rite begin."

The floor split apart like an eye opening. And from it rose a stage of black stone. Four pillars, one for each gate. Atop them, fire.

Rin took a step back.

Someone screamed.

And someone else—laughed.

A boy stepped forward, tall, shirtless, muscles coiled like rope. His smile was too wide. His eyes too still. His hands were red, but not from rust or dirt. Blood dried like bracelets around his wrists.

"I know who it was," he said, pointing straight at Rin.

Gasps. Movement. A ripple of attention.

Rin didn't flinch. But his hands clenched beneath his cloak.

"It was him. You think I'm stupid? You think I didn't hear him whispering to ghosts in the dark? He walks like a Warden. He stares like he's seen us all die before. He enjoyed what happened."

Rin didn't speak.

Not because he couldn't.

But because, for the first time…

He didn't want to explain himself.

The boy marched forward, fire crackling behind him. "I heard the Advocate talkin' to you. Don't play dumb. He only speaks to killers. That's what he said."

Gasps again. The name alone—The Red Advocate—sent shivers through the ones who'd survived this far.

"You think I don't know how this works?" the boy sneered. "I've seen killers. And I know what kind of monster you're going to become. That mask in the black? That ghost everyone saw on the balcony?"

He pointed again, eyes wide. "That's you, isn't it?"

Rin's blood froze.

The words echoed like nails in his ribs.

"That shadow? That monster who walked through us like death? That was you from the future! I bet you're already bathing in blood, huh?"

Silence. Even the fire went still.

Rin finally spoke.

"…You don't know me."

The boy grinned.

"I know enough."

He lunged.

A blade drawn from beneath the floor, lightning-fast. Not a formal duel. Not an arena clash. A murder.

The blade swept for Rin's throat.

And stopped.

Metal rang out as Rin parried, spinning sideways, coat snapping like wings. His movements were clumsy—but just quick enough. The boy struck again, again, again.

Rin ducked. Slid back. His eyes weren't afraid.

But they weren't bloodthirsty either.

He didn't want to fight.

He didn't want to kill.

"STOP!" someone screamed.

Too late.

The boy leapt again—and this time, Rin struck back.

A single blow. Barehanded.

But it was brutal.

Rin's fist cracked into the attacker's face, breaking teeth, twisting bone. The boy crumpled, groaning, bleeding.

Rin stood over him, breathing heavy. The firelight caught his face.

And they all saw it—

Not a monster.

Not yet.

But something… changing.

A silence stretched.

Then the Wardens clapped.

One. Two. Three.

They did not care who won. They only cared that someone did.

The voice returned:

"Blood has spoken. The North Gate's first duel is complete. Let all challengers take heed—only death moves the gate forward."

The floor shuttered again.

The stone reshaped itself.

New names burned in red above their heads. The rankings were shifting already. Rin's name glowed—Number 21.

Behind him, the injured boy whimpered.

Rin turned.

Walked away.

And the whispers followed him like ghosts.

Far away, in the curve of a crooked corridor of glass and silence, The Red Advocate stood by a flickering candle.

He watched the boy walk away. Saw the way his fingers trembled after throwing the punch. Saw the way his shadow dragged behind him like a chain.

He smiled again.

"The matchstick breaks. The kindling mourns.The flame grows teeth, then walks on thorns.He bleeds, he fears, he dares, he runs—But soon he'll burn beneath three suns."

He turned to the dark.

Where another figure now stood.

Cloaked. Armored. Unmoving.

Watching.

The Advocate nodded toward the glow of the gate.

"He's begun."

And in the shadows beyond the gate, beneath obsidian steel and a mask of silence,a lone figure watched.

He stood still—an echo wearing flesh.One eye aglow like the last star in a dying sky.

Some said he had no name.

Others whispered he was watching something that once belonged to him.

And somewhere deep inside a Cave, Rin felt something crack.

Not his bone.

Not his skin.

Something quieter.

A kindness, perhaps.

Or the last piece of the boy who once believed no one needed to die.

It didn't break all the way.

But it was close.