Ashes Beneath the Flame
Darkness.
It pulsed, slow and steady, like the aftershock of thunder long after the lightning fades. Tian Qiren drifted within it, weightless, voiceless, senseless. He didn't know if minutes had passed. Or days. Or years. In the darkness, there was no time.
Only memory.
His mother. Her hand raised in defiance, blood arcing as her arm took the blade meant for him. Mo Xuan, folding space with the last of his breath. The fire. That beast, jaws wide enough to swallow him and half the forest. And then...
Flames.
Not born of talismans or scrolls or borrowed Mandate. But his. A fire that screamed in his bones, that rose not in protection, but in denial.
And then—nothing.
He woke with a gasp that tore his throat raw.
Air rushed in, sharp and unfamiliar. It carried the scent of incense, heated stone, and something faintly metallic. He shot upright without thinking, pain lancing through his ribs like lightning.
The room around him blurred into focus. A chamber of smooth, dusky stone. Carvings along the walls, soft and sweeping, glowed with faint orange runes that flickered like embers. A brazier burned low near the door, heatless yet bright, casting flickering shadows across the room.
For a moment, he said nothing. Did nothing.
He was alive.
But he didn't feel alive. He felt... hollow. Like something had cracked inside him, and the pieces hadn't settled back yet.
A sudden sound jolted him — soft footsteps, hurried. Then the clink of porcelain.
He turned his head.
A young woman stood in the doorway, eyes wide in shock. She wore orange and charcoal robes, layered and practical, embroidered with a sigil he didn't recognize: three tongues of flame coiled together.
"By the ancients..." she whispered. Then her tray slipped. A small bowl and cloth hit the floor, shattering into pieces.
Qiren flinched. The sharp sound sliced through his head like a blade.
"You're awake!" she breathed. "You... you weren't supposed to wake for at least another week! I have to tell Senior Disciple Nianshu—"
And then she was gone, feet slapping against the polished stone as she bolted down the hall.
Qiren sat in stunned silence. His heart thundered, his hands shaking against the bedroll beneath him.
He hadn't spoken a word.
Time passed. He didn't know how much.
His eyes wandered the room again. Simple, but crafted with care. Someone had wiped his wounds. Changed his bandages. Someone had kept him alive. He remembered fire. Beasts. Pain. Then nothing. A blur. He had been sent away by force, by a mother who shouldn't have had any strength left.
She should've died.
But he prayed she hadn't.
Qiren clenched his jaw and touched his chest.
No broken bones. Deep bruises, yes. But no gashes. And the pendant…
He reached up.
It was still there. Cool against his skin. His mother's pendant.
His breath caught.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why do you keep saving me?"
The door creaked open.
He expected the nervous girl again — or perhaps this Senior Disciple.
Instead, it was someone else.
She stepped closer.
Not with awe, not with fear — just quiet observation, as if she were studying a wild animal that had survived something unnatural.
Her eyes held questions. But not the kind that demanded answers.
And when she spoke, it wasn't some cryptic judgment passed down by fate.
Just a name.
"I'm Yan Yue."
Her voice was calm. Measured. Like someone used to stillness, to silence, to watching storms instead of stopping them.
Qiren blinked, unsure if he'd heard her right.
But she didn't wait for a reply. She only held his gaze for a moment longer — then turned, her robes rustling softly as she stepped back toward the doorway.
Whatever she had come to see, she'd seen it.
The door closed behind her with a quiet click.
And Qiren was alone again.
Alive.
Awake.
But far from safe.
To be continued.