The light of early dawn stretched across the shattered plains, casting long shadows over the scorched and fractured earth. The air still shimmered faintly with residual heat from the battle with the Veilborn Spirit inside the cave. Eirian and Dris sat atop a crumbling slab of blackened stone, their clothes tattered, their bodies bruised but breathing.
Smoke curled from fissures in the earth, slow and bitter, like the exhale of a dying god. The battle had left the ground cracked and seared, a scar on the land—and on them.
Dris stared at the horizon, quiet for a long while. Then, in a voice low and uncertain, he asked, "Eirian… what should we do next? You said you need a Soulshaper to heal. Where can we even find one? Are they more than just myth?"
Eirian didn't answer immediately. His gaze was fixed far away, not on the horizon, but beyond it—into memory, into dread. Finally, he spoke, voice distant. "The Vexillium Empire," he murmured. "It's the only place nearby where Soulshapers still exist… or so the legends say."
Before they could speak further, a whisper stirred behind them—a presence, soft and strange, like breath across a candle flame.
"I see you still carry the fire."
They turned swiftly, instincts flaring.
Floating above the cracked earth was a ghostly figure, faint and translucent like smoke in the morning sun. He bore the form of a man, but one sculpted from flame and memory. His presence felt ancient, heavy with unspoken truths.
Dain—the First Flameborn reappeared.
Eirian's jaw tightened, and his voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "Why didn't you help us during the battle with the Veilborn Spirit?"
Dain's eyes, once molten gold, now dimmed like embers, met Eirian's. His form shimmered with instability, flickering like a candle in a windstorm.
"I am no longer what I was," Dain said, pain lacing every word. "I am a fading spirit, Eirian. If I had revealed myself… they would have noticed."
Dris narrowed his eyes. "They?"
Dain's head dipped in a slow nod. "There are forces in the dark… watching. Listening. Always. If they had sensed me, the consequences would've been more catastrophic than anything you've yet faced. They would have sent something far worse. The Veilborn was only a scout."
Eirian's stomach twisted. His Soulbrand—an arcane mark burned into his very soul—tingled faintly, as though warning him of something immense just out of sight. The world felt suddenly smaller. More fragile.
"Who are these enemies?" Eirian asked. "What are we truly up against?"
"Abyss Sanctum." Dain's spectral form wavered between sorrow and defiance. "They sent the Veilborn Spirit against you—this is why I dare not speak plainly, even now. I know only this: their true strength dwells beyond our Dust Realm, perhaps in the Astral Vein World itself." His translucent fingers clenched against some invisible pressure. "You are not yet ready to face them... but when your cultivation pierces the higher realms, the truth will unfold before you. The stars themselves will whisper secrets."
Dris stepped forward, questions burning in his gaze. "The ancient scrolls speak of you surpassing even the Infernal Lord Realm - of flames that could scorch the void itself into submission."
Dain smiled softly—like a dying ember crackling. "That was a different time. A different self. I was someone else then. Now…" He raised a translucent hand, and it shimmered like stardust before fading again. "Now I am but a dying ember in the wind. My time is nearly over."
Dain's thought about something and chuckled, "The Infernal Lord Realm cultivation?" His spectral form rippled with bitter amusement. "Child, what you call 'supreme cultivation' is but the first stumbling step on an infinite staircase. That power you revere? It cannot even scratch the surface of true existence."
His fading eyes locked onto Eirian with sudden intensity. "The realms you know are like paintings on a cave wall - flat illusions. Beyond them stretch dimensions where time drowns in eternity, where what you call 'gods' are but mayflies dancing in cosmic winds."
A shudder passed through his form. "Remember this: Let your flame grow until it outshines false suns. Burn so fiercely that when the great devourers come sniffing at reality's edge, they'll recoil from your light."
He turned his gaze to Eirian, something warmer in his expression now. "Remember what I told you before. Let your flame grow. Let it burn so brightly that even the dark must bow before it."
Then, shifting to Dris who was standing next to Eirian, Dain's eyes became grave and serious. "And you… You are Flameborn, too. The spark runs in your blood, whether you believe it or not. But it is not a gift. Not in this world. Keep that secret close. If the wrong people learn of it… you'll be hunted. Burned. Torn apart."
The wind stirred as Dain's form began to unravel—strands of spectral fire lifting from his body like drifting fireflies. His voice, softer now, barely carried in the morning breeze.
"Farewell… Eirian and Dris...if fate allows will meet in future."
Then, with a final shimmer, he vanished—swallowed by the rising wind and silence, as if he had never been there at all.
For a moment, neither Eirian nor Dris spoke. The world felt hollow in his absence.
Eirian stood frozen, his hands clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms, drawing blood that dripped unnoticed to the scorched earth. A maelstrom of emotions tore through him - white-hot anger at his own inadequacy, bitter grief for knowledge now lost to the void, and a terrible, yawning awe before the vast gulf of power that still separated him from the true players of this cosmic game.
"Too weak...still too weak!" The thought screamed through his mind like a blade dragged across bone. "What good are vows when my flames can't even scorch the shadows?"
Yet even as despair threatened to swallow him, something deeper stirred - not hope, but something darker and more relentless. The memory of his sword shattering against the Veilborn Spirit's wrist burned fresh in his mind, mixing with Dain's dying words into a poisonous elixir that seared away all doubt.
"I won't forget," he whispered, the words leaving his lips like smoke from a funeral pyre. His jaw tightened until his teeth threatened to crack. "I'll carry your words into the fire."
Let them come, he thought, feeling the phantom weight of future battles already pressing down on his shoulders. Let the Abyss Sanctum send their hunters. Let the stars themselves stand in my way. I'll burn through them all or die trying.
Deep in his chest, where his Soulbrand pulsed like a second heart, something ancient and hungry stirred in answer.
.
Dris remained silent, his eyes still locked on the empty space where Dain had stood. At last, he spoke, his voice unusually firm.
"Eirian… I won't be coming with you to the Vexillium Empire."
Eirian turned to him, startled. "What? Why?"
Dris met his gaze, a faint, bittersweet smile on his lips. "Too much has happened. I need time. Time to reflect, to recover… to understand what being Flameborn really means. I've walked beside you through battle, flame, and fear. But this part of the path—I need to walk it alone."
Silence stretched between them like a wall. Eirian looked away, struggling to find the right words. Finally, he nodded. "I understand. We all walk our own paths."
Dris took a step closer, the morning light catching in his eyes. "But before you go, there's something you should know about the Vexillium Empire."
Eirian leaned in, listening closely.
"It lies nearly a million miles west from here," Dris said, his tone shifting to something heavier, more serious. "To reach it, you'll have to pass through the Valley of Whispers. It's a cursed land. The dead whisper there, and illusions walk like men. Creatures of memory—phantoms shaped from guilt and fear—prowl the mists. The valley consumes the unready."
Eirian's brows drew together. "How long will it take?"
"Ten days," Dris replied. "If you move swiftly and resist the illusions. After that, you'll pass through wildlands ruled by lesser sects and petty kingdoms. Dangerous, but navigable. It'll take a month or more before you even reach the empire's border."
"And what of the empire itself?" Eirian asked.
Dris exhaled slowly. "It's vast. An ancient power. Governed by noble houses older than most countries. Each controls territories and secrets, each vies for influence.
The empire is gilded on the outside—but inside? It's a nest of blades and shadows. You'll have to tread carefully. But they have Soulshapers. Real ones. Some say the greatest Soulforgers alive reside within the Ember Citadel, where the empire's flame never dies."
Eirian's eyes narrowed with purpose. "Then that's where I'll go. I'll face the valley, the rogue sects, and whatever else this cursed world throws at me. I'll reach the empire. I'll find a Soulshaper. And I'll find the truth."
There was a pause before Eirian asked, "How do you know so much about the Vexillium Empire?"
Dris gave a quiet laugh. "A lifetime ago, I stumbled across an ancient scroll hidden in the ruins of the Dust Monastery. It spoke of the vast continents of the Dust Realm, and of empires built on fire, blood, and soulcraft. I read for hours, days. I never forgot what I saw."
Eirian nodded slowly. The fire in his chest burned brighter now—clearer, steadier. "Then I'll go. I'll carve my path in flame."
Dris extended a hand, and Eirian took it. They clasped wrists like brothers—not in farewell, but in promise.
"Stay alive, Eirian," Dris said.
"Always," Eirian replied, gripping tightly.
With that, Eirian turned toward the west. The plains stretched far, but beyond them loomed the haze of the Valley of Whispers—and beyond that, the promise of the Vexillium Empire. He began to walk, the ash of the old battle rising around his boots. The wind stirred, lifting scorched leaves and dust, carrying with it whispers he could not yet understand.
But he didn't look back.
He walked into the firelight of destiny—toward lands where truth waited beneath shadowed skies.
And so began the next chapter of the ember's journey.
.
The path ahead would demand fire and blood. Eirian walked forward—into the flames.
---
Far above, in the "Astral Vein Realm", seers woke screaming from visions.
A figure shrouded in black mist stood atop the highest peak of the Soul Vein. A whisper slithered through the wind, cold and indifferent
"A forgotten name has returned. The Dust Realm has birthed a flame it cannot contain."
"Find the soul called Eirian."
"Before the Realms remember him... and burn for it."
Author's Note: This novel is uploaded only on WebNovel, Thankyou!