Chapter 11: The First Flame Of The Forgotten God

Chapter 11: The First Flame of the Forgotten God

The door sealed behind him with a hiss like the exhale of a god. Silence followed.

Lux stood alone at the center of his personal cultivation floor, a vast dome of black crystal and shifting constellations. The glass walls gazed out into space—cold, infinite, watching.

He didn't move. Not yet.

His golden eyes scanned the room: the lotus-shaped cultivation platform bathed in divine starlight, the array of suspended meditation rings humming softly, the runic walls whispering with flowing glyphs.

So pristine. So precise. So… small.

This place is meant for a child gifted by heaven.

But Lux was no child. And he had not been gifted by heaven.

He was heaven.

Or at least… he had been.

A long breath left his lips as he stepped into the cultivation chamber. The gravity shifted as he entered the lotus platform, divine energy coalescing around him like breath returning to lungs. A pulse of warm light wrapped his limbs. The room recognized him now. Welcomed him. Worshiped him.

He knelt at the center of the lotus. Slowly. Deliberately.

His eyes closed.

The silence became deeper. The kind that echoed across galaxies.

Within the Void of the Soul

A dark place unfolded inside him.

A sacred abyss—deeper than the void between stars, more ancient than the Empire's memory. There, in the stillness behind his thoughts, behind even the Codex of Fate…

A spark waited.

No—a memory.

A divine scripture written in fire and blood across the firmament of reality. He did not recall it in words. He became it. Every atom of his being resonated with the truth of a lawless sun that burned even time itself.

Primordial Sun Scripture.

Not a technique.

A revelation.

The memory of his past life surged. Not as a name or a throne, but as a scream of divinity carved into the bones of the cosmos. Lux had once been a god—a tyrant of light and ruin, unshackled by mercy or law. In the final war, he had died. But this scripture—his legacy—had survived.

He whispered its first verse.

"Flame beyond fire. Light beyond day. Burn the chain, burn the path, burn the wheel."

Divine energy within him stirred violently.

In the Physical Realm

The lights of the lotus platform flickered.

All over the War Academy, divine sensors blinked in confusion—detecting a surge of energy, but unable to classify it. It didn't belong to any known cultivation law. Not sun, not flame, not spatial manipulation.

It was older.

And invisible.

Because Lux wasn't cultivating through natural meridians.

He was feeding a sun.

Within the Dantian

The core of his being cracked.

Lux opened his soul, not like a door, but like a furnace. The divine energy rushing into his body did not settle gently—it howled, wild and savage, demanding a shape.

So he gave it one.

From the blaze, a creature rose—born of hatred, purpose, and eternity.

A bird of flame. Vast, terrible, regal.

Its feathers shimmered gold and scarlet, trailing wisps of temporal ash. Three taloned legs touched down within his dantian. One for the present. One for the past. One for what should never be.

Its eyes met his.

And the Golden Crow screamed.

Lux arched his back, teeth bared, body glowing from within. His skin blazed with lines of living light as the first Crow of the Primordial Sun forced itself into his dantian—not as a pet, but as a godling.

Pain lanced through every meridian.

His veins boiled.

The walls of the chamber flashed. The lotus platform fractured. The floating runes above him spasmed as if afraid.

Lux didn't scream.

He endured.

He always had.

The Realm Ascended: Initiate of the First Flame

Then… silence again.

But this time, it was not empty.

It was reverent.

Lux hovered an inch above the broken lotus, eyes still shut, body glowing faintly with celestial fire. Within his dantian, the first Golden Crow circled slowly—its wings folded, its flames coiled.

He had entered the Initiate Realm.

Not by breakthrough.

But by conquest.

He had forcefully condensed divine energy into a form that defied structure. And the price… was paid in flesh and fate.

Lux opened his eyes.

Golden irises burned with hidden stars. A faint trail of flame drifted from the corners of his eyes, as if time itself resisted being near him.

His hand lifted.

He clenched his fist.

Space around it bent—no, cracked—as if trying to escape.

"I can burn time."

He whispered it like a truth rediscovered.

"I can burn fate."

He exhaled.

"I can burn everything."

The Past Knocks

The Codex of Fate stirred inside him.

Its voice—a choir of many—spoke without sound.

[First Crow Awakened.]

[Primordial Sun Scripture — Layer One: Temporal Incineration unlocked.]

[You may now bend short-distance space and delay cause-effect chains.]

[Condition: Do not reveal your cultivation scripture. Detection will result in celestial interference.]

He nodded. He already knew.

No one could know what he was cultivating.

Not the teachers. Not the generals. Not even the Codex itself could safely name it aloud. The flames he wielded were not meant for mortals or gods.

They were anti-laws. Exempt from the framework of the universe.

And yet…

He burned.

And he would keep burning until the Empire itself bowed.

Final Moments

Lux stood from the platform.

His white robes were tattered now, edges singed by his own awakening. His body steamed, eyes alight with power. The room—his sacred floor—looked the same to the sensors. But nothing inside was the same.

He was no longer an aspirant.

He was no longer someone they could measure.

He walked to the edge of the glass, staring into the vastness of stars and battleships. The violet sun pulsed in the distance.

But deep in his dantian… another sun now burned.

Small.

But growing.

And it belonged to him.

He Swore Without Words

No one would know what he cultivated.

Not yet.

Not the Empire.

Not his instructors.

Not even the gods watching from beyond the Veil.

The Codex had hidden his flame even from the laws of karma and consequence. It was his alone.

His burden.

His apocalypse.