Chapter 6: The Broken Moon’S Oath

The moon was fractured that night.

Kaen stood alone atop the southern courtyard, where the breeze from the distant mountains curled through the broken arches of the tower. The stars blinked behind clouds like uncertain eyes.

He watched the pale crescent suspended above him — jagged, uneven, cracked.

Just like the seal below the Hollow.

Just like him.

The rune on his chest had dimmed since the descent, but not disappeared. It pulsed now only when he closed his eyes — when silence returned. In those moments, he could feel the pressure of something unseen.

A memory with breath. A name with hunger.

The Academy had gone quiet. Not out of peace.

Out of preparation.

Everyone felt the shift — students whispered of forbidden chambers and flaring torches, of flames seen in hallways where no fire should burn. Instructors locked more doors than they opened. And the sky, ever still before, had begun to hum.

Kaen hadn't returned to his dorm.

He didn't want to sleep.

Kaen stood before the charred remains of the broken chamber. On his left, Rhiava bled from her shoulder, breathing heavily but alive. On his right, a young Hollow-born child—barely more than ten—stood frozen, eyes pleading for mercy. The child had tried to kill them… but not out of hatred. Out of fear, out of coercion.

Kaen’s hand trembled over his sword. ‘What kind of world am I trying to protect if I can’t tell right from wrong?’ he thought, and lowered the blade. 'Go.'

Behind him, a master watched in silence, and said nothing.

Didn't want to dream.

Didn't want to see himself again — not as Kaen, but as something ancient, cruel, and burning.

Footsteps approached.

He didn't turn.

Only one person walked like that — measured, controlled, deliberate.

"You left a trail," Reijuu said from behind him.

Kaen's voice was flat. "Didn't realize I had that luxury."

Reijuu moved to his side, arms folded. His eyes were on the moon.

"Do you know what that mark is?" he asked quietly, not pointing.

Kaen followed his gaze.

The crescent moon — cracked, scarred.

A bite had been taken from it centuries ago, in a war no books remembered.

Only magic did.

"They say the Broken Moon cracked the moment a god lied," Reijuu said.

But the flame that shapes as much as it scorches inside him pulsed.

Or a promise broken?

A sudden breeze passed.

Cold. Wrong.

Both boys instinctively stepped back from the edge.

Reijuu broke the silence.

"The Council has summoned you. Tonight."

Kaen's head turned.

"I haven't broken any law."

"Doesn't matter," Reijuu said. "You made them afraid."

"Of what?"

Reijuu met his eyes.

"Of who you might be."

Silence stretched again.

Then Reijuu added, softer this time:

"They won't ask. They'll test you. Push you. Maybe even try to break you."

"Will you?"

Reijuu smirked faintly.

"I'll watch."

He turned to leave.

Then paused.

"Don't lie to them, Kaen. Whatever's inside you… it's older than this school. Older than you. If they sense hesitation, they'll think it's control."

Kaen looked down at his hand.

The black scar from the Hollow still curled across his palm.

"Then I won't hesitate."

Reijuu nodded once and vanished into the corridor.

Kaen stood a moment longer, eyes lifted to the shattered moon.

The lie it remembered.

The truth it witnessed.

And the oath that had been broken long before Kaen was ever born.

Then he turned.

And walked toward the Council chamber.

The chamber was round.

Too perfectly round.

Not built — grown — from the stone of the mountain itself, like it had been carved out by flame rather than by hand. The ceiling rose in a dome, covered in constellations etched in gold, each star tied to an ancient school of fire magic.

There were nine seats arranged in a circle.

All filled.

Each master wore a different robe, each marked with their own insignia — ember, ash, blaze, spark, soot, smoke, heat, scar, and silence.

The Ninth Chair bore no symbol.

But its occupant watched Kaen more intently than the rest.

He stood in the center.

No restraints.

No chains.

But [Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt trapped.

By gaze. By weight. By history.

He wondered if this was how monsters felt before execution. Or if this was how gods were judged — by men too weak to understand them, and too proud to admit it.

*The silence between flames was the only place he felt real.*

The headmaster spoke first — Master Orojin, bearer of the Ember Sigil.

"Kaen of Akiruno. Age seventeen. No noble blood. Adopted by a florist. Entered the Academy five months ago."

Kaen nodded once. "That's correct."

Orojin's voice didn't rise. But it carried enough weight to flatten a room.

"And in that time, you've triggered a seismic pulse below the Hollow, activated ancient runes that no longer respond to faculty, survived a Specter-class entity, and…"

He paused, eyes narrowing.

"…awakened something beneath the second seal."

[Kaen's Thought] Kaen's heart stopped for a beat.

They knew.

Another master, a woman with silver hair braided down her back — Mistress Ysana, the Ash Sigil — leaned forward.

Mistress Lira traced a rune in the air, watching it shimmer. 'You bear more than just magic in your veins,' she murmured. 'Your name carries echoes. It terrifies the council. But I see something else—someone trying to rise above their shadow.'

'I didn’t ask to be born this way,' Kaen said.

'No one does,' she replied. 'But what you become—that’s yours to decide.'

"What did you see down there?"

Kaen swallowed.

"A seal. A reflection. Something… like me."

"But not you?" she asked.

"No. It was older. Stronger."

"Did it speak?"

Just a second.

But enough for every master to notice.

"Yes," he finally said. "It whispered."

The master of the Smoke Sigil — a tall man with burning eyes — grunted.

"It's him," he muttered. "Has to be. The flames don't lie."

Ysana didn't look away from Kaen.

"Who do you think it was, boy?"

Kaen's answer came slowly, like the syllables didn't want to form.

A tremor passed through the chamber.

Emotional.

Fear.

History.

Master Orojin rose.

"Do you know what you are suggesting? Kaereth was a war-god. A destroyer. The Flameborne Warlord. He died in the Last Sundering, over a thousand years ago."

Kaen didn't flinch.

"I'm not him," he said.

"But you carry his fire," Orojin said coldly.

"Then teach me to control it," Kaen replied.

That drew silence.

Not because they agreed.

But because none of them expected defiance.

The master with no sigil finally spoke.

A quiet voice.

Older than the others.

"You do not ask to control a god's flame, boy. You ask it not to consume you. There is a difference."

Kaen met his eyes.

And for a brief moment, he didn't feel like he was being judged.

He felt like he was being understood.

Orojin broke the moment.

"We vote."

"On what?" Kaen asked.

"On whether you stay."

One by one, the masters cast their votes.

Some with words.

Some with gestures.

When the ninth and final vote was cast…

Five for exile.

Four for probation.

Kaen's jaw clenched.

But before Orojin could pronounce it, the Ninth Master raised his hand.

"I invoke the Oath of Flame," he said.

Gasps echoed.

Even Orojin froze.

"You can't—"

"I can," the old man said. "And I have."

He turned to Kaen.

Eyes burning, but not with judgment.

With certainty.

"You will not be exiled."

"You will be tested."

They didn't lead him through the Academy.

They led him beneath it.

Two instructors — cloaked, silent — walked on either side as Kaen descended stone stairs that curved deeper than any normal student would ever be allowed. These weren't part of the Hollow.

These were older.

Dust coated the walls like dried skin. The torches flickered without fire — reacting instead to Kaen's presence. The closer he stepped, the brighter they burned.

The Ninth Master's words echoed in his mind, but not with relief.

The Oath of Flame.

He'd heard it once, in passing, during a half-forgotten lecture:

A sacred clause from the Age of Warlords. A single invocation that allowed a master to override the Council's majority — but only if the one being judged accepted a Trial of Embers.

No one had invoked it in over three hundred years.

They reached a gate. Iron, rune-etched, sealed by spell and scar.

The instructor on the left turned to him.

"This door will open once," he said.

"And close once," the other added.

Kaen gave a small nod.

"What's inside?"

The first one smiled — not kindly.

"You."

The gate opened.

The heat hit him like breath from a giant's lungs — not fire, but memory. He stepped inside.

The room was vast. Round. Blackened from flame.

It was called the Crucible.

A stone arena scorched by a thousand tests. It had no audience. No witnesses. No instructors watching from behind glass.

Only you and the truth.

Kaen stepped into the center.

And the door sealed shut behind him.

The torches flared.

Stone glowed.

And the floor cracked.

Not in one place — in many.

Flames erupted around the edges, forming a ring of fire that closed off all escape.

A voice — ancient and not from this world — echoed through the chamber.

"Let the Trial begin."

No enemy appeared.

No beast emerged.

And then — himself.

Kaen turned — and saw it.

A mirror-image.

Same face. Same eyes.

But this one wore black armor.

Hair wild. Eyes red.

A twisted version of himself — a Kaen without hesitation.

Without restraint.

Without mercy.

It attacked.

The duel began without fanfare.

No music. No cheering.

Only movement.

The false Kaen moved faster than anything Kaen had fought before — not a student, not even the Specter in the Hollow. This thing anticipated him. Matched him. Matched his flame.

Kaen countered. Blocked. Dodged.

But with every clash, the darkness in the mirror-image grew stronger.

The northern province of Ikaran was not just a wind-swept plateau—it was the cradle of the old magic. Its people, hardy and quiet, still carried iron runes carved into their skin. Fires there were blue, fed by minerals long extinct in the south. The capital, Mureda, thrived under shadow and stone, its archives guarded by memory-keepers older than empires.

It smiled.

"You could be this," it whispered. "You want to be this."

Kaen screamed and unleashed a full burst of rune-fire — black and gold — slamming into the double.

It vanished into smoke.

And reformed behind him.

He fell to his knees.

Blood in his mouth. Sweat in his eyes.

The flame in his chest began to surge wildly — not from power, but from rage.

And it responded.

"Become me," the copy hissed.

"And the pain ends."

Wounded. Barely.

But his eyes were steady.

He whispered, "I'm not you."

"No," the shadow said.

"But I will be."

Kaen reached for the heat.

But not to unleash it.

To accept it.

Not to burn the trial away — but to burn himself clean.

He let the fire flow through him, not overtake him.

Let it sear the doubt.

Let it scar the fear.

Let it become his.

The shadow screamed as its body cracked.

Its armor broke.

Its face melted.

And it vanished.

Not defeated.

But consumed by resolve.

The flames died down.

The room cooled.

And the voice returned:

"The Trial is passed."

The door opened.

Kaen stumbled out.

And Asha was waiting.

She didn't smile.

She didn't speak.

She only stared — and then whispered:

"You're not human anymore."

Kaen didn't argue.

Because a part of him knew…

She was right.

The next morning came, but the sky felt darker.

Clouds coiled low above the Academy. Not a storm — just pressure. Heavy. Thick. As if the mountain itself knew what had arrived.

And who.

Kaen sat in the infirmary, his back bandaged, shirt open, rune still glowing faintly on his chest. The wound across his palm had stopped bleeding, but it still pulsed — as if the Trial had awakened something beneath his skin.

He hadn't slept.

He didn't feel tired.

Only watched.

The door creaked open.

Asha stepped in.

She didn't greet him. Just closed the door and leaned back against it, arms crossed.

Her usual smirk was gone.

"You know who came this morning?" she asked quietly.

Kaen looked up.

"An imperial envoy."

He froze.

"From the capital?"

"From the Crescent Court," she said.

That was worse.

The Crescent Court didn't send letters.

Didn't send gifts.

Didn't send students.

They sent judgment.

Kaen sat straighter. "Why now?"

Asha walked forward, heel to tile, slow and deliberate.

"Because your flame lit up more than just the Academy. The rune isn't local, Kaen. It resonated."

"With what?"

She sat on the bed beside him, eyes unreadable.

"Something buried far beneath the capital. Something… imperial blood sealed centuries ago."

Asha reached into her cloak and pulled out a folded piece of dark parchment.

"I stole this."

She tossed it to him.

He opened it — a formal writ, sealed with molten wax bearing the Emperor's crest.

"Authorization granted for observation, containment, and if necessary… elimination."

[Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt his chest tighten.

Asha's voice dropped.

"They didn't come to talk, Kaen. They came to decide if you're a threat."

"And someone else came with them. Quiet. Hooded. He doesn't smile. Doesn't speak."

"Assassin?"

"Worse."

She looked him dead in the eye.

"He's like you."

Kaen's thoughts spiraled.

Not just him?

Was he part of something larger?

Or… a replacement for something broken long ago?

Asha stood.

"I'll deal with the envoy. You stay out of sight."

"And if they come looking?"

"Then I'll kill the one who enters first."

Her voice was flat. Not dramatic.

Just certain.

He blinked. "Why?"

She paused. Then leaned closer.

Whispered near his ear.

"Because I've seen what your flame can become. And I'm tired of watching people like you get destroyed before you learn to use it."

She pulled away, smirk returning — but only half.

"Besides… I owe your mother."

Asha stepped back, already walking for the door.

"Later."

"Asha."

"Rest," she said. "There's more coming than you're ready for."

She opened the door.

"And Kaen?"

He looked up.

She flashed him a half-smile.

"Don't trust the one who smiles too easily.

Especially not when he has your face."

The door shut.

Kaen sat in silence.

The flame inside him whispered again.

It didn't feel alone.

Kaen didn't leave the infirmary.

But someone entered it.

Without knocking.

Without a sound.

He felt the shift in the air before he saw the figure — a man, slightly older than him, wearing a dark military coat trimmed in crimson. Not a student. Not a teacher.

Not armed.

But Kaen's skin crawled the moment their eyes met.

Red.

The man's eyes glowed a deep, simmering red.

Not like blood.

Like ember.

Kaen stood, fists clenched at his sides, flame sparking beneath his skin.

The man tilted his head.

Smiled faintly.

And for a moment, [Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt like he was staring at a mirror.

Not of face.

But of essence.

"You're the one they sealed it into," the man said. His voice was calm, almost casual. "The vessel. The experiment that lived."

"And you are?"

"I'm the one who didn't."

It felt like the walls themselves tightened around them.

"They call me Sarei," the man said. "But you can call me proof."

"Proof of what?"

"That the fire doesn't belong to either of us. It never did."

Kaen narrowed his eyes. "Then why are you here?"

Sarei stepped closer. No aggression — just gravity.

"To see if you're stronger than me."

"And if I'm not?"

Sarei smiled wider.

"Then I take your place."

In an instant, flame exploded between them — Kaen's reaction was instinctual. A barrier of heat surged outward, but Sarei didn't flinch.

He walked through it.

His coat didn't even burn.

"You're not ready," Sarei said. "I was forged for this. You were found."

Kaen's voice grew harder.

"Then why didn't they keep you?"

Sarei's face twitched — just a little.

But it was enough.

A crack in the armor.

Kaen pressed.

"What did you do to make them seal you away?"

Sarei's tone darkened.

"I became what they wanted too soon. That scared them more than failure."

He stepped back.

"But you… you still hesitate. Still bleed. Still hope."

"And that makes you weaker."

Kaen didn't look away.

"No. That makes me dangerous. Because I still have something to lose."

For the first time, Sarei's eyes flickered.

With what? Respect?

Pity?

Rage?

Kaen couldn't tell.

"You'll see me again," Sarei said. "When it matters."

"Will I have to kill you?"

"Only if you want to live."

Walked to the door.

Stopped with one hand on the handle.

"They think this is about power," Sarei said. "But it's not."

He looked back over his shoulder.

Eyes glowing.

"It's about which one of us is the true heir of Kaereth's flame."

And then he was gone.

Leaving Kaen alone with the whispering heat in his blood.

And a question burning louder than any fire:

"What if I'm both the savior… and the curse?"

Night fell again, colder than before.

Not in temperature — in tone. Even the torches lining the Academy's great halls burned lower, as if aware of what the Council had done.

Kaen stood alone atop the inner balcony overlooking the Garden of Storms — a courtyard below where runes had once been carved into stone by ancient mages. Now, most of them were worn, but a few still flickered under moonlight. They glowed faintly beneath his boots.

He wasn't sure if he was here because he felt guided.

Or watched.

"You've felt it, haven't you?" Asha's voice came from behind.

Kaen didn't turn.

"The pull? The hunger? It's not the flame that shapes as much as it scorches. Not the rune. It's something older."

He let out a slow breath. "You knew my mother."

Asha stepped beside him.

Arms folded. Eyes forward.

"I didn't just know her. I followed her."

Kaen's silence invited more.

And Asha gave it.

"She wasn't a mage. Not really. But she was chosen. Like you. Not by blood or test. By the fire."

"She was called Flameborn."

Kaen's eyes widened slightly.

"That's not a title the Academy recognizes."

"No," Asha said. "It's a curse they try to erase."

She looked at him her voice quiet.

"Your mother was the last to wield the unbroken flame. Before they split it. Before they tried to control it."

Kaen turned to her.

"What happened to her?"

"She gave it up. Gave you up. To protect both."

Asha stared at him for a long moment. Then said:

"From Kaereth himself."

The name echoed.

As if the world flinched.

[Kaen's Thought] Kaen's heart pounded.

"Kaereth is dead."

"So they say," Asha whispered. "But dead gods don't whisper through blood. Or burn through boys who should have been consumed by now."

"What does that make me?"

"The choice she never had," Asha said. "And the price we all still pay."

Then Kaen asked:

"What is the Pact of Ash?"

Asha turned toward the sky.

"The original promise between god and mortal. Fire in exchange for fate. Power… for servitude."

"And she broke it?"

"No," Asha said. "She fulfilled it."

"But in her own way."

Kaen stepped away from the railing.

His voice firmer now.

"The Council is going to try to control me."

"Or kill me."

"Probably."

"Then I need a pact of my own."

Asha looked at him.

Eyes sharp. Voice low.

"What kind?"

Kaen's answer was immediate.

"One that doesn't end in ashes."

Below, in the courtyard, a single rune flared bright.

A sign.

A memory.

Or a beginning.

In a chamber far beneath them, the Council of Nine gathered again.

Whispers turned to verdicts.

And Kaen's name was carved in silence…

into a death sentence.

It began at midnight.

No bells. No alarms. Just quiet steps in the dark.

A squad of Academy sentinels — cloaked in night-colored armor, their faces hidden, their movements sharp — crept through the western wing like whispers with swords.

Their orders were simple:

Secure the Flameborn.

No noise. No resistance. No survivors if met with force.

But Asha was waiting.

She didn't need magic to kill.

She used shadow.

Speed.

And the willingness to act first.

The first sentinel never saw the blade.

The second did — but only long enough to scream.

By the time the third raised his weapon, he was alone.

And the fourth ran.

Straight into Kaen.

Kaen didn't strike.

He stood firm, eyes glowing faintly gold-red, his presence alone halting the man's breath.

"You were sent to end me," he said.

The man dropped his blade. Fell to one knee.

Not in fear.

But in recognition.

"You bear the true flame," he whispered. "I—I was told it had no heir…"

"You were told wrong."

Asha appeared beside Kaen, blood on her sleeve, eyes burning.

"More are coming. But not soldiers. Masters."

"The Council?" Kaen asked.

"And the envoy's assassin."

The flame answered — rising behind his eyes, coursing through his chest.

But he didn't unleash it.

Instead, he turned to the trembling sentinel.

"Tell them I'm gone."

"But you're—"

"Gone," Kaen repeated. "Tell them the flame that shapes as much as it scorches left with me."

The man nodded. Then fled.

Asha raised an eyebrow. "Running?"

"No," Kaen said. "Choosing."

"Choosing what?"

He met her gaze.

"To live on my terms."

They moved quickly — through servant corridors, old tunnels, hidden paths beneath the Academy few remembered. Runes once used by rebels in the old wars shimmered as Kaen passed, sensing the fire within him—not only destructive, but defining.

They didn't try to stop him.

They opened for him.

At the final gate — a massive stone arch lined with forgotten symbols — Kaen stopped.

He looked back only once.

The Academy stood behind him.

Tall.

Cold.

And no longer a home.

Asha's voice cut the silence.

"Where Flameborn?"

Kaen's answer was soft. But sure.

"Where it all began."

"And ends?"

"That's up to me."

He stepped into the wild.

The gate sealed behind him.

And the world, for the first time in centuries, felt afraid of its own flame.