The Emberheart council hall buzzed with quiet tension.
All ten elders were present, seated in a crescent, with Kai and Linya standing before them like accused criminals awaiting judgment. Outside the chamber, rumors spread like wildfire—some calling Kai a chosen warrior of the heavens, others calling him a threat that needed to be locked away.
Elder Ragan broke the silence.
"The Skyhammer Sect has confirmed the Conclave will take place at Ashspire Peak in ten days."
Kai's brows furrowed. "Why there?"
Linya answered. "It's neutral territory. Ancient ruins from the first immortal era—no sect or clan controls it. More importantly, the site was once the heart of a battlefield… one where Flamebearers once stood."
Murmurs rose among the elders.
Elder Min, always the most cautious, leaned forward. "This Conclave is not an invitation—it's a challenge. They want to see you. We must assume that some factions will seek to use you, or worse, eliminate you."
Kai didn't flinch. "Let them come."
Later that night, Kai stood at the edge of the Emberheart cliffs, staring down at the valley glowing beneath the moon. Linya joined him, carrying two flasks of emberwine.
He took one silently.
"So," she said, "you're going to the Conclave."
Kai nodded. "If I don't, they'll assume I'm hiding. That I'm afraid."
"You're not?"
He hesitated. "I'm… not afraid for me. I'm afraid of what I'll find there. Of who I might be."
Linya leaned against the stone. "You know… when we first met, I thought you were just a stubborn orphan with a death wish."
"And now?"
"Now I think you might be the only one who can stop what's coming."
As dawn crept across the horizon, preparations began.
Kai trained harder than ever—sharpening his spiritual control, perfecting the Sword of Embers, learning to conceal the fire within until the right moment. Linya sparred with him daily, pushing him to the brink.
Ragan passed him ancient scrolls, hinting at long-lost Flamebearer techniques. Most were incomplete, torn or faded—but pieces aligned in Kai's mind as if he had read them before, long ago in another life.
"He's not learning," one elder whispered. "He's remembering."
On the eighth night, as stars burned cold and clear, a masked envoy arrived at the Emberheart gates.
He bore a single parchment—sealed in obsidian wax.
Kai broke it and read aloud:
To the Flame-Woken.
The fire in you burns brighter than legend.
Come to Ashspire. Come and prove you are worthy.
Or be consumed by the shadows you've awakened.
It was unsigned.
But Kai felt the weight behind the words.
A warning. Or a threat.
Maybe both.