The Phoenix of the Slums

Night had fallen by the time Tianming, Xiaoqing, and Fang Yao emerged from the hidden chamber beneath the ruins. The sea in the distance churned under a crescent moon, but above the cliffs, the wind had stilled—as if even the heavens were holding their breath.

Tianming said nothing for a long time. The Sovereign Flame scroll was sealed tightly in a special satchel over his shoulder, its heat now dormant. But in his chest, something new burned—a pulse not of pain, but power. Ancient. Alive.

Fang Yao rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re different now. It’s like your aura... folds over itself. Like a flame that hides its light.”

Tianming looked down at his right arm. Since the trial, a faint pattern had emerged across the skin—a lattice of black lines, thin as hair, running from his wrist to shoulder. Not a tattoo. A brand. A mark.

“The Ash-Born,” he muttered. “That’s what they called me.”

Xiaoqing nodded slowly. “And it wasn’t just a name. I looked it up once—on my brother’s old data drive. They said the Ash-Born were immune to fire, immune to toxin. Their blood could ignite other elements. They were used as living weapons in ancient wars.”

“Used.” Tianming’s tone was bitter. “I’m not here to be used.”

As they made their way down the narrow forest path from the cliffs, Xiaoqing suddenly froze. “Wait.”

Fang Yao dropped into a crouch. “What is it?”

She pointed toward the base of a tree. A blade.

Half-buried in the soil. A black tanto, clean and sharp, wedged beside a broken Lotus Clan emblem.

Tianming walked over and picked it up. Something was carved along its spine—three characters scratched hastily in old calligraphy:

"Forgive Me, Little Brother."

His hands tightened.

“It’s Rui’s blade,” he said coldly. “He was here.”

“But why leave it?” Xiaoqing asked. “Is it bait? A message?”

“Both,” Tianming said. “He knows I’ll come.”

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That night, they set up camp near the ruins. Fang Yao kept watch while Xiaoqing slept curled beside a tree stump, clutching a hunting knife under her arm. Tianming couldn’t sleep. The scroll's presence pulsed against his back, as if whispering.

He opened it.

The diagrams inside had shifted since the trial. A new page had emerged—burnt into the parchment itself. It showed a rough map of the Eastern territories, centered on a ruined fortress marked with one word:

"Guzhan."

Tianming traced the symbol. “The second Arsenal…”

Fang Yao stepped beside him, quietly sipping from a canteen. “Guzhan Fortress was wiped off maps a century ago. Sealed by the Orchid Society. Rumors say it was a testing site for fusion weapons. Nothing lives there now.”

“But something’s waking up,” Tianming replied. “And if I don’t get there first, the Lotus Clan will.”

Fang Yao nodded. “Then we move tomorrow.”

Elsewhere, in a vast chamber carved into the roots of the Tiangang mountain range, the Keymaster knelt before a monstrous obelisk. Around it, flames rose and flickered in blue-black tongues.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. Clad in foreign armor, eyes hidden behind curved obsidian goggles. His voice was synthetic. Cold.

“Report.”

The Keymaster bowed. “He has survived the Flame Trial. The scroll accepted him. Phase Two has begun.”

The man in armor tapped a datapad. “Then the Sovereign Arsenal must be activated in sequence. We move to Guzhan immediately. And the boy?”

“Let him come,” the Keymaster said. “The Ash-Born was forged to endure. But even fire can be smothered… if you know what fuels it.”

Behind them, the obelisk pulsed. Something ancient stirred beneath its surface—locked, breathing, waiting.

Back in the forest, as dawn crept across the horizon, Tianming woke with a start. His mark was burning again—not painfully, but urgently. Like it was pulling him forward.

He stood, strapped on his gear, and looked at Xiaoqing and Fang Yao.

“It’s time. We go to Guzhan.”

He paused, staring down at Rui’s black blade one more time.

“And this time,” he whispered, “I won’t

stop until I know the truth.”