"To face the First Flame is not to awaken it —
but to ask it if you deserve to live."
— Suvraan, 2nd Crown bearer
Feng Xian's body stands within the obsidian circle. But his spirit now falls.
He tumbles through flame-sky, memories igniting like scrolls in a furnace — mother's voice, the mountain rains, Sky veil's bell… gone.
He lands on a sea of living fire — amber waves that breathe, pulse, hunger.
Across the expanse stands a figure crowned in ash, its face shifting between his own and a stranger's — the First Flame bearer, known only as Nameless Ember.
"You carry the Crown, but do you carry the flame?"
"I didn't ask for this."
"Neither did we."
🔥 Phase I — Memory Ashes
Flames peel his memories away, whispering:
"Will you burn for vengeance or rise for others?"
"Will you preserve yourself, or let the fire choose?"
A vision seizes him:
His village burning — not from Hollow or beast.
From a child with fire in his blood.
Himself… or someone like him?
His knees buckle. The Crown flares — but does not protect.
"To wield fire is to wound. What will you wound for, Feng Xian?"
And from the fire… an echo rises.
Not words. A scream — ancient, deep, and his own.
Scene II — Pavilion Outer Ward: Clash in Jade Wind Courtyard
Lan'Fei lands in a blast of ash-wind and winged beasts. Her bonded wyrm snarls — Pavilion disciples scatter.
Elder Ma Jin raises a warding seal, his voice firm:
"Lan'Fei of the Northern Pact — your entry is unbidden."
"And yet the beasts say otherwise."
"Your Crown bearer burns from within, and you place walls?" she snarls.
Steel sings. Four disciples circle.
Her eyes flash — she's no mere guest now.
🐉 Mini-Duel: Jade wind Skirmish
She moves like a predator, fighting to disable, not kill.
One disciple slams a Seabird Talisman into her shoulder — pain arcs, but she absorbs it.
Her beast crushes a stone lion statue, scattering echoes of old protection.
"You want to fight?" she roars.
"Then let the Isles hear why I came."
Just as the final disciple raises a strike — a new presence halts them.
Elder Yao, voice trembling with something ancient:
"Let her pass.
She carries the scent of the Crown's awakening.
And more…"
He gazes at her wyrm, which bows low.
"…Something old listens beneath her shadow."
Feng Xian, scorched and bent, reaches the Burning Gate — an archway of lightless flame.
Nameless Ember walks beside him now, not as judge — but mirror.
"Cross, and carry the fire. But leave behind what you cannot protect."
He turns. The sea of fire surges — within it, he sees:
Lan'Fei bleeding in the courtyard.
The Hollow rising beyond the trench.
Tshepo's eye watching from below.
"If I cross… will I lose them?"
"If you don't… they will lose you."
Feng Xian steps through the Gate.
Not of destruction. Not yet.
But of choice. Of purpose.