Chapter 8: Sparks in the Blood

Chapter 8: Sparks in the Blood

Year 10002 | Xintian Station, Below the Core Rails

The heat didn't leave Junhao.

Even after stepping away from the forge, even after the chamber dimmed and the walls quieted, the flame still pulsed in his veins. Not burning—but beating. A rhythm. A presence. Like a second heartbeat forged from fire.

He kept his hand over his chest as they moved. Veyra led the way, navigating tunnels half-collapsed by age and neglect, but Junhao's mind wasn't in the darkness anymore. It was in the light. That moment in the Flameforge, the vision, the awakening—it hadn't faded. It lingered behind his eyes, reshaping his thoughts.

"I feel… different," he said finally.

"You are," Veyra replied, voice steady as her footsteps. "Astral Flow means your Core's no longer just waking. It's breathing. Expanding. You're starting to become what they feared."

Junhao frowned. "What you feared?"

She glanced back. "No. What they feared. Sky Tier. The Oraphim. Anyone who remembers the last Flameborn."

Junhao slowed slightly. "You said the Flameforge only answers the worthy."

"I did."

"How many weren't?"

Veyra didn't answer. Her silence said enough.

---

**Sky Tier Subgrid | Tactical Uplink Node**

Commander Yelin tapped a projection with two fingers. A spinning hologram of Junhao shimmered above the war table. Heat patterns from the Flameforge still flickered behind him.

"He's past the point of recovery," a voice crackled through comms. "You waited too long."

"I didn't wait," Yelin growled. "I watched. Calculated. And now we're running Herald Protocol for a reason. He's grown faster than predicted. This Core—this boy—he's accelerating the sequence."

Another voice joined in. "Should we initiate contact?"

Yelin paused. "No. Let the Oraphim act first. If they're truly awakening… let them overreach. Then we strike."

---

**Xintian Station | Abandoned Transport Tunnel**

A rumble passed beneath their feet. Junhao stopped walking.

Veyra did too. "You feel that?"

He nodded. "Something's coming."

Above them, old steel creaked. A low, unnatural roar echoed down the tunnel.

Then—silence.

"Drones?" Junhao asked.

"Worse," Veyra replied, reaching for her weapon. "Oraphim Heralds don't need metal to hunt."

A sharp hiss sliced the air. Junhao turned—too late.

A blur dropped from the ceiling, silent and smooth. It shimmered into form—a tall figure of black crystal and shifting energy, cloaked in liquid shadows that drank in the dim light. No face. No eyes. Only a violet flame pulsing from its chest like a starved heart.

"Oraphim," Veyra hissed.

The being turned toward Junhao.

"You… are not ready," it said. The voice vibrated through the walls and their bones—a sound like breaking glass and ancient thunder.

The Core flared in response. Junhao's hands lit up—veins glowing red beneath his skin, like circuits catching fire. But it wasn't rage. It was focus. Balance.

"I don't care," Junhao said. "I'll fight."

The Herald raised one long arm. From its palm burst a spear of condensed energy, humming like restrained lightning.

Junhao moved.

He didn't think—he reacted. Flame erupted behind him like wings of heat. The air around him bent to his will. He caught the spear's edge with a bare hand. It didn't burn him. It fed him. He twisted, redirecting it into the wall with a crash of sparks.

Veyra fired. Her railgun's bolts curved around the Herald like water hitting oil, swallowed by its shimmering skin.

"We need to retreat!" she shouted.

Junhao didn't hear. He struck—flame bursting forward like a warhammer. The Herald staggered, its form glitching with a groan of shifting stone.

Then it struck back. A shadow lash hit Junhao square in the chest, slamming him into rusted metal.

Pain exploded—but the Core softened the blow. He stood again, burning through the ache. The Astral Flow was stronger now, shielding him.

The Herald tilted its head, as if appraising him. "So the Flame remembers after all."

And then it vanished.

No trail. No flash. Just gone.

But the echo of its voice lingered like smoke in Junhao's mind:

"Soon, the Ashborn will rise. And you must choose, Flameborn—which side of history burns you first."

---

**Aftermath | Tunnel Outpost 9-C**

Junhao sat quietly, cradling a bruised rib. Veyra paced nearby, eyes hard but not unkind.

"You should've let me handle it," she snapped, though her tone was low. "It was studying you. Not trying to kill you. Not yet."

"I could feel it," Junhao murmured. "It was reading me. Testing me."

"You barely held your ground."

"But I held it."

She stopped. Turned.

"You're not invincible," she said. "You've just started this path. Astral Flow is strength—but not mastery. That thing… it's what the old texts called a Shade. A true Herald. It moves between worlds."

Junhao looked down at his hand. Flame flickered calmly at his fingertips.

"I'm not trying to be invincible," he said. "I just don't want to be afraid anymore."

Veyra exhaled slowly, her edges softening into something like respect.

"Then keep going," she said. "Because the next tier won't wait. And the test to reach it will be worse than anything you've faced."

Junhao looked up.

"What's it called?"

Her eyes darkened, the memory of something ancient behind them.

"Radiant Bloom," she said softly. "It's where the flame consumes the very air."

Above them, the station trembled again. The general alert still screamed its warning.

The game had begun.

End of Chapter 8