Ashvale was nothing like Kael expected.
Tucked in the folds of the highlands, the monastery was built of black stone and crimson-tiled roofs, perched on a cliff like a watchful raven. It overlooked miles of ancient forest and forgotten battlegrounds. Its towers were etched with runes, glowing faintly as dusk fell. No bells. No chants. Just silence.
Kael arrived alone, cloaked and wary. The monks here didn't greet travelers with open arms—they were Relic Wardens, guardians of cursed artifacts and scholars of forbidden lore.
The gate opened before he knocked.
A hooded figure stepped out, face hidden behind a copper mask.
"You carry a fire not your own," the monk said. "And a burden that screams beneath the silence. Come. The Grand Archivist waits."
---
Inside the monastery was a maze of passageways, libraries, meditation halls, and underground vaults. The air smelled of incense, old parchment, and something faintly metallic—like blood long dried.
Kael was led into a circular chamber lined with mirrors and bound tomes. At its center sat an old woman in silver robes, hair white as ash, her eyes like smoldering coals.
"I am Grand Archivist Meira," she said. "Show me what you've brought."
Kael hesitated, then unwrapped the Mask of the First Flame, placing it on the stone pedestal.
The temperature dropped instantly.
Meira did not flinch.
Instead, she whispered an incantation, and her reflection in the mirrors changed—twisting into horned beasts, flaming skulls, and weeping angels. Each version of her stared at the mask… and recoiled.
Then came the System alert.
> [Artifact Identified: Mask of the First Flame]
A remnant of the First Flamebearer, sealed during the Ashfall Cataclysm.
Cursed, Sentient, Bound to Kael.
Threat Level: Class S (Divine-Linked Anomaly)
Meira exhaled slowly.
"Do you know what you carry?"
"Not really," Kael admitted.
"That is no relic," she said. "That is a seed. A living ember from the original fire that shaped this world. It chooses vessels… but rarely survives them."
Kael felt cold. "What happens to the ones it chooses?"
Meira's gaze darkened.
"They burn. Or worse… they change."
---
She placed her hands on the mask. Her fingers began to tremble.
"You are still early in your path. The fire sleeps. But if you do not master it, it will consume you—mind, body, and soul."
Kael clenched his fists. "Then teach me."
The old woman nodded slowly.
"There is a ritual. A binding. We will help you stabilize the connection… but it comes at a cost."
"What cost?"
"You must open yourself completely to the flame. Show it your soul. If it deems you unworthy… you will die."
Kael didn't blink.
"Let's begin."
System Alert:
[Initiating Flamebond Rite]
Warning: Soul Exposure Detected. Proceed? [YES] / [NO]
> YES.
The world vanished in fire.
Kael stood on a field of ash beneath a red sky. Blackened trees twisted like claws. In the distance, a throne of embers burned without fuel.
Upon it sat a figure cloaked in fire, its face a perfect mirror of Kael's own—but older. Harder. Scarred by flame.
> "You seek to claim what you do not understand," it said. "Why?"
Kael stepped forward.
"Because I don't want to be a pawn anymore. Not of kings. Not of fate. Not of gods."
The flame-being tilted its head.
> "Then burn. And be reborn."
The fire surged.
> [Soul Sync Initiated: 7%… 15%… 22%…]
Kael screamed as memories not his own tore through him—a forgotten war, cities consumed in divine flame, a name spoken by a dying god.
But he did not yield.
---
When he awoke, the mask was gone—melted into a mark across his chest, glowing faintly beneath his skin like a brand.
Meira stood above him, eyes wide.
"You lived," she whispered. "You're… Flameborn in truth now."
> [Flameborn Path: 18% Awakened]
New Ability Unlocked: Ashstep – Instantly teleport up to 10 meters in a burst of fire.
Title Gained: "The Kindled"
Kael stood, breath ragged, eyes burning.
He didn't feel like the same man.
Because he wasn't.