The sky burned red with a thousand flames.
Beneath the fractured moons of the Upper Realm, the battlefield stretched for miles—cracked earth soaked in blood, charred bones crackling beneath stormwinds. Screams faded into the background like a forgotten melody. In the center of it all stood a man cloaked in shadow and fire, his long hair whipping through the wind, soaked in blood not his own.
Zephyr Kael.
The youngest Heavenpiercer Flame in the Thorne Sect's history. A war hero, a peerless genius who once silenced entire sects with a single word. At his feet lay the corpses of three Origin Pyres from the enemy realm, their souls shattered beyond rebirth.
He stood alone, wounded, breathing raggedly, one knee pressing into the blood-drenched soil.
And yet, the fire in his eyes still roared.
Behind him, the disciples of the Thorne Sect gathered like ants after a storm, faces painted with awe and fear. They whispered his name like a legend—some with reverence, others with envy.
He had won them the war.
He had led the charge through three planes, severed the enemy's command, and slaughtered the heir of the House of Vatra in single combat.
But war… war was not what broke Zephyr Kael.
Betrayal was.
"You did well, Zephyr."
The voice was warm, almost brotherly. Almost.
Zephyr didn't turn.
He had already felt the killing intent before the words were spoken.
A soft chuckle followed. "Don't be like that. You always knew it would come to this."
He turned slowly, blood matting his robes, and met the eyes of his closest friend—Elias Thorne, heir to the Thorne Sect, the man who had once sworn to die at his side.
Elias smiled with that same boyish grin he always wore before stabbing someone in the back. "You made it easy. All I had to do was wait. Let you win the war, become the hero, and then…"
Zephyr's voice was low. "...steal it all."
From the side, a soft figure stepped forward. Her white robes were untouched by blood, her face like porcelain carved by gods. Her presence made the disciples behind her kneel in instinctual reverence.
Selene.
His lover. His weakness.
"I told you, Zephyr," she said, her voice like snowfall. "A heart is just a tool. Yours was too full of dreams."
Zephyr's breath caught. Not because of pain. But because of clarity.
So this was the end.
So this was how the fire would die.
He closed his eyes, remembering the promise he made to himself as a child—when the sect picked him from a burning village, molded him into a weapon, and offered him a place in their shadows.
He had given them everything.
And now they came to take his soul.
---
A golden seal rose from Elias's palm, humming with power. Sect Master Thorne's divine mark. It floated above Zephyr like a verdict from the heavens.
"By the will of the Thorne Sect, I, Elias Thorne, strip you of your rank, your name, and your Heavenflame Core. May your ashes return to the void."
The seal descended.
Zephyr clenched his fists. His flame flared to resist, but—
She moved first.
Selene stepped forward and kissed him on the forehead, whispering something only he heard.
> "I did love you… in a different life."
And with that, she plunged her fingers into his chest.
The pain was not physical.
She tore out the Heavenflame Core—a crystallized miracle of soul, bloodline, and will—severing it from his spirit with surgical grace.
The world dimmed.
Colors faded. Sound dulled.
He dropped to both knees, coughing black blood, vision splintering like broken glass.
His soul began to unravel.
"Goodbye, brother," Elias said softly.
With a final flick of his fingers, the seal pressed down.
Zephyr Kael screamed—but no sound came out.
---
But flames never die quietly.
As his body began to dissolve into embers, his shattered soul drifted into the void.
There was no light. No voice. No salvation.
Only the cold truth of betrayal, coiling inside his soul like a venomous flame that refused to die.
And then…
A whisper.
A voice from beyond realms, layered in echoes and flame.
> "Do you wish to return?"
Zephyr didn't answer.
But the fire inside him did.
> "Very well," the voice murmured.
"Burn again… but this time, burn them first."
His soul was seized by an ancient pull, dragged through space and silence, across realms and centuries. His consciousness faded—and the last thing he remembered was the feeling of his name being erased from the heavens.
---
Somewhere far below…
In the Lower Realm…
Under a crimson moon…
A child was born.
The sky rumbled. The winds froze.
And fire bled from the infant's eyes.
The Nightveil Clan, hidden deep within the Flamecloud Mountains, fell silent as the child opened his mouth—not to cry, but to breathe in the flame around him.
The Matriarch's lips trembled. "The stars tremble… The seal has broken."
The child's name was spoken.
"Ash Nightveil."
Born under blood and silence. Marked by fire and fate.
He did not cry.
He only stared at the moon with the calm of a murderer reborn.
---