The entrance to the Sunken Archives lay beneath the Emberheart Temple—sealed behind four spirit-locks, each opened only by the highest-ranking elders.
Kai followed Elder Ragan through twisting stone corridors that dipped deeper than any part of the clan grounds he had seen. The air grew cold, heavy with dust and time. The walls were etched with faint runes that pulsed dimly as they passed, responding to Ragan's flame-bound aura.
At last, they reached the gate.
It was a great circular door of obsidian, carved with images of dragons, firestorms, and battles that stretched across the sky. In its center was a single depression—shaped exactly like a hand.
"Yours," Ragan said.
Kai hesitated.
He placed his hand against the stone.
Golden fire flared faintly from his palm. The runes lit up. The door trembled—then slid open with a grinding sound like shifting mountains.
The Archives greeted them with silence.
It was not a library in the traditional sense. No scrolls. No shelves.
Instead, the walls themselves held the records—engraved murals, preserved visions, and memory crystals embedded in the stone. As Kai stepped inside, torches ignited with soft blue flame, illuminating carvings that stretched far beyond the eye could follow.
And there, on the central wall, was the mural Ragan had mentioned.
Kai froze.
A figure stood amidst a broken battlefield. Around him lay the corpses of monstrous beasts, shattered warships, and ruined palaces. Above, the sky was torn—half dark, half burning with golden light.
And at the center stood a warrior cloaked in flame, his eyes glowing like twin suns.
He looked… exactly like Kai.
Same face. Same expression. Even the same tattered robes.
"Impossible…" Kai whispered.
Ragan nodded. "This is older than the clan itself. We don't know who the Flamebearer was. Some believe he was the first cultivator. Others… that he wasn't human at all."
Kai took a step closer, staring into the warrior's eyes.
"Is this why that thing came for me?" he asked. "Because it thought I was him?"
"Maybe. Or maybe you are." Ragan turned, voice low. "Reincarnation. Inheritance. Divine bloodline. We've seen it all in fragments—but never this clear. If the First Fire chose you, then your path isn't just difficult. It's dangerous."
A glint caught Kai's eye.
Below the mural, hidden in a crevice, was a crystal shard.
It pulsed with heat—like his own fire.
He reached for it. As his fingers brushed its surface, a jolt surged through him, and the world vanished.
[Memory Vision – 1,000 Years Ago]
He stood on a tower of black stone, surrounded by roaring dragons made of flame. Beneath him stretched a battlefield of gods.
Lightning clashed with fire. Oceans boiled. Creatures of shadow and light fought for dominion over a crumbling realm.
And in his hands…
A blade of living fire.
The same one that now flickered within his core.
"You must burn," a voice said—his own, from a different time.
"Or everything else will."
Kai gasped, yanking his hand back.
The shard dimmed.
Ragan stared, eyes wide. "You saw it?"
Kai nodded, slowly. "A war. A weapon. And… dragons. So many dragons."
Silence settled between them.
Then the elder whispered, almost to himself:
"The Flamebearer has returned."