They arrived just past noon—five riders atop wind-walkers,
crimson banners trailing like tongues of conquest behind them.
Their steeds landed in silence outside the Hollow's ruined gate,
cloth muffling talon and breath.
Five disciples of the Crimson Echo Sect, cloaked not just in color,
but in intent.And pride.
Their leader stepped forward—a youth of twenty summers,
hair slicked with oil and silverthread, saber humming at his hip.
His aura was hot but hollow, a torch burning loud for the sake of being seen.
Kaien stood alone at the gate.
No crest.
No cloak.
Only a presence that made the air bend slightly—like the silence before a storm.
The youth grinned, trying not to flinch. "Is this the Ashen Hollow, or what's left of it?"
Kaien said nothing.
"No banners. No wards. Just some stone and a brazier. Is this a sect,"
he sneered, "or a campfire?"
Kaien tilted his head. "You didn't come for our name.
You came because you smelled strength."
That wiped the smirk halfway.
The youth straightened, voice sharp. "I am Eiran Vell, Third Disciple of Crimson Echo.
This ground once belonged to the Pyrepath Branch—dissolved, yes, but still sacred.
I've come to reclaim it in their honor."
"There is no Pyrepath left," Kaien said.
"Exactly," Eiran smiled coldly. "Ruins shouldn't house wild flames.
I'll be generous—kneel. Douse your fire. Join us. I'll speak for you to the elders.
Maybe they'll even let you keep your name."
Kaien's eyes slid past him.
A sixth figure stood behind the five—hooded, older, silent. His attention wasn't on Kaien.
It was on the Hollow itself. The stones. The flame.
Kaien met Eiran's eyes again, voice iron.
"If you wish to take it, then prove you can burn brighter."
They answered before dusk.
The challenge was accepted beneath the brazier flame: a sanctioned Trial of Flame—ancient, binding, elemental. Each side would offer a disciple. No weapons. No beasts. No sect artifacts. Only inner fire, soul to soul.
Seren stepped forward before Kaien could speak.
"He insulted the Hollow," she said. "I won't let him do it again."
Kaien studied her—not just her eyes, but the flame behind them.
He nodded.
The ash-ring was drawn.
The Hollow gathered.
On one side: Kaera Lin, Second Disciple of Crimson Echo—her flame blood-red and serpentine, coiling around her limbs like hungry vipers.
On the other: Seren, barefoot in black ash, eyes quiet, hands empty. The air around her shimmered faintly.
"Begin."
Kaera struck first—no warning, no flourish.
Twin arcs of crimson flame surged from her arms,
shaped like serrated sabers,
slashing down with violent precision.
The ground hissed as ash turned to glass.
Seren sidestepped—a dancer in mist—and raised one hand.
The flame around her curled like ink dropped in water, then vanished.
Kaera snarled. "Illusions?"
"They're not tricks," Seren said softly—and vanished.
A burst of dreamfire erupted where she'd stood.
Kaera blinked.
Then screamed.
A ring of fire-blossoms exploded around her—petals of living flame,
delicate as lace, sharp as blades.
They whirled inward without ever touching, slicing threads of her aura apart.
Kaera tried to shield, raising her Qi—
But the petals passed through her flame, cutting anyway.
Kaien, watching from the edge, narrowed his eyes.
"Dreamfire," he murmured. "She's evolving faster than I thought."
Kaera stumbled back, coughing smoke, robes shredded,
blood running in fine lines down her arms.
Seren stepped forward—silent, steady, no aura.
Kaera's flame lashed wildly.
Seren walked through it.
Then placed her hand on Kaera's chest.
For a moment—
Only quiet.
Then Kaera collapsed.
Her flame sputtered and died.
The ring went still.
Eiran's smile was gone.
He stared at his disciple, smoldering in defeat.
"You've insulted the Crimson Echo," he growled.
Kaien's voice was stone.
"You issued the trial."
He stepped into the circle, placing a single hand on Seren's shoulder.
"You lost."
The Crimson Echo stood frozen.
Then—
The hooded elder behind them finally stepped forward.
His voice was rough. Slow.
"This land holds more than stone."
Kaien turned to face him.
"I remember this place," the man said. "Ashen Hollow once stood as an outpost of the Monarch's flame—before the Reckoning burned his name from the world."
"You've rebuilt it," he said. "Or rather… it rebuilt itself around you."
Kaien said nothing.
The man's eyes narrowed.
"What are you, stranger?"
Kaien looked past him.
To Seren, her breath still quick, flame curling behind her like a dream of vengeance.
To Rin, silent in the shadows, his eyes steady, a coil of smoke at his feet like a sleeping predator.
To Nyru, curled at the brazier, one ember eye half-open and watching.
Kaien turned back to the elder.
"I am the one who answered when this fire called."
"I am the Ashbearer."
He stepped forward, voice low as thunder.
"If that draws envy—"
"Let it come with open flame."
The Crimson Echo Leaves
They left without another word.
Their banners dragged behind them, torn and trailing like wounded tongues.
But their silence was not surrender.
It was warning.
That Night
Kaien stood alone before the brazier once more.
The flame reflected more than just his face.
Within it: a face layered in shadow and light.
The Ashen Monarch stared back.
This time, he did not raise a blade.
This time, he knelt.
"I am what the world cast away," he whispered.
Kaien stared at him.
And whispered back:
"Then I will be what rises in its place."