The wind howled through Ember's Fang, carrying the scent of blood and the distant cry of spirit beasts.
Lin Xun stood at the edge of the cliff, his robes fluttering like ash-draped banners in the dusk. The last ember of daylight cast long shadows behind him—but something in that shadow moved on its own.
His instincts flared.
He turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
Nothing.
But the heat in his chest—the Emberblood Core—pulsed with a warning. Danger was near.
He reached for the blade strapped to his back, the crude weapon forged from beast bone and flame ore. Though unrefined, it had tasted enough blood to howl for more.
And it would again.
---
Earlier that day, Lin Xun had trained relentlessly within the ancient cavern, pushing his limits beyond exhaustion.
His mastery of the Ashen Tempest Palm had deepened—each strike now left ghostly trails of fire and frost. But something gnawed at him.
A presence.
A pull.
As if someone was watching.
He moved cautiously through the mountain trail, wary of traps or lurking beasts. But it wasn't a beast that awaited him—it was something far worse.
A man.
Dressed in all black, hooded, silent.
Standing atop a jagged boulder as if part of the mountain.
"You've grown," the man said, voice like gravel soaked in blood.
Lin Xun's muscles tensed. "Who are you?"
"A shadow sent to extinguish a flame."
No more words.
The assassin moved.
Fast—faster than anything Lin Xun had faced. A silver dagger glinted in his hand, coated with spirit venom. It slashed toward Lin Xun's throat with deadly precision.
But Lin Xun wasn't the same helpless boy.
Ashen Tempest Palm!
He struck out, flames exploding from his fist, frost trailing in spirals behind. The two forces collided, releasing a shockwave that shattered trees and split stones.
The assassin flipped backward, unharmed, and chuckled.
"You've barely formed the core," he said. "Do you really think you can survive me?"
Lin Xun gritted his teeth.
"I don't need to survive you," he growled. "I just need to burn you."
He roared and charged.
The mountain became their battleground—flames against shadow, frost against venom.
Their battle raged through the cliffs, echoing down into the valleys below. Each strike Lin Xun threw came faster, stronger, his movements refined by instinct and fire.
But the assassin was relentless, his every move a dance of death.
Slash.
Block.
Counter.
Blood sprayed—some Lin Xun's, some not.
Until the assassin suddenly vanished.
A whisper behind him—"Die."
The dagger aimed for his heart.
But Lin Xun spun and let it strike.
Not his heart—his Emberblood Core.
A gamble.
The dagger struck the core, and the explosion was instantaneous.
A ring of fire erupted from his chest, melting the dagger on impact and sending the assassin flying through the air like a broken arrow.
Lin Xun staggered, clutching his chest, the core cracked but glowing fiercely.
The assassin crawled from a crater, coughing blood.
"You… fused the elements… into a trap."
"I am the trap," Lin Xun said, stepping forward.
The assassin rose for one last strike.
Lin Xun raised his palm.
Ashen Tempest Palm—Fifth Stance!
His strike obliterated the man's chest, leaving nothing but burning ash.
Silence returned.
Only Lin Xun remained, breathing heavily.
He looked at the cracked core in his chest. It pulsed slower now, warning him.
"Too soon… I still need time to master it."
But there was no time.
If one had come, more would follow.
He needed allies. Knowledge. Power.
And a name that would strike fear into those who had betrayed him.
He turned toward the north, where rumors spoke of a wandering sect that once served the Emberblood line.
"The world will remember me," he whispered.
"Lin Xun—the boy they tried to bury, the fire they fai
led to kill."
And so he walked into the fading light, a shadow of flame and frost.
Unstoppable.
Inevitable.
And very much alive.