The broken temple was cold, not from the mountain air, but from something else.
A silence too deep for nature to make.
Kael stepped deeper, the cracked murals watching him like forgotten sentinels. The flame from his blade flickered just enough to light the path—but never bright enough to show everything.
That alone made him uneasy.
His fingers brushed against the wall as he passed.
Ash. Not dust.
Everything in this temple had been burned once. Then rebuilt. Then burned again.
It was no accident.
---
At the far end of the hall, he found the altar.
But this one was not like the first.
It wasn't sealed. It wasn't chained.
It was open.
And something had been torn from it.
Kael approached slowly. Symbols lined the stone, spirals and glyphs in a language he didn't recognize—but felt. A language older than sects, older than empires.
He knelt.
Just to look.
That was when the voice returned.
Not a whisper.
A presence.
> "You walk the path without sky, without chains, without gods…"
Kael tensed. "What are you?"
The air grew warmer—no fire, just pressure, like the breath of something massive.
> "You carry the ember of the fallen. You wake what should remain buried."
"I never asked to."
> "But you did not refuse."
Kael's jaw clenched. He couldn't argue. He hadn't run. Not when the blade called. Not when the altar cracked. Not when power bled from his hands.
He had chosen.
And now—something had chosen him.
---
Behind the altar, the wall began to shift.
Rocks slid aside as if pushed by unseen hands. A passage revealed itself—narrow, carved by flame, veins of glowing ore running along its sides. The scent of burnt incense hit him.
Kael hesitated.
Then stepped in.
---
The path was steep. The deeper he walked, the more his thoughts twisted. Memories he never lived flickered in his mind:
—A boy standing alone before a shattered sky.
—A sword plunging into the heart of a god.
—Flames, not of war… but of betrayal.
He stumbled, gripping the wall. His pulse raced. The sword at his side pulsed in sync.
Then the tunnel opened into a chamber. Small. Round. Carved smooth.
And at its center stood a statue.
A kneeling god.
Chains looped around its arms and neck. Its face was blank. Hollow. Yet Kael felt its gaze. Its rage.
Not rage at him.
At the heavens above.
---
He approached.
Words were carved at its feet, half-buried in soot.
> "We knelt… so they would burn instead."
Kael stared at the words.
The statue didn't look broken.
It looked like it had refused to bow.
And had been punished for it.
He looked down at his own hands—scorched by power, burdened by choice.
And he understood.
---
He was no longer just a rogue disciple.
He was walking the path of something far older.
A legacy of fire that once tried to burn the heavens themselves.
And maybe… would try again.