Under twilight's breath where lotus bloom,
The heavens watched from silver plume.
Lin Xun's fame, like embers spread,
From distant peaks to cities red.
His name whispered in warrior halls,
Echoed soft through mountain calls.
Some bowed in awe, some seethed in spite—
But none could block his rising light.
Within Skyrect's towering dome,
He paced alone, yet not alone.
A letter clasped in trembling grip,
Sealed in frost, its ink would slip.
> "You're summoned to the Jadefire Gate,
To spar with heirs who bend their fate.
Come, if courage fuels your fire,
And meet the girl they all desire."
He scoffed, but flames stirred deep inside,
A rhythm only fate could guide.
—
Beyond the vale where starlight falls,
Jadefire Sect stood proud and tall.
Their towers rose like polished spears,
Where pride had danced for thousand years.
And in its heart, a crystal lake,
Where legends walked and waters quake—
There sat Lu Qingyan, cold and bright,
A moonchild cloaked in azure light.
Her presence stole the springtime's breath,
Her silence held both love and death.
Disciples dared not near her shade,
For in her gaze, even gods swayed.
But news had come—a boy of flame,
Who bore no sect, yet earned a name.
> "He comes," she said. "Let silence part.
I wish to see his burning heart."
—
Lin Xun arrived in silent stride,
With Bai Zhe pacing by his side.
They passed through crowds with scornful eyes,
Where envy bloomed and tempers rise.
An elder met them at the gate,
His tone as brittle as his state.
> "You enter here by invitation.
But test awaits for validation."
A courtyard vast with stones of flame,
Became the stage of trials and name.
Eight chosen youths stood poised and still,
Their blades like wolves who sought a kill.
From wealthy sects, these proud elite,
Prepared to crush him in defeat.
But Lin Xun bowed with slight disdain,
> "Come test your luck. I'll ease your pain."
—
The battle surged like breaking tide,
One charged in fast—he stepped aside.
Another leapt, blade shining bright,
Met only flame and searing light.
Each challenger, though proud and skilled,
Soon found their pace and posture stilled.
One burned, one stunned, one flung aside—
The last stood down and dropped his pride.
Gasps echoed in that silent square,
As ashes danced on golden air.
From shadows deep, she made her way—
Lu Qingyan, cold as winter's day.
Draped in silk of glacial hues,
She moved like stars through midnight dews.
Their eyes met like two blades drawn,
A phoenix gaze, a sapphire dawn.
> "Your flame is strange," she whispered low.
"It warms… but carries death below."
He matched her stare, no fear in eyes,
> "Yours is frost that numbs the skies."
She smirked, a crack in icy veil,
> "Then dance with me. Let frost impale."
—
Their clash was not of blades or steel,
But will and soul and fire real.
Flames licked frost, and frost bit back,
Their powers danced, then twined and cracked.
Spectators watched with held-in breath,
A duel of art, not sudden death.
For every strike was like a chord,
A symphony of flame and sword.
She lunged with palms of moonlit chill,
He countered with a phoenix quill.
When she rose high, he soared beneath,
Their motion carving runes in wreath.
And when at last their strikes did end,
They stood—still foes, yet not quite friends.
> "You're not like them," she said with grace.
"Your fire dares to scar this place."
> "And you," he said, "are not just cold.
You hide a fire still untold."
A pause hung long between the pair,
As night descended soft and fair.
> "Come again," she breathed at last.
"Before the storm breaks from the past."
—
But as he turned to take his leave,
Another presence took to grieve.
A voice like iron ground through stone,
An elder stepped from jade-carved throne.
> "Flame or frost, the path grows tight.
A war approaches—wrong or right."
He handed Lin a crimson scroll,
With dragons etched in ink and coal.
> "The Heaven Split Tournament calls.
Where saints are born, and weaklings fall.
If you still burn, then climb that peak…
And learn the truth your bloodline seeks."
Lin Xun bowed, his heart now stirred,
For every phrase, a deeper word.
Behind him, Qingyan watched his flame,
Unsure if friend… or future blame.
—
That night he stood beneath the stars,
Beside a brook and fire jars.
He pondered names, both old and new,
And legends whispered to the dew.
A name was forming in the dark,
A name that fate had long kept stark.
The Flame Monarch, ancient and divine—
Whose power once made heavens pine.
Could he, the boy from silent shame,
Now wea
r that crown and earn that name?
The seal upon his chest grew warm,
As dreams took slowly shifting form.
And from the west, the clouds turned black—
A storm had found him on his track.
—