The sky stretched pale and hollow above them, its clouds bruised with the ashes of night. Caro walked a few paces behind Ryo, clutching her torn shawl around her shoulders. The ground beneath their feet had turned strange—blackened earth, cracked like dry skin, whispering faint heat through their boots.
They had been walking since sunrise, and the world seemed to grow quieter with every step.
No birds. No wind. Even their footsteps faded too quickly, as if the land swallowed sound itself.
Ryo stopped at the edge of a broken ridge. From there, the forest behind them was nothing but a thin, dying line of trees. Ahead, only desolation stretched.
Caro finally spoke, her voice small, almost lost to the emptiness.
"Master… are you sure this is the right way?"
Ryo didn't answer immediately. His eyes had that same distant, haunted glow they carried since the night he met the god in his dreams.
"The voice said the flame cannot die," he murmured. "If it still burns… then it must be here."
He placed his hand over the faint red mark glowing beneath his shirt. It pulsed—once, twice—like a heartbeat answering his words.
The Mountain of Silence
By midday, the path rose into jagged hills, their shapes twisted and dark. The air tasted of metal and old smoke. Somewhere, faint whispers echoed like the sighs of buried souls.
Caro's steps faltered. "This place… feels wrong."
Ryo's eyes flickered toward a hollow in the distance—a mountain cut open like a wound. At its center, a faint light trembled, barely alive, like a candle in the dark.
"That's where it's calling from," he said quietly.
The locals once called it Orath's Hollow, though few dared to enter. It was said the Flame of the Old World still breathed beneath its stone veins—hidden, sleeping, waiting.
As they crossed a shattered bridge of stone, Ryo heard something—soft, rhythmic chanting. Not from far. It came from inside the hollow.
The Hermit
A fire burned there.
Small, yet steady.
Beside it sat an old man, cloaked in robes the color of dust. His hair was white, long enough to brush the ground, and his eyes—though open—were clouded and empty.
Before Ryo could speak, the man turned toward him with uncanny precision.
"The blood that burned the heavens… finally returns," the hermit said, voice rough like gravel.
Caro's hand moved to her knife. "Who are you?"
He smiled faintly. "A keeper of silence. A listener of what the world forgot." His face turned toward Ryo. "And you… are the question that should never have been born."
Ryo's fingers tightened. "You know who I am?"
The hermit nodded. "I know what you carry. The Flame marked you long before your name was written. If you seek its temple, you must first survive its light."
He gestured to the fire before him. The flames shifted, burning pale gold for a moment before fading red again.
The Trial of Fire
"Show me what you carry," the hermit whispered.
The words struck Ryo like a command. He stepped closer, the mark on his chest flaring with sudden heat. Caro reached out.
"Master, stop—"
Too late.
The flame before the hermit rose high, twisting into a serpent of light. It struck Ryo squarely in the chest.
The world vanished.
Ryo stood in darkness. All around him, fire spiraled in circles, revealing faces—his father, his mother, soldiers of the fallen palace—all burning into ash as they looked at him.
Then came Caro's voice, faint and trembling:
"Ryo… please stop…"
But when he turned, he wasn't Ryo anymore. His skin burned with molten light, his hands dripping fire.
He saw himself raise a hand—toward Caro's throat.
"No!"
He slammed his fist into the ground, forcing the fire back. The pain was blinding. The air screamed as the illusion shattered.
The Hermit's Revelation
When Ryo opened his eyes, he was kneeling before the fire again. The hermit hadn't moved. Caro was at his side, trembling, eyes wide with tears.
The old man's expression was calm.
"You faced the flame," he said softly. "And did not turn to ash. That is all the proof it needs."
He pressed a wrinkled palm to the stone wall beside him. Ancient lines of script flared red, winding like veins through the rock. The entire cave began to hum with power.
"Beyond this wall," he said, "lies the path to the First Flame's chamber. But remember this—"
His voice deepened, echoing like thunder in a hollow sky:
"When the Flame accepts you, it will burn what you love most before it heals the world."
Caro's head lowered. The firelight trembled across her face.
When Ryo looked back, the hermit was gone.
Only the ashes of his fire remained.
The Path to the Flame
The wall before them split open with a grinding sound, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling into the mountain's heart. The air that rose from below was warm, scented faintly with metal and smoke.
Ryo placed one hand on the stone. His mark glowed in perfect rhythm with the light deep below.
"Are you sure about this, Master?" Caro whispered.
Ryo looked down the dark steps. His expression was calm—too calm.
"I wasn't sure of anything," he said. "Until now."
As they descended, the passage widened into a vast cavern lit by streams of molten rock flowing like rivers beneath glass. Ancient symbols lined the walls, pulsing softly with each of Ryo's heartbeats.
At the far end stood a colossal gate of obsidian and gold. The sigil engraved upon it matched the mark on his chest.
Caro whispered, "It's… alive."
Ryo stepped forward. The mark and the gate began to glow together, their light merging into one.
He raised his hand to touch the surface.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled.
Then the mountain itself seemed to breathe.
"The Flame has waited long enough," Ryo whispered.
"Now it will answer to me."
The gates roared open, flooding the cavern with light.