The Council Hall of Emberpeak was built from black volcanic stone, its vast ceiling etched with runic patterns that shimmered whenever someone spoke. Torches burned in suspended glass orbs, their flames steady and unnaturally bright — the work of the sect's founders, who had bound fire itself into perpetual obedience.
Tonight, that light felt colder than usual.
Twelve elders sat in a circle, robes rustling faintly as the last of them arrived. Their seats formed a ring around the grand reflection pool in the center — a mirror of living flame that rippled with every spiritual fluctuation in the sect.
At the head of the ring stood Elder Solen, hands clasped behind his back. His sharp features caught the torchlight like a blade's edge.
"We are gathered," he began, "to address a matter of internal integrity." His voice carried easily, refined and calm, yet heavy with quiet accusation. "Our monitoring glyphs have detected unusual distortions during the cultivation of a lower-ranked disciple. Subtle, yes — but unnatural."
Several elders exchanged uncertain looks."Unnatural?" Elder Ren asked, frowning. "Do you mean forbidden?"
Solen's gaze didn't waver. "Possibly."
A low murmur spread across the circle. The reflection pool flickered — faint threads of crimson rippling outward from its center.
From his seat opposite, Elder Varin watched in silence. He waited for the noise to die down before speaking. "You're referring to Kaelen, aren't you?"
Solen inclined his head slightly. "You've noticed him too."
"I've noticed his discipline," Varin replied. "And his restraint. He trains harder than most of your own favored pupils."
Solen's expression didn't shift, but the air around him cooled. "Restraint and concealment are not the same. The sect's flame-flow was disrupted in a ten-foot radius last night. That kind of fluctuation is not caused by diligence."
Elder Ren leaned forward. "What kind of fluctuation?"
Solen raised his hand. The surface of the reflection pool shimmered, showing an image of Kaelen seated cross-legged in meditation. At first, his energy was faint, calm — then, as the glow brightened, it split.Two flows, twisting in opposite spirals, weaving together like shadow and light.
Gasps spread around the table.
"Dual flow?" Ren muttered. "That shouldn't be possible without—"
"Without corruption," Solen finished. "Exactly."
Varin's jaw tightened. "Or without rare talent."
Solen turned toward him fully this time, his eyes like ice. "Talent doesn't warp a sect's flame vein, Varin. It strengthens it. This is something else."
The tension between them was old, but tonight it pulsed like a heartbeat in the air. Every elder could feel it.
Elder Lys, the youngest among them, shifted uneasily. "Could it not be a resonance anomaly? Some cultivators… find strange balance when their inner flame stabilizes. Perhaps—"
"Perhaps nothing," Solen cut in smoothly. "We cannot risk leniency. The boy arrived under… questionable circumstances, did he not? Brought in from the borderlands, unrecorded until half a year ago."
"That's true," said another elder. "He was assigned under Elder Varin's supervision."
"Which," Solen said, "makes this all the more concerning."
Varin met his gaze without flinching. "I vouched for him because I saw potential — not danger. You, Solen, see demons in every shadow. Maybe because you've spent too long hunting them."
The flame in the reflection pool flared slightly, reacting to the tension.
Elder Lys cleared her throat softly. "What do you suggest, then?"
Solen turned back toward the pool. "Observation. Silent, thorough, unbroken. We will implant a minor tracking sigil into his chamber's flame vein. If his cultivation remains pure, it will fade. If not…"He let the rest hang in the air.
Varin's hand tightened slightly on his knee."And if he notices? The boy isn't dull."
"Then we will have our answer."
The chamber fell quiet again — the kind of silence that cut rather than soothed.
Finally, Varin spoke, his tone calm but edged with something older than pride. "You're treating him like a corrupted core before he's even begun his path. If he senses the sigil, he'll close off — you'll create the very paranoia you claim to prevent."
Solen tilted his head. "You sound protective."
"I'm cautious," Varin said. "You forget what happens when the Council mistakes potential for threat."
A few elders shifted uncomfortably — memories flickering in their expressions. The sect's history was not spotless. Some of their brightest had burned out under suspicion long before they could bloom.
Solen said nothing for a long moment. Then: "You may object, Varin, but the decision stands. The Council will vote."
The vote was brief. Ten stones turned white. Two stayed black.
The flames around the hall brightened, sealing the result.
Solen bowed his head faintly. "Then it's settled. I will oversee the procedure myself."
As the elders rose, robes rustling and voices low, Varin remained seated — his eyes on the pool. The reflected image of Kaelen had faded, replaced by gentle ripples of light.
"You're walking into fire, boy," he murmured under his breath. "Don't let it consume you."
When he finally stood, Solen was waiting at the door.
"You still think you can save them," Solen said quietly, not unkindly. "You think every flicker of darkness hides a misunderstood flame."
Varin's expression didn't change. "And you still think every flame that burns differently is a threat."
They held each other's gaze for a heartbeat — two halves of an old scar the sect refused to heal.
Then Varin turned away, cloak sweeping softly behind him as he left the hall.
The doors shut with a dull echo, leaving Solen alone with the reflection pool.
He stared at its surface — and for a moment, saw something flicker across it. A serpent of black fire coiled faintly within the mirrored flame, almost too faint to see.
Solen's breath caught, just for an instant.Then his hand closed into a fist, and the image vanished.