Chapter 10: The God Within the Flame

The darkness over Kazegane that night was not a gentle one. It was heavy and restless, rolling across the city's crooked rooftops, settling in the alleys and seeping through the broken shutters of the slums. The kind of darkness that carried memories—a thousand buried secrets pressed flat beneath the hush of midnight.

Kaen awoke in silence, sitting upright on the thin mat he called a bed, still fully clothed. His dreams were fragments: fire on old stones, the sound of swords, his mother's distant voice echoing in a corridor of light. For a long moment, he simply listened. There was only the low murmur of the city's nocturnal life—footsteps, whispered arguments, the distant shatter of glass.

He pressed his fingers to his temples. Another day behind him, another test survived, but the sense of safety was as thin as the blanket over his legs. The moon hung low outside, a pale sliver behind dirty window glass, too far away to offer comfort.

He heard movement—Meika, slipping into the room with the silence of a stray cat. She wore her old traveling cloak, one hand clutching a cloth bundle. Her face was sharp with worry, her eyes darting from the door to Kaen.

"You're awake," she said, her voice barely more than a breath. "They're searching again. Two squads, this time. More than last week. They were at the square, asking about anyone with… you know. Silver hair. Or anyone new."

Kaen's stomach tightened, but he only nodded. "Did they see you?"

"No." She shook her head, jaw set with stubborn pride. "They never do. I know these streets better than they do."

He almost smiled—almost. "I told you not to go out after curfew."

"I told you we needed bread." She pressed the bundle into his hands. Warm, crusty, with the faintest hint of spice. "Don't look at me like that, Kaen. If you want to survive here, you can't just hide. Not forever."

He let out a sigh. There was no arguing with Meika when she wore that look. She'd do what she had to, for both of them. He pulled the bread apart, giving her the larger half, and they sat together in the silence, eating as if nothing were wrong.

Outside, a bell tolled twice—an official patrol passing through Kazegane's outer ring. The city's darkness seemed to tremble. Kaen's mind raced: the rumors of the academy's inspection teams, the council's sudden interest in the "anomalies" cropping up across Tsukihara. He'd seen too much fear in the faces of the slum-dwellers lately, even the hardened thugs and schemers who usually laughed at the law.

"I saw Reijuu today," Meika said quietly, swallowing her bite. "He was at the market with that pack of his. They're getting bolder, even here."

"Did he see you?"

She shook her head, but uncertainty lingered. "No. But he… he looked different. Angry, almost desperate."

[Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt a ripple of unease. Reijuu, always cruel, always above the rabble—why would he risk dirtying his boots in Kazegane? What did he want here?

"Maybe he's hunting," Kaen murmured, voice low. "Looking for something he can't find at the academy."

Meika made a face. "Or someone."

One dusk, Rhiava stood overlooking the south gate, her eyes tracing distant banners beyond the mist. She had once dreamed of walking the world as a knight of peace. Now, the flame inside her clawed for something darker—revenge, or perhaps freedom. She couldn't tell the difference anymore.

He didn't answer. The idea of Reijuu searching for him wasn't new, but it had grown more dangerous. The academy's walls had once kept the worst of the world out. Now, with the recent unrest, nowhere felt safe—not the slums, not the city center, not even the dark woods beyond.

Meika leaned in, her voice trembling. "They're saying someone's vanished. One of the half-elf boys—Soran. No one's seen him since last night. People are scared, Kaen. They're saying… they're saying it's happening again. Like before."

[Kaen's Thought] He remembered—years ago, when the council's purges had swept through, half-breeds simply disappearing from their beds, never to be seen again. The city had never truly recovered; the wounds had only scabbed over, red and ugly beneath the surface.

"Did you see anything?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. But I heard something, out by the old foundry. Screaming. Like someone… fighting, maybe. But when I got there, it was empty. Just scorch marks. Like someone burned the ground."

A cold chill raced down Kaen's spine. Scorch marks. In a city where almost no one could cast fire.

Meika wrapped her arms around her knees. "If they start blaming us again…"

"They always do," he said softly.

He stood, his silhouette framed against the pale moonlight. The world outside seemed even more dangerous tonight, as if the city itself held its breath. There was a knot of dread in his chest, but he forced himself to be calm—for Meika, if not for himself.

"We need to keep moving. Lay low until the patrols pass. If Soran's really gone… the council will come down hard. They'll want someone to blame."

Meika nodded, gathering her things. "Where will we go?"

Kaen pulled the black cloak tighter around his shoulders. "Somewhere they're not looking yet. The old shrine, maybe. Or the river caves. We'll wait for Sayari's signal."

Meika hesitated. "You trust her, don't you?"

He looked away, uncertain. "I have to."

Together, they slipped into the hallway, their footsteps silent on the warped boards. The city's night air was sharp, thick with the scent of rain and distant fires. Somewhere, a dog barked, and the hush of fear crept deeper into the bones of Kazegane.

As they vanished into the maze of alleys, [Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt the weight of the night pressing in. Every shadow was a threat, every stranger a spy. But beneath it all, he sensed something shifting—an old wrong stirring in the dark, hungry for new victims.

And as the city's bells tolled once more, he knew: the sins of the night were not yet done with him.

Night fell over the battered encampment at the edge of Daikōya. What little remained of the students' earlier bravado had scattered like ash before the wind; now only the restless silence of those who had seen the wild and survived lay heavy across the canvas tents. Kaen sat outside the fire's glow, his back against a splintered cart, eyes fixed on the shifting dark. He was half-listening to the muffled voices from the fire—Meika trying to lighten the mood, Reijuu grumbling about sleeping conditions, Ayaka staring into the flame that shapes as much as it scorchess as if hoping they'd speak. He tried not to think about the hollowness left by their latest trial.

Sayari moved quietly beside him, a familiar ghost in the moonlit night. She knelt, placing a thin blanket across his shoulders, and for a moment Kaen let himself lean into her warmth. "You're not sleeping," she said softly. It wasn't a question.

"Not tired," he lied, voice rough from dust and too many swallowed questions.

"You've barely closed your eyes since we left the Academy." Sayari's tone was gentle, but there was a thread of steel there—a reminder that she saw more than he wanted to reveal. "You can't protect everyone, Kaen."

He shook his head, staring out across the steppe where the wild wind howled. "I just keep thinking… that none of us are ready for this. The monsters, the politics, even the others. We're just—" He stopped, lips pressed thin. He didn't want to say children, not with the way Meika had fought, not after the way Ayaka had faced down her own fear when the Kiraku appeared.

Sayari laid a hand on his. "No one is ever ready to leave behind what they were." Her eyes reflected starlight and memory. "But you have to choose what to carry, Kaen. Or it will bury you."

He tried to find words, but the weight of the day—of all the days since the Ruins—pressed down. "If I'm the only one who can—if this magic in me—"

Sayari cut him off with a rare firmness. "You are not alone. You never have been. Not when I ran from the fires with you, not when you faced the tree, not tonight."

Her words struck deep. He wanted to ask about that night, about what she had seen and hidden from him—about his real parents. But the question was a knife he wasn't ready to hold. Instead, he let the silence stretch, and Sayari squeezed his hand once, then rose, moving back toward the sleeping circle.

As she left, Meika crept to his side, eyes wide and hair tousled by the wind. "You look like you're about to explode, you know," she whispered.

He managed a faint smirk. "And you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Meika huffed and flopped beside him, drawing her knees to her chest. "Can you blame me? That thing in the ruins… I swear it's still watching us." She looked at him, trying for a smile but unable to hide her own trembling. "Kaen, do you ever wish we could just… go back? Before all this?"

He hesitated. The thought of Kazegane—the noise, the grime, the small safety of knowing your place—was as far away now as the stars overhead. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But even then, I always felt like I was waiting for something. Maybe it's better to be moving, even if it's dangerous."

She bumped his shoulder. "You're hopeless." Then she fell quiet, her gold eyes finding his in the dark. "But I'd rather be moving with you than anyone else."

He smiled, real this time, and for a heartbeat the ache in his chest eased.

They didn't notice the figure standing in the tent's shadow, watching: Ayaka, her blue hair glimmering faintly in the moonlight, clutching the edge of her cloak. Something haunted lingered in her gaze—a longing, a regret, a growing awareness that she could not name.

Further off, Reijuu lay awake, teeth clenched, staring at the night sky and feeling the old burn of rivalry and something darker twist in his gut. Tomorrow, he thought, would be the day he proved to everyone what true power looked like. Even if he had to drag it out of the shadows with his own hands.

The night deepened. The fire died to embers that remembered the pain and forged the will. In the darkness, Kaen let his eyes fall shut at last, though he knew sleep would bring only dreams of flame, shadow, and a road that stretched on forever.

The morning came cold and gray. Mist clung to the low grass and half-shrouded the road east, where the old path toward the capital gleamed pale as bone. Sayari led the way, cloak drawn tight, and Kaen walked with her, Meika at his side, the others following in uneasy silence. The air was thick with memory—of what they'd seen in the ruins, and of what waited ahead.

They passed a line of old stones, each marked with a weathered sigil: the seal of the Tenryu line, faded almost to nothing. Kaen paused, brushing moss from one, feeling the rough imprint beneath his palm.

Meika squinted at it. "You think the old legends are true? That every mile from here to Seigetsu is marked by a ghost?"

Kaen shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe they're just reminders—of what's been lost, or what we're supposed to remember."

Ayaka, at the back of the line, touched the stones too, tracing the glyphs as if searching for a memory she'd misplaced. Reijuu ignored them, striding ahead, eager to reach the city and leave the nightmares behind.

As they marched, a distant howl carried on the wind—the cry of a Yakoju, wounded and wild. The students glanced at each other, but Sayari motioned them on. "Keep together," she ordered. "No stragglers."

The world beyond the Academy was no longer a story. It was hunger and fear, hope and loss. And for Kaen, every step felt heavier, as if the road itself were testing him—whispering that the real journey had only just begun.

They walked until the sun burned away the mist, and the road led them forward—toward the capital, toward new trials, toward a destiny no one could yet see.

The road to Seigetsu, capital of the Tenryu Empire, was less a ribbon of stone than a scar across the earth—white, broken, and lined with shadows cast by the withered remnants of ancient trees. Kaen and the others walked in tense silence, each step drawing them farther from the burnt certainty of their old lives and deeper into the teeth of the world.

Meika was the first to break the silence. She flicked a pebble with the toe of her boot, eyes scanning the distance for movement. "I heard the river by Seigetsu runs silver at dawn. They say if you drink from it, it shows you what you really are." She tried to sound casual, but there was a note of longing in her voice—a hunger for truth, or for something she could finally hold on to.

Kaen glanced at her, the corners of his mouth twitching up. "What would you see?"

She grinned, baring her pointed canines. "Probably just a stubborn idiot who never learns." Her eyes darted to him. "And you?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe nothing. Or maybe too much."

Ayaka listened from behind, her face unreadable. The river's legend was old, but she'd always wondered: what did it show those who had something to hide?

Reijuu, walking in front, scoffed. "Stories for peasants and brats. The only truth is the one you make with your own hands." His voice carried sharp on the wind, meant to cut. He glanced over his shoulder at Kaen, his gaze lingering too long. "And some of us are still waiting to see what you're really made of, silver-head."

Kaen said nothing. Sayari shot Reijuu a look, but kept her pace steady, leading the group as the sun climbed higher.

Midday heat pressed down, drawing sweat from their brows and turning the air heavy. By the time they reached the edge of the lowland valley, their feet were caked with dust, their throats dry. A line of old market stalls—long abandoned, now home to rats and birds—stood like crooked sentries along the road.

Sayari signaled them to stop and rest. The group settled under the slanted shade of a collapsed awning. Meika scavenged for edible berries in a patch of weeds, Ayaka filled her flask from a rain barrel, and Reijuu paced, unable to keep still.

Kaen leaned back against a warped beam, staring up through the broken slats. He watched the sunlight flicker and thought of the ruins, the night before, the echo of his mother's ghost in his dreams. He wondered if, when he finally reached Seigetsu, anything would be waiting for him at all.

*Scars do not burn. They whisper.*

A sudden sound—a voice raised in anger—cut through his reverie.

"You there!" A group of armored men appeared from the road, weapons drawn, faces half-concealed by the visors of Tenryu's city guard. The lead man, older, with a jagged scar running down his cheek, barked an order. "Identify yourselves! This road is under the Emperor's command. No vagrants allowed near Seigetsu."

Reijuu stepped forward, chin high, arrogance returning in a flash. "We are candidates from the Senkiryuu Academy. On official business." He flashed the insignia at his belt—a dragon coiled in mist, unmistakable.

The guard studied them, lingering on Meika's eyes, Kaen's silver hair, the nonhuman marks on each of them. "You don't look like much," he growled. "And your papers?"

Sayari produced a sealed letter, stamped by the Academy, and offered it without a word. The guard snatched it, read it slowly, his lips moving, then grunted and waved his men to lower their spears. "Fine. But keep your heads down in the city. Things aren't as safe as they once were. There's unrest. Bandits. And rumors of… things in the night." His eyes flickered to Kaen and Ayaka, as if seeing something he didn't want to acknowledge. "Move along."

They obeyed, stepping back onto the road, pulse quickening.

As the city's towers appeared on the horizon, shrouded in thin mist, Sayari fell into step beside Kaen. Her voice was quiet, meant for him alone. "It's changing, this place. Old certainties are breaking."

Kaen nodded. "I feel it. Like everything's about to crack open."

Meika squeezed his arm. "We'll stick together. No matter what."

Behind them, Ayaka's steps slowed, her gaze fixed on the city's distant walls—on a memory, or a warning only she could hear. She felt her magic stirring under her skin, restless and uncertain.

The city gates loomed ahead—massive, carved from white stone, emblazoned with runes of light that flickered in and out as if unsure what side they served.

The guards at the gate barely looked up, waving them through with a mix of fear and indifference. Seigetsu was not what it had once been: inside, the streets were clogged with refugees, market stalls half-empty, rumors and suspicion thick in the air. Over it all hung banners of gold and white, bearing the sigil of Emperor Elyan II—a symbol now faded by war and neglect.

They slipped into the city, hearts pounding, eyes wide. For a moment, Kaen stood still in the press of bodies, feeling the weight of it all—the lost, the hunted, the chosen and the broken. Somewhere ahead, a new trial awaited. But for all he could do was keep moving, one foot after the other, and pray that whatever strength lingered in his blood would be enough.

A chill hung in the dawn air as Kaen and Meika moved through the underbelly of the academy complex, their footsteps echoing against ancient stone, each shadow drawn long and thin in the flickering light of their conjured orbs. Even here, beneath the humming world above, Tsukihara's pulse was felt—a tension in the veins of the rock, a history alive with secrets.

Their group pressed on, tense and quiet, led by Master Aonari and the ever-watchful Shigure. Around them, the slum-born and the highborn, the despised and the adored, trudged as equals for the first time, drawn together by dread. The wails from above, the faint shouts in the distant city, reminded them that the calm was an illusion. Here, in the bones of the world, the past would soon surface.

They reached an archway etched with forbidden glyphs—one of the "Dead Doors" of Senkiryuu, rumored to be sealed with curses left behind by the first headmaster. It was Ayaka who paused, blue hair trembling in the torchlight. "There's something behind it," she whispered, voice almost devoured by the darkness.

"Quiet," Aonari said, his hand pressed to the stone, reading the old runes. "Something…hates us here. It's restless. We must not tarry."

Reijuu snorted, all bravado gone from his pale face. "If it hates us, perhaps we should let it out. Maybe it'll eat the half-bloods and leave the rest of us alone." The words rang hollow even to him.

Shigure's gaze flickered. "If only it were so simple. Shadow isn't so choosy."

Meika glared at Reijuu, but Kaen put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't," he said softly. "It's not worth it. Shadows feed on hate."

Aonari murmured words of power, and the glyphs shuddered, the air rippling. The door opened with a drawn-out groan, revealing a passage tight as a wound. The scent was old blood, mold, and something that made their skins crawl—like the touch of hands that should be dead.

They pressed on. Ayaka's steps faltered, her breath short and uneven. [Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt her trembling and glanced over. She met his eyes for a heartbeat, and for the first time, she looked not like a distant noble but like a frightened girl. Kaen nodded, silent reassurance, and Ayaka straightened.

Deeper into the earth, a pulse began—a heartbeat in the walls, slow and angry. The light from their orbs flickered as something invisible brushed past. Meika hissed, "Something's with us."

The corridor spilled into a low, circular chamber. The center was a shallow pit, ringed with blackened runes, all pulsing faintly in red and violet. At the far edge, hunched and silent, was a monstrous shape—broad as a wagon, skin like melted wax, and from its back, writhing tendrils that pulsed with stolen magic.

It lifted a face—more mask than flesh, hollow eyes and a toothless maw.

"Kiraku," Shigure whispered, and even he looked uneasy. "A true demon of grief. Its magic… devours memory and soul. If you listen, you'll hear the voices it has eaten."

They did. The chamber rang with whispers—begging, crying, laughing, all wrong. Meika's fists clenched. "Don't listen," she hissed.

Aonari stepped forward, his sword drawn, words singing in the old tongue. "We came for a trial, not to die. Remember your purpose. Trust your veins, your soul. Do not let it in."

The Kiraku's maw gaped wider. A sudden wind swept the chamber, swirling dust and darkness, making the runes pulse faster. All of them staggered, clutching at their heads as memories twisted and frayed.

Kaen saw flashes—not his own life, but the burning of Hakuryuu-no-Shiro, a woman's scream, a silver-haired child cradled in bloodied arms. Meika choked, falling to one knee. Ayaka shuddered, pressing hands to her ears, eyes wide with visions she could not voice.

Reijuu moaned, "Make it stop!" but no one could.

Shigure's voice rang out, low but commanding: "Anchor yourselves. Name who you are. Do not give it what it wants."

Kaen fought to breathe. "I am Kaen. I am…" The pain pressed tighter, the darkness swirling with rage and sorrow, but he clung to his voice. "I am Kaen, son of… Sayari. I am not your memory."

Meika, teeth gritted: "Meika. Daughter of no one. I'm real."

Ayaka's hands shook. "Ayaka. I am not afraid. I am not…nothing."

One by one, the group fought to anchor themselves, chanting their names, their truths, over the storm of grief.

Aonari strode to the edge of the pit, blade flashing with the green-white glow of spirit magic. "Kiraku, hear me. Your sorrow is not ours. Begone!"

The demon howled, the chamber buckled, and for a moment, every face flickered with the ghosts of loss. But as Kaen stared into the pit, something ancient stirred within his blood—a ripple of power that pulsed in time with the demon's own rhythm.

He stepped forward, light blooming around him, the faintest glimmer of gold and shadow. "You want pain?" Kaen murmured, his voice trembling but steady. "Then take mine. But you will not take hers. Or his. Or anyone's but mine."

The Kiraku shrieked, lunging with tendrils of shadow—but Kaen's light met it, burning the darkness with the clarity of a new dawn. Around him, Meika's voice joined his, and then Ayaka's, and even Reijuu's—together, their truths forming a bulwark against oblivion.

The demon faltered, recoiling, and with a final roar, it shattered into dust and silence. The chamber brightened, the oppressive weight lifting, leaving behind only the ache of old wounds.

They stood in the new stillness, every breath heavy with the memory of what they'd survived.

"We keep moving," Aonari said at last, voice softer than before. "There are more shadows ahead. But you… you have proven something this day."

Shigure's gaze lingered on Kaen. "And so it begins."

They pressed forward, deeper into the labyrinth—each step a vow, each breath a victory over shadow.

The air felt heavier after the Kiraku's cry faded—a raw stillness, as if the walls themselves needed to remember how to breathe. Every step the group took away from the shattered pit was laden with exhaustion, the sort that sinks into the marrow. Their faces were pale, eyes too wide, every breath a shudder.

For the first time since the descent into these veins of the academy, Kaen saw a kind of unity among them. Meika and Ayaka walked side by side, their rivalry forgotten for a heartbeat, both supporting a limping Reijuu who had lost all the arrogance of a nobleman and now looked simply, utterly lost. Even Aonari, normally so cold and untouchable, paused to murmur something gentle in Elvish to the youngest of the half-bloods, a comfort or a prayer—no one could tell.

Kaen led them, not by command but because the others seemed to lean unconsciously toward the light that flickered around him golden and wavering like a candle in wind. It was not power—at least not the kind he'd learned in stories—but something older, deeper, tied to the memory of pain and the choice to keep moving forward despite it.

The corridors grew narrower, their route a maze of rough-hewn stone and dust. The further they went, the more the walls seemed to close in. Here, the Academy's pristine image was stripped away; here, Tsukihara's scars bled openly. Faded bloodstains, ancient carvings, the marks of claws—everywhere the memory of struggle and fear.

Meika's voice cut through the silence, cracked but resolute. "Did you feel it? The demon's hunger… It wanted more than just memories. It wanted hope." She looked at Kaen, then at Ayaka, her gaze steady. "We can't let it win. Not here. Not anywhere."

Ayaka nodded, rubbing at the dried blood on her wrist. "They said the Academy was for the best of us. But down here, it feels like we're being stripped of everything good."

Kaen considered that. "Or maybe… it's showing us what's worth protecting. If the world above is a lie, then maybe what we build together down here is real."

Aonari halted them at an intersection. The passage split three ways: one path led into blackness, one upward with a faint, sickly light, and the last toward a low, vibrating hum. The elf knelt, laying a hand on the stone, whispering to it as if it could answer.

Shigure joined him, his coat trailing in the dust. "The true heart of Senkiryuu is not above, but below. The Founders locked something here—something even they could not destroy."

Reijuu, shaken but curious, found his voice. "What… what did they lock away?"

Aonari glanced back, silver-blue eyes gleaming. "Despair. Failure. The magics no one wanted to remember. It is the reason this academy can shine so brightly: its darkness is buried deep, fed and forgotten."

Meika made a sound between a laugh and a sob. "So we're the newest sacrifices?"

"No," Kaen said softly. "We're the proof that the darkness can be faced."

A distant roar vibrated through the stone, raising goosebumps on their arms. Dust fell from the ceiling. They had no choice but to follow the hum, moving as one—united, if only by necessity and dread.

The hum resolved into chanting: old, throaty, the syllables of a forgotten tongue. As they reached another antechamber, they found a gathering of specters—ghostly shapes clad in the tattered robes of ancient students, faces hidden behind hoods. At their center stood a pedestal, upon which rested a cracked crystal pulsing with black and violet light. Its aura was suffocating, crushing the breath from their lungs.

Aonari drew his blade. "Do not speak. Do not touch the crystal. We must pass without drawing their gaze."

But as they crept along the wall, Meika stumbled—her foot catching a loose stone. Instantly, all the specters turned, hoods lifting to reveal blank, hollow faces. The chanting swelled, each syllable a lance of cold pain.

[Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt the pull—a call not just to his magic, but to the ache deep in his soul. The crystal wanted his pain, his blood, his truth.

He reached for Meika, pulling her upright. The ghosts surged, hands outstretched, but Kaen raised Seihonome. The sword gleamed, not with flame, but with a gentle blue-white light—elf-magic, pure and unyielding. "We are not yours," Kaen said, his voice ringing in the cold.

Shigure stepped beside him, fingers splayed, and for a moment Kaen saw what true vampire power looked like: not hunger, but restraint, a force that bent the dark back upon itself.

The ghosts recoiled, shrieking, as Ayaka and Reijuu joined hands with the others. Their combined wills—fearful, uncertain, but resolute—pushed the specters back. One by one, the hoods dropped, the forms faded, and the chanting ceased, leaving only the echo and the trembling of the dying crystal.

Kaen's knees buckled, but he did not fall. Meika caught him. The others gathered close, a tight circle in the center of a war that had started long before any of them were born.

Aonari spoke with rare softness. "The worst of Tsukihara lives in the wounds no one speaks of. But you—" he looked at each of them in turn, lingering on Kaen "—have shown the first sign of healing."

They pressed on, leaving the shattered ghosts behind, their breaths mingling in the dust-laden air. For the first time, [Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt not just the weight of his heritage, but the hope of something new—a thread of gold running through the ash.

Outside, the city shuddered. Above, the sun fought through clouds. And far below, the academy's darkness found itself pierced by the pulse of living hearts.

The air hung still above the ruins, as if time itself dared not move forward.

Kaen knelt amid the ash, his fingers digging into the cracked stone floor of what had once been the heart of the Hollow. Around him, the cavernous expanse breathed in silence. No beasts stirred. No echoes returned. The flames that had raged moments ago were gone, yet their scent clung to the walls like smoke embedded into bone.

His breath was shallow. Not from exhaustion, but from clarity.

“Enjin…” he whispered. The name carried weight now. It wasn’t just the title of a forgotten god — it was within him. Not metaphor. Not prophecy. It burned in the seams of his skin, in the echoes of every heartbeat, in the way the world suddenly felt… smaller.

He had seen a flicker of the past, a flame too bright for mortal eyes — and somehow, he had returned.

From behind the lingering smoke, a voice broke the silence.

“You’re alive…”

Aoi’s voice. Fragile. Disbelieving.

He turned slowly.

She stood at the edge of the scorched platform, her arms trembling, her uniform singed, cheeks stained with blood and dust. Haruki was behind her, barely able to walk, leaning on a broken spear like a crutch. Their eyes met Kaen’s, and for a moment — just a breath — she recoiled.

In awe.

“Kaen…” she whispered again, stepping forward. “What happened to you down there?”

He wanted to answer. Truly. But the words tangled in his throat. How could he explain what it felt like to touch divinity? To see Enjin’s form — cloaked in flame and memory, speaking in a voice older than time — and know that part of that ancient soul now lived in him?

Instead, he said only, “It’s over. For now.”

Haruki dropped to his knees, clutching his side. “That… thing,” he grunted, “it was more than just a Hollow. I felt it. Something ancient. Wrong.”

Kaen nodded once. “It wasn’t just a monster. It was a remnant.”

“A remnant?” Aoi asked, approaching slowly.

“A scar left behind by a god who died but never left,” Kaen said, voice low. “It remembered… and it hated everything that still lived.”

They sat in silence for a while, the three of them, surrounded by blackened ruins and the lingering warmth of flame.

Haruki, despite his wounds, chuckled. “You really are something else, Kaen. I thought you were just a quiet guy who didn’t like crowds.”

Kaen didn’t smile. He just looked at his hands — at the faint glow that had not yet left his veins.

“You don’t know what I am.”

Haruki opened his mouth to say something, but Aoi gently touched his arm, shaking her head. She sat down beside Kaen.

There was something in her eyes. Not fear. Not pity.

Understanding.

“I felt it too,” she said. “Not the way you did. But… something passed through me. When you screamed. When the flame that shapes as much as it scorches rose. It was like… it reached into all of us. And asked if we were worthy.”

Kaen turned to her, surprised.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said simply. “But I’m not going to pretend I understand you either.”

He looked away. “You shouldn’t have to carry this.”

“I don’t want to carry it,” she said. “I want to stand next to it.”

The wind shifted. Somewhere deep below, a breath of warm air rose from the fissures.

Haruki groaned as he stood. “Well, as touching as this is, I think we should get the hell out of here before the ceiling caves in.”

Kaen stood too. He looked at the ruined gate they had entered through — now nothing more than twisted metal and scorched stone.

“There’s another way out,” he said. “I saw it when… when I was with him.”

“Enjin?” Aoi asked.

He nodded.

Haruki scratched his head. “Right. You had a vision with a dead god and now you’re giving directions. This is totally normal.”

Kaen glanced at him. “Do you trust me?”

Haruki hesitated. “After what I saw down there? I think I’d follow you straight into the sun.”

Kaen blinked. That was more trust than he thought he deserved.

They made their way through a crumbled tunnel that Kaen remembered from the vision — Enjin’s path of escape, hidden behind a veil of collapsed rock and fire. As they climbed, Aoi stayed close beside him, her presence quiet but grounding.

And still… even as they rose from the Hollow, [Kaen's Thought] Kaen felt it.

A flicker.

A voice that had burned once with the fury of gods, now only an ember — but still alive.

“You are not complete,” it murmured. “But you will be.”

The fire within him—not only destructive, but defining pulsed once, soft as a heartbeat.

The sky above the Hollow had begun to pale — not from dawn, but from the strange stillness that follows cataclysm. No wind stirred. No birds called. Even the clouds seemed hesitant to pass above the fractured land.

Kaen stood at the cliff’s edge, just beyond the exit of the secret tunnel. Below him stretched the scorched forest, its trees blackened and silent. From this height, it looked like a graveyard of flame and shadow. Yet something pulsed beneath the earth — not rage, not ruin… something alive.

Aoi sat a few steps behind, nursing a bruised arm. Haruki was further back, half-asleep against a moss-covered rock. The three of them hadn’t said much since their escape. There were no words strong enough to carry what they’d just lived through.

And yet — something had changed.

Kaen closed his eyes and listened. Not to the world, but inward.

The flame was no longer screaming.

It murmured.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” a voice came, quiet and feminine.

Kaen opened his eyes. A figure approached from the trees — tall, cloaked in silver and blue, her hair like starlight, her presence too graceful to be entirely human.

The Goddess.

He stiffened as she approached. Aoi looked up sharply, her expression shifting from confusion to awe. Haruki only blinked, too dazed to stand.

“You walked into Enjin’s heart,” the goddess said, stopping before Kaen. “And you emerged with his memory.”

Kaen didn’t respond.

“Do you know what that means?”

“I saw his end,” he murmured. “His fall. His sacrifice. But I don’t understand it all.”

“You’re not meant to. Not yet.”

The goddess extended her hand — not toward him, but toward the earth.

A tiny flame rose from the soil. Not hot. Not wild. It danced like a whisper.

“This is what remains,” she said. “The inheritance of flame. Not power. Not glory. Memory.”

Kaen stared at the flame that shapes as much as it scorches. “What do I do with it?”

“You carry it. And one day, when the world burns again — you decide whether it ends in ash… or light.”

The goddess turned to go, her form beginning to fade into mist and leaves.

But Kaen took a step forward. “Wait. Why me?”

“Because you asked why, instead of how much.”

Then she was gone.

Only the flickering ember remained, floating before Kaen like a question left unanswered.

Aoi stood and stepped beside him. “She was…”

“A god,” he finished. “But not the last one.”

They stood in silence for a moment, letting the forest breathe again.

Haruki finally roused himself, limping toward them. “So… are we just going to walk back like normal people now?”

Kaen smiled, faintly. “As normal as we can pretend to be.”

Haruki rolled his eyes. “Great. Let’s just hope the Council doesn’t execute us for disappearing during a sanctioned mission.”

Aoi laughed softly, surprising even herself. “If they do, I’ll set their robes on fire.”

Kaen didn’t laugh, but he turned to them — to his team — and for the first time, he allowed himself to feel it:

Belonging.

Even if it was temporary.

Even if the world would take it from him again.

He had returned from the Hollow with something no one else could carry.

Not just the flame that shapes as much as it scorches. Not just Enjin’s whisper.

But the choice.

And he knew—

It would burn again.

But this time, he would not run.

He would stand in it.

And the fire would call him by name.

Kaen remembered the flame that shapes as much as it scorchess. Not just the ones that burned flesh—but the ones that carved resolve. Fire destroyed, yes. But it also tempered blades, illuminated darkness, and revealed truth in shadows. In Tsukihara, fire was not only a curse. It was inheritance—and perhaps, salvation.