Chapter 13: The Crimson Vein

The road was older than any map remembered.

It cut through valleys scorched by forgotten wars, where no kingdom laid claim and no law held sway. Just earth, sky, and silence — and the ghosts of a thousand abandoned banners fluttering in the wind.

Kaen moved without urgency. The new blade — Ikari — hung across his back, wrapped in black cloth that seemed to resist the wind. Since leaving the shrine, his pace had slowed. Not from hesitation, but instinct.

He was being watched again.

But this time, no one moved.

No assassins. No shadows.

Only waiting.

He crossed a crumbling stone bridge just before dusk. Below, a dried-up riverbed wound through jagged rock like a scar. In the distance, thin trails of smoke rose from scattered camps or ruins. Not villages.

Refugee fires.

The land was restless.

And he was not the only one walking roads without a flag.

Later, Kaen stopped beneath the remains of a shattered tree — hollow at the core, blackened by lightning. He unpacked nothing. Just sat. Watching. Listening.

Footsteps approached behind him.

Slow. Deliberate.

He didn’t reach for his sword.

A voice spoke — male, young, cocky.

“Didn’t expect to find a ghost sitting where the fire should be.”

Kaen didn’t move. “Depends which ghost you’re looking for.”

The man stepped into view — lean, armored in mismatched pieces, with two short blades strapped at his hips. His left eye was covered by a strip of cloth.

“Name’s Reijuu,” he said. “And I’m looking for a walking rumor.”

Kaen looked at him now.

“Rumors walk?”

“In times like these?” Reijuu smirked. “They run. And sometimes… they carry swords forged from gods.”

Reijuu sighed. “Fine. Don’t talk. Just listen.”

He knelt by the burned tree and tossed a sparkstone into the hollow.

Fire burst to life instantly — unnaturally fast.

“You’ve been touched by magic.”

“Touched?” Reijuu laughed. “More like slapped across the face.”

Kaen studied him.

Not a noble. Not a hunter.

“Why are you really here?” Kaen asked.

Reijuu’s smile faded. “I follow flames. And you’re the brightest thing walking east right now.”

As night settled in, the two men sat by the fire.

Not friends. Not foes.

Something in between — forged by necessity, not trust.

Kaen didn’t sleep.

And neither did Reijuu.

Because both of them knew—

Roads that carried no banner…

…often led straight into war.

The morning broke slow, grey, and bitter. Clouds pressed low against the ridges of the eastern highlands, and the wind carried the faint scent of ash.

Kaen and Reijuu moved silently through a ravine carved by time and water. The path narrowed between cliffs, and the rocks bore scorch marks too deliberate to be from nature. Someone — or something — had burned here recently.

“Keep your eyes up,” Kaen muttered.

Reijuu gave a low grunt. “Too quiet for scavengers. You think it’s military?”

Kaen didn’t answer.

He already felt it.

Blood. Flame. Discipline.

Then it came — not from ahead, but from above.

Steel shrieked.

A figure dropped from the cliffside — armored in red lacquered plates, helm shaped like a snarling beast. Imperial.

Kaen reacted instantly, blade drawn in a single motion. Ikari hummed as it sliced upward, catching the soldier mid-strike. The man didn’t scream. He simply shattered — not into flesh, but obsidian.

“What—” Reijuu started.

But then the others emerged.

Not men.

Forged.

Kaen had heard rumors of the Empire’s newest experiments — warriors built from dead flesh, bound by magic and sealed in armor that bled heat instead of blood.

“Ember Knights,” he said grimly.

Three more surrounded them, stepping from the mists like reanimated statues. Their movements were stiff, unnatural. But their blades gleamed wet — not with rust, but fresh crimson.

They had already killed today.

Reijuu stepped beside Kaen, drawing both daggers. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a trick for this.”

Kaen didn’t answer. He was already moving.

The first Knight lunged. Kaen sidestepped, flame bursting from his left palm — not wild, but focused, like a spear. It struck the Knight’s chest. The creature convulsed, and a rune etched across its armor flared violently.

“Hit the glyphs!” Kaen shouted. “Break the core!”

Reijuu dove low, slicing beneath a second Knight’s leg — severing a tendon made of iron-threaded sinew. The construct staggered, just long enough for Kaen to bring Ikari down like judgment.

One stroke.

One clean break.

The Knight fell, and the ground shook as it cracked apart.

The last one didn’t attack.

It stood still.

And then — it spoke.

A voice echoed from within the armor. Low. Metallic. Inhuman.

“Bearer of Flame. We see you.”

Kaen narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?”

The Knight didn’t answer. It took a single step back.

Then fire erupted from its body.

But not natural flame.

Voidfire.

Black. Consuming. Cold.

Kaen moved fast, shielding Reijuu with his body as he cast a barrier of Enjin’s flame — red against black. The shockwave tore through the canyon, throwing stones and dirt into the air.

When the smoke cleared—

Nothing remained.

Not a body.

Not armor.

Only the mark left behind.

A twisted sigil scorched into the earth — the crest of a forgotten imperial sect.

Kaen stared at it, heart pounding.

Reijuu coughed. “So… they know exactly who you are.”

“No,” Kaen murmured. “They know what I could become.”

The town of Kitsuho once marked the edge of the Empire’s reach — a quiet, mist-shrouded settlement nestled between the northern cliffs and the old, crumbling borderstones. Traders used to pass through here on their way to the coast. Farmers once brought their crops down from the terraces.

Now, there was only silence.

And smoke.

Kaen and Reijuu stood at the top of the hill overlooking the village. The rooftops were caved in. Walls blackened. The temple at the center — once the heart of the town — had been reduced to a skeleton of burnt stone and collapsed pillars.

“Damn,” Reijuu whispered. “They didn’t raid this place. They erased it.”

Kaen stepped forward, slowly, eyes scanning the ground.

No bodies.

Not a single one.

Only ash.

Footsteps crunched beside him as Reijuu knelt near a charred post.

Symbols had been scorched into the wood — not by hand, but by magic.

“Same rune as the one in the ravine,” he said.

Kaen nodded. “Voidfire sect. Imperial loyalists.”

“But why here?”

Kaen didn’t answer. Instead, he walked deeper into the ruins, passing through a street lined with cracked lanterns and stone cisterns. Wind pulled at the edges of his cloak, carrying the bitter scent of burnt flesh long faded.

Then he stopped.

At the center of what had once been the temple courtyard, something stood upright — untouched by flame.

A stone column, waist-high, with a sigil carved into its face.

Not the Empire’s.

Not the Crescent’s.

But his.

The symbol of Enjin’s flame — surrounded by ash.

Someone had left it here intentionally.

Reijuu stepped beside him, voice low. “A message?”

Kaen studied the edges of the carving. Recent. Precise. Not desperate like a dying man — calm, deliberate.

Someone had wanted him to find this.

“They’re watching me,” Kaen muttered. “Not just hunting.”

Reijuu crossed his arms. “Or someone’s warning you.”

Kaen knelt beside the column, pressing his fingers to the stone.

For a moment, nothing.

Then — a whisper.

Not sound. Not memory.

Something deeper.

Kaen… not all flame burns to destroy. Some burns to reveal.

That voice—

Ashira?

No… older.

Deeper.

Enjin?

Or something that remembered him.

He stood, face hardening. “This wasn’t the Empire. Not fully.”

Reijuu blinked. “You’re saying there’s more than one group burning towns?”

“I’m saying there’s more than one purpose.”

And that terrified him more than any assassin.

As they prepared to leave the ruined village, Kaen looked back one last time.

The ashes shifted in the wind — and for a heartbeat, he thought he saw figures standing in the smoke.

The path beneath Kitsuho led deeper than expected.

A concealed passage behind the old temple’s altar opened to a long, descending tunnel — narrow, damp, reinforced with broken planks and rusted chains. At first glance, it looked abandoned.

But Kaen knew better.

So did Reijuu.

“I thought rebels were more… organized,” Reijuu muttered as they walked. “This looks like a mine collapsed three decades ago.”

Kaen didn’t answer. His senses were focused outward — the air shifted ahead, and faint sounds echoed beyond the next bend. Voices. Metal. Flame.

Light.

The tunnel opened into a vast underground cavern.

Makeshift structures had been built into the rock: tents of woven canvas, fire pits circled by men and women in armor, and walls painted with the sigils of various minor houses long believed extinct. They weren’t just refugees.

They were survivors.

And they were readying for war.

As Kaen stepped into the open, heads turned. Hands moved to weapons. A group of guards wearing scorched leather and bone-colored cloaks approached swiftly, blades half-drawn.

One of them — tall, scarred, with an eyepatch made from obsidian glass — stopped a meter from Kaen.

“You don’t walk into the Ashroot Fold without permission.”

Reijuu raised his hands. “Easy. We’re not here to take anything.”

Kaen’s voice cut in. “We’re here because the Empire is hunting us. And we’ve brought proof.”

The man narrowed his eye. “What kind of proof?”

Kaen unwrapped the cloth from his back.

Ikari.

The moment the weapon touched open air, the flame that shapes as much as it scorchess across the nearest fire pits shifted — drawn inward, toward the blade. Heat pulsed through the cave. Whispers erupted among the resistance fighters.

Someone stepped forward from the far end of the camp.

A woman.

Armored in a mix of elven metal and human mail, with a sash dyed crimson and eyes like sharp glass.

She spoke with authority, but not cruelty.

“Let him through.”

The guards parted.

Kaen and Reijuu followed her deeper into the Fold’s center, passing maps spread across tables and stacks of worn weapons. This wasn’t just a hideout — it was a command post.

Inside a small chamber carved into stone, the woman turned.

“I’m Ayaka no Serin,” she said. “And I lead what’s left of the Crescent Rebellion in the North.”

Kaen inclined his head. “Kaen.”

“No surname?” she asked, half-smirking.

“None worth speaking.”

Ayaka studied him. “Your flame isn’t normal. I felt it when you stepped in. It doesn’t obey mana laws.”

Kaen was silent.

Ayaka leaned closer. “You want shelter? Allies? Then tell me: Who are you really?”

He hesitated — then reached into his cloak.

And dropped the ring onto the table.

It shimmered faintly with crimson light, pulsing like a heartbeat. The symbol on it — the sigil of Enjin — burned faint and true.

Ayaka’s expression shifted.

“You bear the Embermark,” she whispered. “There are only three in history recorded to hold it.”

Kaen met her gaze. “Then I’ll be the fourth.”

Then Ayaka extended her hand.

“Then you’ll need to fight. For us — and for yourself.”

And clasped it.

The arena beneath the Fold was carved from old stone — circular, worn smooth by time, blood, and footsteps. Torches burned along the upper edges, casting flickering shadows down the walls. The air was thick with heat, sweat, and something older:

Expectation.

Ayaka stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed.

“Every warrior who swears the Ember Pact fights beneath these walls. It’s not about strength,” she said. “It’s about truth. About whether your fire belongs to us — or to something that will consume us all.”

Kaen didn’t flinch.

“I accept.”

Reijuu muttered from the sidelines, “You sure about this? That last guy who fought left in pieces.”

Kaen gave him a sideways glance. “I’m not here to impress. I’m here to burn through lies.”

The crowd circled in quickly. Men and women in rebel gear, mercenaries, half-elves, even one or two scarred demonbloods, all forming a ring of judgment. At the far side of the circle, a gate opened.

His opponent stepped through.

Broad-shouldered, shirtless, body marked with searing runes from neck to waist. His arms shimmered faintly — not with metal, but with condensed mana hardened into armor.

The crowd began to murmur.

“Setzu of the Iron Flame,” Ayaka announced.

Kaen’s eyes narrowed. The name sounded familiar.

“He’s your enforcer?” Kaen asked.

“No,” Ayaka replied. “He’s our shield. And today, your fire must pass through him.”

Setzu didn’t speak.

He simply raised both arms and slammed them together. Sparks flew.

The fight began.

Setzu moved fast — faster than expected for someone his size. His first strike was a hammering downward blow, aimed to break Kaen’s guard in a single hit. Kaen dodged left, pivoted, and slashed sideways with Ikari.

The blade met mana-armor — and slid across it, harmless.

Setzu snarled and countered, elbow first. The strike caught Kaen’s ribs and sent him skidding across the stone.

The crowd roared.

Kaen rose, slow but steady.

He hadn’t ignited the flame that shapes as much as it scorches yet.

Setzu charged again, fists like meteors. Kaen ducked one, parried the second with the flat of his blade, then stepped in — close, too close — and whispered a single word:

“Enjin.”

Flame ignited from his palm — not in a blast, but in a spiral, drilling into Setzu’s armor like molten truth. The enchantment cracked, then shattered, bursting off his arm like broken glass.

Setzu stumbled, wide-eyed for the first time.

“Your fire… it speaks.”

Kaen stepped forward, Ikari raised.

“I’m not here to kill you,” he said quietly. “I’m here to remind this rebellion what fire is meant to protect.”

Then he slammed the blade into the ground.

A wave of flame pulsed outward — crimson, pulsing, living — but it didn’t burn.

It warmed.

The crowd silenced.

Ayaka stepped into the ring slowly, eyes sharp.

“You passed.”

Setzu stood, one arm burned, the other clutching his side — and smiled. “Haven’t had my armor cracked in ten years. Welcome to the fire, Kaen.”

Ayaka extended her hand again.

“Swear it.”

Kaen placed his hand over his heart.

“I swear — that my flame will not be wielded by kings, nor gods, nor blood. Only by truth. And when I fall, may that truth burn in my place.”

Ayaka’s voice echoed.

“Then rise — Flameborn. And bear the oath that does not break.”

The celebration didn’t last long.

After the oath was sworn and the crowd dispersed, the Fold returned to its quiet hum — warriors sharpening blades, strategists murmuring over maps, and fires crackling in their stone hollows.

Kaen stood alone near one of the lower chambers, watching flame dance across an oil bowl. Ikari lay beside him, silent. The warmth soothed his bruises, but his mind was far from calm.

Something about Setzu’s words lingered.

What had he heard?

What was Kaen becoming?

Reijuu approached, holding two tin cups.

“You look like a man trying to drown ghosts in tea.”

Kaen took one of the cups without smiling. “At least ghosts don’t ask questions.”

Reijuu sat beside him. “You know, for someone who just gained the respect of half a rebellion, you’re awfully quiet.”

“I don’t care about their respect.”

“Sure. But you care about their cause.”

Kaen didn’t answer. Instead, he stared deeper into the fire.

Then—something flickered.

Not in the flame that shapes as much as it scorches. In the air.

A distortion, barely visible. Like heat rising where there shouldn’t be any.

Kaen rose immediately, stepping silently toward the far wall. The distortion shifted. Then vanished.

A concealed doorway.

Reijuu’s brow lifted. “You seeing ghosts again?”

Kaen pressed against the stone. A click. The wall gave way — revealing a narrow corridor lined with runes.

Old. Imperial. Sealed with silence.

“Someone’s hiding something,” Kaen muttered. “And I don’t think Ayaka knows.”

The hallway led to a chamber carved deep into the rock — smaller than the others, but more carefully kept. No torches. Only soft blue light from mage-lamps embedded in the ceiling.

At the center was a mirror — tall, cracked at the corners, covered in cloth.

Kaen stepped forward and pulled the cloth away.

What stared back at him wasn’t his reflection.

It was a woman — cloaked, bound in golden runes, floating within the mirror’s surface like she was asleep beneath water.

And then—her eyes opened.

She didn’t scream.

She simply looked at him.

“You carry his flame.”

Kaen’s breath caught. “Who are you?”

Her voice was a whisper across glass. “One who bore it before you.”

“Enjin?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. The one who betrayed him.”

Before he could respond, the room filled with light. A pulse echoed through the stone, and the mirror rippled — then sealed.

Footsteps echoed behind him.

Ayaka.

Her voice was cold. “You weren’t meant to find this.”

Kaen turned, slowly. “Then what is she?”

Ayaka stepped into the room, arms crossed. “A prisoner. A traitor. A goddess, some say.”

He stared at her.

“You keep gods in cages now?”

“She betrayed Enjin,” Ayaka said. “Her name is Sanyou, and long ago, she tried to steal the Ember Crown for herself. She failed. But her mind holds truths no one else remembers that remembered the pain and forged the will.”

Kaen looked back at the mirror.

The woman — Sanyou — had closed her eyes again.

But her presence lingered. Heavy. Unanswered.

“Why show me this now?”

Ayaka’s jaw tensed. “Because you passed the oath. Because now you must understand—what we’re fighting for isn’t just rebellion.”

She stepped closer.

“We’re fighting to decide who controls the flame that shapes as much as it scorches. And that choice… might end with you.”

The next morning, Kaen stood alone on the cliffs above the Fold.

The wind was cold, dry, biting at his skin like memory.

Below, the rebels moved — sharpening blades, packing rations, studying maps etched with the Empire’s veins. Ayaka was mobilizing them. The plan was clear: a strike toward the central province, where Imperial supply lines had grown thin.

But Kaen’s mind wasn’t on the war.

It was on her.

Sanyou.

The traitor.

The flame-thief.

The goddess imprisoned not for power — but for knowledge too dangerous to be spoken aloud.

And her words…

Not a flame. His.

Enjin’s.

But how?

Kaen touched his chest.

The mark beneath his skin burned faintly.

Reijuu approached from behind, his usual smirk dulled. “You’ve been up here since before dawn. Planning to leap off and fly?”

Kaen didn’t turn. “I saw someone who shouldn’t exist.”

Reijuu raised an eyebrow. “This about the mirror?”

“She knew me,” Kaen said. “Before I even spoke.”

Reijuu fell quiet. “You think she’s lying?”

“No.”

“That’s what worries me.”

That night, Kaen packed his things. No one stopped him.

Except Ayaka.

She met him at the edge of the tunnels, arms folded.

“You’re leaving.”

“For ” Kaen said. “There’s something I have to find. Before the Empire finds it first.”

Ayaka looked at him carefully. “You’re chasing ghosts.”

“I’m following truth,” he corrected. “You said yourself — fire reveals. So let it reveal me.”

She hesitated. Then held out a scroll.

“Then take this. Coordinates. Old ruins east of the Hollow Ridge. The last place Enjin was ever seen — before his flame vanished.”

And met her gaze.

“I’ll come back.”

Ayaka nodded. “You better. Because whether you like it or not… you’re part of this war now.”

Kaen left before sunrise.

The sky bled soft orange.

The land stretched wide and silent.

And behind him, a rebellion began to stir.

But ahead—

The unknown.

A forgotten ruin.

A god’s final step.

And a flame that remembered more than Kaen had ever dared to ask.

He stood over Silas, wounded and defenseless. One thrust would end it. The crowd waited. Justice or mercy? Kaen’s hand trembled, not from fear — but from the burden of legacy. 'I won't become what they expect. Not today.' He lowered his blade. The silence screamed louder than steel. He chose to spare his enemy — and in doing so, defied the path of flame.

Chapter 14