It had been a week since the Sovereign's fall.
The world was healing, slowly. Kai, Ayaka, and Ren found themselves in a strange kind of peace. No running. No battles. No death looming over every breath.
But peace never lasts in a cultivator's life.
Not when the roots are still whispering.
---
They arrived at the border of the old Silent Valley—a place said to have swallowed an entire sect generations ago. Now, it was just fog and bone trees, hollow and cold.
Kai stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"The Rootfire is pulling me here."
Ayaka scanned the mist. "This place is cursed. Everyone says so."
Ren flexed his fingers. "Well, that's promising."
Kai placed his hand on the ground—and the roots trembled.
Something beneath them was...awake.
> Thump.
A pulse echoed through the valley.
> Thump.
It wasn't a heartbeat. It was a summon.
---
They pressed deeper.
The trees leaned in. Whispers clung to their ears—names they didn't know, secrets they shouldn't hear.
Then they found it.
A shrine—abandoned, cracked, glowing faintly with a buried symbol: the Mark of the Withered Flame.
Kai staggered.
> "This... this belonged to the First One."
Ayaka paled. "The first Rootbearer?"
Kai nodded. "The original cultivator... the one who sealed the Forgotten Flame before it chose me."
---
Suddenly, the ground split—
A hand of bone and black ash clawed from beneath.
A guardian, born of old fire and grief.
It opened hollow eyes and whispered:
> "The flame must not rise again."
Kai's aura surged in reply.
"Then come stop me.