The heat inside the Ember Vault was no longer just environmental—it was alive, clinging to Lucius's skin like molten breath. He sat in the lowest chamber, surrounded by ancient formations that pulsed with crimson light. Each breath he took stirred embers from the floor, and each heartbeat sent ripples of qi through the air around him.
Ten days had passed since he began his focused attempt to step into the First Rate Realm. Ten days of relentless meditation, body-tempering, and failed initiations. His body was close. His qi veins shimmered with condensed energy. But the final ignition—the birth of First Rate fire—remained out of reach.
Lucius's eyes snapped open, golden irises glowing faintly in the darkness. He exhaled slowly, steam rising from his nostrils. Despite the silence, his mind buzzed.
"Too fast. My veins won't hold."
A surge of frustrated energy pulsed from his palm, shattering a nearby stone glyph. Dust scattered, and the delicate balance of the formation shifted slightly.
The glyphs on his arms—etched with blood, ash, and qi—glowed dimly, then faded again.
He had walked the edge of the breakthrough five times already. But each time, just before the qi within his nodes could crystallize into the first Dominion Flame, the Fang stirred and interfered. It didn't stop him directly—it wanted him to ascend. But not in the way he intended.
The Fang wanted submission.
Lucius refused.
---
He stood and moved into a controlled stance—the Nine-Flame Cycle Form, taught by Rengard to harmonize inner and outer qi flow. As he moved, embers followed, coiling around his body in deliberate arcs.
He whispered, "Cycle the breath. Temper the marrow. Bind the veins…"
The last phrase caught in his throat. A tremor ran through his chest, and a flash of pain rippled across his back.
Behind his shoulder blades, a faint brand glowed—the mark of the Abyssal Fang, now fused to his spiritual core. It wasn't visible to most. But Lucius could feel it every moment.
When he meditated, it whispered.
When he trained, it watched.
When he tried to ascend, it bled into his qi.
Lucius dropped to one knee, panting.
"Why won't you let me ascend my own way?" he murmured. "Why must your power taint it?"
No answer came—only the soft, phantom ring of steel in his ears, like chains scraping against stone far beneath the surface of his consciousness.
---
Elsewhere, above the Ember Vault.
Seris stood in the observation alcove, arms folded. Her violet eyes narrowed as she watched the formation screen flicker with scenes of Lucius's training. For three nights she had stood watch, reporting only when necessary. She wasn't supposed to interfere.
But seeing Lucius now—thin, eyes burning, body wrapped in pulsing scars—she knew something was wrong.
"He's forcing the breakthrough," she whispered. "But the flame and the fang—they're rejecting each other."
Behind her, High Elder Rengard approached in silence.
"He's not ready," he said. "Not yet. But he's close."
Seris turned to him. "He's going to destroy himself at this rate."
Rengard nodded solemnly. "Or forge something the rest of us have never seen. The Abyssal Fang is not just a relic—it's a living will. And Lucius… Lucius is trying to master it instead of letting it devour him."
"Will he succeed?"
Rengard didn't answer immediately. He looked down at the screen as Lucius staggered to his feet again, drawing another set of glyphs around his meditation circle.
"I've only seen one other try this path," Rengard murmured. "And it killed him before he reached First Rate."
---
Below, in the Infernal Chamber
Lucius sank into the circle. The diagram was now more refined—each glyph drawn with concentrated qi and a drop of his own blood. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
He sat cross-legged and began again.
Inhale. Expand the meridians. Exhale. Bind the qi.
Around his heart, six qi nodes glowed like embers waiting to ignite. The seventh—a unique one, formed through his Abyssal training—remained blackened. Dormant. Silent.
It was the key. But it refused to obey.
Lucius clenched his fists.
"Fine. Then I'll force it."
He drew upon the inner fire—not the divine flame gifted by the Ember Vault, but the chaotic, unstable force forged in the clash between his own martial will and the Abyssal Fang's essence.
It surged up his spine, coiling through his chakras, seeking control. Seeking dominance.
Lucius screamed.
Not from pain—but from rebellion.
The seventh node flared. Then flickered.
And collapsed.
Lucius coughed blood, the pressure slamming him backward. The glyphs on the ground cracked. Qi flooded the chamber uncontrollably for several seconds before settling again.
He lay there, breathing raggedly, blood staining the edges of his mouth.
Not yet.
Still not yet.
---
That night, Lucius sat alone in the broken circle, staring at his palm. He summoned a flicker of flame—a thin, struggling wisp of abyssal-gold energy.
It trembled in his hand. Just like his resolve.
He hated this feeling. Weakness. Incompleteness.
And yet…
Part of him whispered to wait.
Not the Fang. Not the flames. His own voice.
The part of him that remembered the dragonling who died in his arms. The part of him that stood over the graves of unnamed disciples. The part that still sought balance, not domination.
You can't rush the flame, that voice whispered. You must be worthy of the fire.
Lucius let the flame die and closed his hand.
---
Elsewhere: A Place Unknown
Far from the Ember Vault, deep beneath the continent of Dechlien, a figure cloaked in tattered red stirred.
He stood atop a broken altar surrounded by molten chains and carved fangs.
The air tasted of blood and forgotten oaths.
His eyes—pitch black and shimmering with crimson rings—narrowed as a pulse reached him. A faint one. But unmistakable.
The Abyssal Fang was resonating again.
"Hah…" he rasped, his voice echoing with madness. "He's trying to fuse it… and failing."
He stepped down from the altar, barefoot over jagged obsidian.
"Little cub. You don't tame the Fang. You let it devour you—and pray it spits you out."
With a gesture, dozens of crimson brands on his chest flared.
"Soon," he said.
"Soon, I will meet the one who calls the Abyss his tool."
---
Back in the Vault. Day Thirteen.
Lucius was calmer now.
His body was battered, yes. But his spirit was sharper than it had ever been.
Instead of trying to overpower the Fang, he studied it. Instead of igniting all seven qi nodes, he focused on strengthening the first six.
He tempered his flesh again with Ember Root infusion. He meditated beside the dragonling eggs, drawing from their unborn flame. He even called on memories of Seris's sparring techniques, blending precision with flow.
He wasn't ready for the First Rate Realm. Not yet.
But now he knew why.
The Fang wasn't blocking his path out of spite. It was testing him.
"Only one who can master chaos and choice may bear the abyssal fire without drowning."
Lucius stood atop the training dais once more.
Not to breakthrough.
But to rebuild.
To prepare.
---
That evening, Rengard visited the chamber for the first time since the attempt began.
He saw the boy not meditating, not forcing. But drawing a new circle—one not of the old glyphs, but of his own making. A fusion of Fang sigils, Heaven Destroyer markings, and Severance scripts from Yevdel's scroll.
Rengard narrowed his eyes.
"You've stopped forcing the breakthrough?"
Lucius turned, a calm light in his eyes.
"No," he said. "I've started preparing to earn it."
The torchlights flickered as Rengard quietly stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the cooled ash floor. He studied the formation Lucius was carving—meticulous, alien, yet resonant. Not even the ancient cultivators of the Ember Vault had ever attempted this kind of synthesis. It was raw, risky, but unmistakably brilliant.
"This pattern," Rengard said quietly, "I've only seen parts of it… in forbidden texts long buried. Where did you—?"
Lucius didn't look up. "I didn't copy it. I dreamed it."
That silenced Rengard. The boy's tone held no pride—just certainty. A rare thing in a world of cultivators obsessed with legacy. Lucius wasn't building from lineage.
He was building from vision.
"When I reach the First Rate Realm," Lucius continued, "I don't want to carry someone else's burden. Not Klaigos's rage. Not Yevdel's stillness. Not even the Fang's curse."
He finally turned to face Rengard.
"I want a path of my own. One forged through both flame and silence. One that doesn't destroy everything just to prove it exists."
There was a quiet conviction in his voice—like a blade being drawn slowly, steadily.
Rengard nodded, slowly. "Then walk carefully. The path you're forging... it's one no one can guide you through. Not even I."
"I know," Lucius said.
He turned back to the circle, fingers glowing faintly with qi as he etched the final line.
The symbols shimmered.
Not red. Not gold. Not black.
But crimson violet, the color of twilight fire.
---
High above, in a place untouched by flame or shadow, a crack appeared in a distant mirror floating between realms.
And from within that mirror—something stirred.
Something that had not moved for forty years.
[End of Chapter 23]