The path to Thornspire was not carved, but broken—cracked ridges of obsidian that jutted like black ribs from a land stripped of all life. The wind here carried no sound, only the pressure of silence. It pressed against Li Shen's skin like the weight of judgment.
Far ahead, the fortress emerged from the dead earth.
Thornspire.
Once a monastery of celestial ascetics, now twisted by centuries of Hollow Council alchemy. Its towers were like spears driven into the sky. Each level spiraled like a thorned vine, black metal coiling around itself in impossible geometry.
The spire pulsed faintly with light—not fire or torch, but something alive, watching.
Li Shen crouched upon a ledge a mile out, concealed by the shrouded folds of Sērahn's Echo – Veilform Mist Technique. The blade wrapped him in a moving shimmer, almost unnoticeable even to a trained eye.
He studied the defenses.
Six outer towers with watch-fangs instead of guards—creatures bred in darkness, all eyes and silence. Arcane sigils rotated mid-air, anchored by chains to the sky itself. A vast moat of bloodglass pulsed around the inner sanctum. And worst of all…
A flame.
Not his.
But ancient, inverted—anti-flame.
"They've bound a Phoenix Heart," he whispered.
He clenched his fists.
They had stolen from the Phoenix Monks. From his people. And they dared to twist what was meant to heal.
He stood.
Time to reclaim the stolen flame.
At midnight, he moved.
Using Mirror Vale Blade – Reflection Step, he wove his body into moonlight and passed the outer towers unseen. When a watch-fang stirred, he unleashed a silent ripple of ghostlight from the Eidolon Blade – Stillness Fang, and the creature fell, frozen in death with no mark on its flesh.
Crossing the bloodglass was harder.
Each step sent a ripple of memory across the surface—thoughts not his own. Screams from forgotten executions. Echoes of souls who begged and were denied.
He lowered his stance, performed Ocean Soul – Third Current: Whisper Wake, gliding across the glass as if borne by water itself.
He reached the gate.
Two black-armored guardians stood before it. Silent. Breathing in sync. Their swords shimmered with null-light.
He unsheathed Crimson Feather Codex and whispered a single word.
"Kindle."
The phoenix fire erupted—not loud, but radiant. One strike. A flash. The first guardian vanished into ash. The second lunged—
Too slow.
Codex Form – Blazing Petal Waltz.
Seven flaming steps. Each one a crescent arc. The guardian's body was cut into embers before it touched the ground.
The gate opened on its own.
Inviting him in.
Inside Thornspire, the air changed.
He was no longer in a fortress—but a body. The walls pulsed like veins. The torches burned with colorless fire. Every stair he climbed led not just upward, but inward.
There were no guards.
Only voices.
They whispered in dozens of tongues.
"The fire is flawed."
"We fixed it."
"You should not be here."
Li Shen ignored them and ascended.
At the thirteenth floor, he found the first ward: a circle of fire inverting itself, cold at the edges, flickering inward.
At the center sat a woman.
Eyes black as voidstone. Hair silver and knotted like vines. She wore monk robes, twisted into Hollow Council markings.
"Li Shen," she said softly. "Do you remember your mother's face?"
He paused.
"How do you—"
"She died here. When the Phoenix fell. Her name was Lan Rui."
His heart cracked.
She stood, revealing her face. And he knew—she wasn't lying.
"I am your sister," she said.
The moment stretched.
She held no weapon. But her aura was vast, coiling with fire and frost, inverted chi flowing through her veins like poisoned gold.
"I was taken when the Pact burned the Valley of Emberlight," she said. "They fed me the cinders of ancestors and broke my name. I am now Ashthorn."
"I don't believe it," Li Shen said, voice trembling.
"You must." She stepped forward. "Because I will kill you. That is my vow."
She moved.
Ashthorn Style – Flame Reversal: Wither Bloom.
A flame lashed out—black and violet, beautiful and cruel. Li Shen deflected with Ocean Soul Blade, but the fire clung to his arm like grief.
He spun, using Codex – Fifth Form: Rising Phoenix Spear, stabbing upward into her defense.
She caught the blade with her bare hand.
It sizzled against her skin.
She didn't flinch.
Their fight was a storm.
Codex against Ashthorn. Ocean against Reversal. Brother against lost sister.
Each clash broke stone, cracked memory, burned truth.
And in the end—she faltered.
One tear fell from her eye.
"You still carry her fire," she said.
"I never let it go."
She stepped back.
"You must go deeper. Below the thorns. The heart is alive. He waits there."
"Who?" Li Shen asked.
Ashthorn smiled bitterly.
"The true architect. The first pact. The soul who forged the Hollow Council."
Then she vanished in ash.
Li Shen descended.
Below Thornspire's foundation lay a rootwork of tunnels—half-flesh, half-fortress. The walls bled light, and the floor hummed with the echo of forgotten flames.
At the end of the lowest chamber, bound in a thousand chains, sat a man.
Or what was left of one.
Eyes stitched shut. Skin etched with living runes. A crown of bone on his brow.
He whispered a name:
"Li Shen… You are the key. The flame returns to its source."
And then the runes flared.
The chains split.
The original Hollow Architect rose—and smiled.
"Let me show you the truth of the fire."