The easternmost edge of the empire ended in silence.No bells rang. No fires were lit. No Pulse answered.The land was called the Dagger Coast, a jagged black peninsula where flamebearers once feared to tread. Not because of what was there—but because of what had once been.It was here that the world forgot itself.And here that the world began again.Upon the tallest spire of volcanic stone, cloaked in centuries of soot and soot-colored vines, a silver-robed figure knelt in front of a shallow pool of emberglass. The glass wasn’t natural—it had once been flame, condensed by memory older than the empire itself. Now, it reflected not the sky, but names.The figure’s hands hovered over its surface, fingers dancing through invisible sigils.Her voice was barely a whisper. But the words stirred flame beneath the stone.> “He breathes again. His name... wakes.”Behind her, six acolytes knelt, eyes closed, humming low notes to anchor the resonance. Their robes were scorched at the hem—not fr

Aya stood frozen, scroll in hand, heart beating so loudly she could barely hear the wind.The parchment shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Her likeness had been drawn with uncanny precision: the angle of her eyes, the braid behind her ear, even the subtle arch of her left brow when confused. But it wasn’t the drawing that chilled her.It was the word above it.Daoren.Her lips formed it silently, afraid to say it aloud. As though speaking it might summon something she wasn’t ready for.The robed stranger stood quietly across from her, his face shrouded in the hood’s shadow, but his posture relaxed. Not hostile. Not urgent.Just waiting.Aya looked up from the scroll. “What does this mean?”The man didn’t answer at once. He tilted his head slightly, then stepped to the side and gestured toward the forest trail leading east—away from the village.> “Walk with me,” he said. His voice was low, smooth, carrying the tone of someone used to being heard.Aya hesitated.She could run. She cou

The sun had not yet risen when Aya opened her eyes. She had dreamed again—of ash, of spirals, of a flame that pulsed like a heartbeat in the sky. But this time, the dream had ended differently.A voice had called her name—not her nickname, not the name others had given her.But the full name from the scroll: Aya Daoren.She hadn’t run from it in the dream.She had turned and answered.Now, awake, she felt its weight settle over her—not like a burden, but like armor she was still growing into.She looked over to where Yuren sat cross-legged, his eyes closed, the ash bowl between his palms spinning faintly, though untouched.> “How long was I out?” she asked.> “Three hours,” he replied, eyes still closed. “Longer than most. That’s a good sign.”> “Or a bad one.”Yuren cracked one eye open. “Only if you think remembering who you are is dangerous.”> “Isn’t it?” she asked, voice quieter.Yuren’s gaze turned solemn. “Sometimes, yes. But forgetting is always worse.”He rose then, robes set

Aya stood at the center of the clearing, torn between the two flames standing before her.To her left, Yuren—the quiet, ash-cloaked guide who had taught her to listen to memory, not command it. He had protected her, instructed her, challenged her. He had told her she was Daoren.To her right, Fei Longwei—soldier of the Covenant, fire-gifted tactician, and ally of the man Aya had only glimpsed in vision: Jin. She claimed to know him. Claimed to care.Aya's pendant throbbed with warm pulses in her chest. Faster now. Urgent.> “You have to choose,” Fei said, gently. “But choose knowing. Not out of fear.”Yuren didn’t speak at first. But his eyes narrowed, and when he finally spoke, it was in a voice as steady as cooled steel.> “You know what they did to your kind. To your name. What they’ll do again.”Fei shook her head. “I’m not them.”> “But you carry their fire.”Aya clenched her fists. “Enough.”The flame flickered at her feet.> “Why now?” she asked, voice rising. “Why does everyon

The message arrived at dawn.A small hawk, eyes glowing with blue-gold fire, swooped down silently and perched on the stone beside Aya’s bedroll.It carried no scroll—just a single flame-sigil branded into its chest, burning slowly:召 – "Summon."Fei rose at once.> “High Flame Council,” she said grimly. “That’s their mark.”Aya blinked sleep from her eyes. “Already?”Yuren stepped forward, brushing ash from his robe. “The spiral changed everything. They must know by now that Jin lives—and that you carry the Daoren glyph.”Aya looked at the bird. It watched her unblinkingly.> “What do they want from me?”Fei answered before Yuren could.> “Loyalty. Submission. Or silence.”Aya’s heart pounded.> “And if I don’t go?”Yuren shook his head. “Then they’ll send someone less polite than a bird.”Fei reached out and touched the hawk’s head. It vanished in a soft puff of flame and smoke, leaving only a shimmer in the air where the sigil once glowed.> “You don’t have to accept,” she said. “B