Chapter 2: Whispers of Fire

The sect’s training grounds buzzed with anticipation. Disciples gathered for the monthly trial, where strength was measured and ranks decided. Arion stood at the edge, his robes torn, his aura deliberately suppressed. To them, he was nothing more than a cripple clinging to pride.

“Look at him,” one sneered. “The prodigy who fell. He should leave before he embarrasses himself further.”

Arion lowered his gaze, hiding the crimson glow that flickered in his eyes. Inside, the Emperor’s voice whispered:
“Patience. Let them mock. When the time comes, their laughter will turn to fear.”

The trial began. One by one, disciples displayed their cultivation, summoning flames, blades, and illusions. When Arion’s turn came, silence fell. He stepped forward, his movements calm, deliberate. He raised his hand — and released only a faint spark.

Laughter erupted. “A cripple indeed!” they shouted.

But in that spark, hidden from mortal eyes, a forbidden flame coiled, devouring the air. The elder overseeing the trial frowned, sensing something unnatural. Arion bowed, feigning weakness, and returned to his place.

That night, beneath the moonlight, Arion trained in secret. Crimson fire surged through his veins, reshaping his broken meridians. His body screamed in pain, but his will was iron. Each breath drew him closer to vengeance.

The Emperor’s voice echoed:
“You walk the path of flames. Burn slowly, mortal. When the time comes, the world itself will ignite.”

Arion clenched his fists, eyes blazing. Let them laugh. Soon, they will kneel.