The mornings in the Ashroad Tribe began before the first light of dawn, when the cavern's glowing mushrooms dimmed and the tribe's warriors beat the Fire Drums.
Kaelen's arms ached as he stumbled into the training grounds—a wide circle of black sand carved into the earth, surrounded by torches that burned blue with volcanic fumes. Already, warriors moved in rhythmic drills, their bodies flowing like molten metal.
Jorah stood at the center, arms crossed. His scarred face was unreadable.
"Pick it up," he barked.
Kaelen grabbed the weighted spear-shaft. His hands were raw from yesterday, blisters torn and bleeding. Jorah gave no sympathy.
"Pain is woodsmoke," Jorah growled. "It lingers, but it will not kill you. Ignore it. Show me stance."
Kaelen widened his footing as he had been taught, pressing the shaft forward.
"Too soft." Jorah swept in, striking the shaft aside. Kaelen stumbled back. "Again."
For hours, it went on—stance, thrust, spin. Every misstep punished, every correction carved into his muscles by repetition.
At last, Jorah struck his own spear into the sand.
"You'll never master the Road if you don't learn to root yourself. Flame dances, yes—but it also clings. Learn that balance."
Kaelen collapsed to his knees, sweat soaking his tunic. His lungs burned, yet deep within, the ember of power from the night before flickered. Every motion—every failure—fed it.
"Is this the outsider the elder speaks of?"
The voice was sharp, like an arrowhead. Kaelen looked up to see a girl no older than himself, standing at the edge of the training circle.
Her hair was black with streaks of copper, bound back with bone clasps. Across her back hung a bow of curved obsidian, runes etched along the grip. Her amber eyes flicked over Kaelen with obvious disdain.
"This boy can't even hold a spear without shaking," she said.
"Mira," Jorah rumbled warningly.
But the girl—Mira Ashroad, daughter of the tribe's hunt-leader—ignored him. She stepped into the circle, drawing her bow in a single smooth motion.
"If you plan to walk the Road, outsider, you should at least prove you can stand."
Without warning, she loosed an arrow.
Kaelen's heart lurched—he barely raised the shaft in time. The arrow struck and splintered against the wood, knocking him back. Gasps rippled through the watching children.
Mira lowered her bow, unimpressed.
"Then again… maybe you should crawl first."
Heat flushed Kaelen's face—not just embarrassment, but something sharper.
The ember inside him stirred.
Jorah watched carefully. "Good. Let anger feed you. Use it."
Kaelen gritted his teeth, tightening his stance. He remembered Elder Druin's words: Every sorrow, every loss… breathe it in. Make it fire.
The memory of his home burning rose again. His hands steadied, his grip no longer shaking. The shaft of ashwood felt lighter.
Mira raised her bow for another shot—faster this time. Kaelen twisted, deflecting the arrow aside with a sweep of the shaft. The motion was rough, clumsy, but it worked.
For the first time, Mira's lips curved into a smirk.
"…Not entirely useless, then."
Kaelen stood panting, the faint glow of orange light flickering around his body. The first stirrings of a Cultivation Tier.
Jorah's single good eye gleamed. "He begins to touch the Kindling Realm."
That night, Elder Druin explained.
"The Golden Road is carved in stages, each step a forge for the soul. The first realm is Kindling—to gather sorrow, rage, hope, memory, and strike them like flint until a spark forms. That spark is your Code."
He placed a hand over Kaelen's chest.
"Yours has already begun—Code of Ash. The flame born from grief. It is rare to awaken so soon."
Kaelen whispered, "And after Kindling?"
Druin's eyes shone in the firelight.
"Then you reach Ember, where spark becomes steady flame. Then Inferno, where flame devours all. Then Eclipse, where fire burns without light. And beyond… realms so high we no longer name them, for words cannot hold their power."
Kaelen clenched his fists. Each tier was a step toward strength. Toward reclaiming what was stolen.
Toward walking the Road to the end.
That night, as Kaelen lay sleepless, he whispered to himself:
"I will not crawl. I will walk. And one day… I will burn the heavens if I must."
The golden coils of his dragon spear shimmered faintly beside him, as if answering.