The wind was still. Unnaturally still.
Yuren stood before the Mirror of Veins, heart thudding. Zhaoyan watched silently from the edge of the clearing, his hand close to his blade—but this was something no sword could cut.
The mirror's surface rippled again, light flowing through the silver like veins of liquid moonlight.
Yuren swallowed. "So… what happens if I touch it?"
Zhaoyan's voice was low. "It shows you the truth."
"Right. The truth," Yuren said, stepping closer. "Because I definitely haven't had enough of those lately."
And then—he reached out.
The instant his fingers brushed the surface, the world vanished.
---
Inside the Mirror
There was no floor, no sky, no air. Just darkness, deep and endless—until sparks bloomed.
Small lights, like fireflies, pulsed in the void.
They drifted around Yuren, illuminating floating fragments of memory.
A field of golden flame.
A child screaming beneath a collapsing sky.
Hands held out, covered in blood.
Yuren stumbled backward. "No. No, this isn't mine."
A voice echoed, soft but ancient.
"But it was."
Yuren turned—and saw her.
The Flame-Born.
She looked exactly as she had in the memory well: a woman cloaked in fire, eyes glowing gold, smiling even as the world burned.
But this time, she wasn't distant. She was looking at him.
"You carried my fire once," she said gently. "But it was taken."
Yuren's throat was dry. "Taken? By who?"
Her smile faded. "The Ashbound."
A pulse of heat surged through the space—like fury made visible.
"They feared what you would become. So they severed you from your past. From me. They bound your fire, fractured your soul, and rewrote your fate."
Yuren stared at her. "Then what am I now?"
She stepped forward, placing a hand over his heart.
"You are the last spark of a dying flame. And the only one who can rekindle it."
The mirror cracked.
A soundless shatter.
Yuren felt something pull inside him—something ancient, angry, and bright.
And then—
---
Back in the Real World
Yuren stumbled back from the mirror, gasping.
Zhaoyan caught him. "Yuren?! What did you see?"
Yuren's breath came in short bursts. "I… I was her. I was her. Or part of her. I don't know, but—" He looked up. "They stole it from me. The Ashbound. They took everything."
Zhaoyan's grip tightened. "Then we take it back."
Yuren blinked at him.
And for the first time, he saw the fire behind Zhaoyan's calm.
"They think you're a threat," Zhaoyan said. "Let's make sure they're right."
---
Far away, under the roots of a withered tree, the leader of the Ashbound stirred.
He sat in meditation, shadows coiling around him like ink in water.
A whisper slithered into his mind.
The mirror has cracked. The heir remembers.
His eyes snapped open—black as pitch.
He smiled.
"Then it begins."
---
To be continued