Some truths are not erased—they are buried beneath centuries of silence, waiting for fire to unearth them.
Moonfall Library was nothing like the open, sunlit pavilions where inner disciples studied their techniques. It was cold. Sealed. Carved into the spine of Emberheart Peak itself, where the mountain grew oldest and the stone bore no moss. Only weight. Only memory.
Each step Shen Li took deeper into its labyrinthine halls felt heavier than the last.
He passed through layers of protection: the Eye of the Ember, the Warding Flame Rings, the Whispered Silence Veil—each one tested his intent, probing at the edges of his core. Even the heat of his Beastfire dimmed under their scrutiny.
The last barrier was the Flamekeeper Sigil, only granted to him through Elder Yun's intervention.
Scroll 412, he reminded himself. The heir before me. The one they erased.
He followed the coded markings Yun had scrawled on the edge of the jade tag—a leftward spiral past the locked shelves, then beneath the alcove where the stone lanterns bore the mark of the old dynasty.
There, behind a plain iron gate, rested Scroll 412.
It was unlike the others. Wrapped in black silk, the scroll bore no official label, no sect name, no era date. Only an ember-red symbol burned into the cloth—a flame ringed in chains.
Shen Li's fingers hovered above it.
The heat that pulsed from it was not comforting.
It was grieving.
The moment he touched the seal, the scroll flared.
But it wasn't a defense. Not a trap in the traditional sense.
It wanted to be read.
Shen Li released a sliver of qi into it, letting his Beastfire mingle with the dormant pattern beneath the surface.
Suddenly, the world spun.
He stumbled backward as the ground dropped out beneath his feet.
Flame surged—not hot, but cold with memory—and drew him into a vision.
Flashback: the forgotten heir The library was alive. Not with people—but with voices.
Hundreds of echoing murmurs, all speaking in overlapping fragments:
"He's too wild—"
"But he unlocked the fifth ring—"
"Beast-blood should not lead—"
Shen Li blinked and found himself in another time.
The air was warmer. Cleaner. The scroll shelves gleamed, newly carved. At the center of the main reading chamber stood a young man—barefoot, furious, and radiant.
His beastfire did not just cling to him—it danced with him, wrapping around his body like a cloak of golden flame. Stripes of soot and ash marked his arms and collarbone, like tattoos burned by truth.
Liansheng.
He was maybe nineteen. His eyes burned brighter than Shen Li's ever had.
Across from him stood three elders, their faces shrouded behind ceremonial veils of judgment.
"You promised us he would submit to regulation," one of them hissed.
"He has," a fourth voice said quietly, "but the fire in him… it does not obey."
Liansheng laughed bitterly. His voice cracked with disappointment, not rage.
"Obey? Is that what you wanted? A puppet with Beastfire?"
He turned, and Shen Li felt the weight in that gaze—even from within the vision.
"You praised my power when I defended the Sect. When I rose faster than your golden disciples. But now that my flame stretches further than your leash, you call me corrupted."
He raised a hand, and the fire surged—runes etched across his arm shimmering into view.
"I found truths buried in the roots of Emberheart. The same ones you refuse to name."
"Stop this, Liansheng," an elder warned. "You do not understand what you've awakened."
"No," Liansheng said. "I do. That's what frightens you."
He turned away, and the vision fractured—flashing forward in time.
Now he stood at the edge of the Sect cliffs, winds howling, flames burning silently across his shoulders.
Behind him—six cloaked figures moved into formation.
"We will seal him. For the Sect's good."
"It's too late," one whispered. "He knows the truth."
Liansheng closed his eyes.
"So this is my reward for loyalty. Silence."
He smiled. Not bitterly. But with sadness.
"I was never your heir. Just your experiment."
And then the fire exploded—not outward, but inward.
The vision tore itself apart in white flame.
Shen Li gasped as he fell backward in the present. His palm still rested on the now-dim scroll. The runes were inert again.
He stared at the black silk-wrapped artifact.
His heart thundered.
Liansheng wasn't erased because he failed. He was erased because he questioned.
And now Shen Li understood the unspoken threat in the way some elders watched him.
He was Liansheng's echo.
But unlike Liansheng, he had seen the end of that path.
And he would not be erased.
Shen Li carefully tucked Scroll 412 into his robe and exited the Flamekeeper Index chamber. His eyes were sharp now—aware. Watching.
A faint sound caught his attention.
The soft shuffle of robes around a corner.
He turned—but saw no one.
Just the sway of a hanging lantern.
Lan Xueyi? Su Lin? Or something worse?
He didn't call out.
Instead, he let the flame in his palm flicker to life—subtle, quiet, feeding on his breath.
"Let the shadows follow," he murmured, voice low. "They'll find the fire waiting