The world dissolved into fire and ash. Young Ulrich, just eight years old, stumbled through the ruins of the Sheng-Shou Temple. The scent was not of incense and pine, but of charred wood, ozone, and something far worse—the sickly-sweet smell of cooked meat. Bodies, some frozen in defensive postures, others reduced to blackened husks, lay scattered among the shattered pagodas. The rain had started, a cold, mournful drizzle that sizzled on smoldering beams and mixed with the soot on Ulrich's face.
A sob caught in his throat, but he pushed it down. Find them. Find them. He scrambled over fallen timbers, his small hands burning on hot stone.
Then he saw him. Propped against the remnants of a prayer wall, looking not broken, but weary beyond measure, was Shi Tsu Fu. His golden aura was gone, replaced by a network of ugly, pulsating purple cracks that spread across his skin like poisoned lightning. In his hand, he still clutched his oak staff, its glow reduced to a faint, dying ember.
"Old man! OLD MAN!" Ulrich cried, skidding to his knees in the mud.
The Supreme Abbot's eyes, still holding the depth of a tranquil lake, fluttered open. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Little dragon... you came."
"You're hurt! We have to—"
"Listen," Shi Tsu Fu interrupted, his voice a ragged whisper, yet it commanded absolute silence. "The serpent, Wilhelm... his power is a cancer. He seeks to turn the world's energy into chains. You... you are different, Ulrich. I saw it the moment you entered our gates. Your well is sealed, but your heart... your heart is open to the sky itself."
He coughed, a shudder that made the purple cracks flare. "Alexia... she fights still. Go to her. Not to save her. You cannot. But to witness. To remember. Take the girl, Oz. Protect her. Her sight is a fragile light in the coming darkness. Promise me."
Ulrich's small hands were fists, trembling. He wanted to scream, to demand the old man get up, to fix everything. But the truth in those dying eyes was unshakeable. He nodded, a tear finally escaping to trace a clean line through the grime on his cheek. "I promise."
Shi Tsu Fu's gaze drifted past him, to the smoke-choked heavens. "The Golden Flame... it is not a thing to be held. It is a truth to be understood. Remember the garden, Ulrich. Not the temple." His chest stilled. The final light in the staff winked out. The greatest master of natural energy in a generation was gone, his body finally succumbing to the foreign corruption within.
---
Guided by the sounds of clashing energy and a terrible, rising fury, Ulrich found the entrance to the underground vaults. He descended into a cavernous space lit by the sickly purple glow of Wilhelm's puppets and the fading gold of his mother's defiance.
The scene was one of macabre beauty and utter despair. Alexia von Morgenfels moved like a wounded phoenix, her movements a desperate, elegant Shaolin dance. She fought not with raw power, but with impossible precision, disarming puppets with joint locks, redirecting their stolen energy back into them. But for every one she disabled, two more shambled forward, their eyes vacant purple holes. And at the center of it all, watching with cold, analytical interest, stood Wilhelm. The third eye on his forehead pulsed with a rhythm that seemed to dictate the very air in the room.
"You cannot win, Alexia," Wilhelm called out, his voice echoing unnaturally. "This is not kung fu. This is evolution. Your father was a relic. Hand me the staff, and I will make your end quick. A courtesy for services rendered."
Alexia spun, her foot connecting with a puppet's head, snapping its neck. She was breathing in ragged gasps, a nasty cut on her brow bleeding into her eye. "I will protect the Golden Flame's truth... as my father did... with my last breath!" Her voice was a raw scrape of defiance.
"Sentiment. The ultimate weakness." Wilhelm sighed, as if bored. "Very well. Devil's Command: Final Atone."
The third eye blazed. Every remaining puppet—dozens of them, including masters, cooks, novices—froze. Then, as one, they turned their stolen energy inward. There was no scream, only a horrifying, synchronized silence as purple light erupted from their eyes and mouths. They collapsed, lifeless marionettes with their strings cut.
Among them, falling to his knees before crumbling, was Shu Xing Long. His eyes cleared in his final instant, meeting Alexia's. In them, she saw not the playful friend, nor the jealous admirer, but the proud Shaolin warrior, free at last. Then he was gone.
"NO! XING LONG!" Alexia's cry was a shard of glass in the cavern. Her strength left her. She fell to her knees, the fight draining out of her with her tears, mixing with the rain now dripping from the shattered ceiling above. The storm outside mirrored the tempest within.
"Stop fighting! Mother! Father!"
The small, desperate voice cut through the gloom. Ulrich stood at the entrance, drenched and trembling, his white hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes wide with a horror no child should ever know.
Wilhelm turned. The purple eye regarded his adopted son with something akin to clinical interest. "Ulrich. Good. You are awake. You have a role to play in the years to come. You are... precious to my calculations." He gestured dismissively at the broken form of Alexia. "But her purpose is served. I no longer require a key. Only the treasure."
Ulrich's small body shook with a rage that dwarfed his frame. With a wordless scream, he charged at Wilhelm, a tiny, furious comet. "LEAVE HER ALONE!"
Wilhelm didn't move a muscle. He simply fixed his third eye on the boy. "Sleep. Forget."
A wave of psychic force, thick and syrupy, slammed into Ulrich. It wasn't pain; it was an erasure. The sight of his mother's tears, the smell of the burning temple, the warmth of Oz's hand in the garden—all of it was smothered under a blanket of artificial calm. His charge faltered. His eyes glazed over. His knees buckled, and he slumped to the cold stone floor, unconscious, the traumatic memories locked away behind a door he would not find for eight long years.
"A tidy solution," Wilhelm murmured, stepping over his son's inert form.
Alexia, using the last dregs of her will, pushed herself up on one arm. She spat blood onto the stone. "A coward's solution. You could not face his heart... so you stole his memory."
"Sentiment, again," Wilhelm chided, picking up a fallen ceremonial sword. Its edge gleamed in the purple light. "But you are correct about one thing. My power could not affect you or your father. How?"
A bloody, triumphant smile touched Alexia's lips. "The Bànshén Formula... a dual-prana technique passed from mother to daughter. It creates a soul-shield. My father... he had his own. The prayers of a lifetime." Her smile faded. "He chose to break his shield... to contain your corruption. To give me time."
"Fascinating," Wilhelm said, genuinely intrigued. "I will dissect that formula from your memories later. But for now..."
He blurred. It was not speed as Ulrich would later learn; it was something alien. "Devil Pulse Steps." He seemed to vibrate out of existence in one spot and reappear directly behind Alexia, the movement leaving afterimages of violet light.
Alexia's eyes widened. She started to turn.
The sword, guided by a hand that had once held hers with false tenderness, flashed.
There was no grand speech, no final curse. Only the soft, terrible sound of steel parting flesh and bone.
Alexia von Morgenfels's body went rigid, then limp. Her head, with its kind, heartbroken eyes still open, tilted and fell to the ground with a soft, final thud.
Wilhelm did not watch it fall. He was already reaching for the oak staff still clutched in Shi Tsu Fu's daughter's lifeless hand. He pried the fingers loose, his own hands devoid of any emotion.
He held the staff aloft. It remained inert, just wood. The Golden Flame's secret had died with the last of its guardians. But Wilhelm didn't seem disappointed. He had the artifact. The resonance signature could be extracted.
He glanced at the unconscious form of his adopted son, then at the decapitated body of his wife. "A productive night," he stated to the empty, rain-soaked cavern. Slinging Ulrich over his shoulder, he walked out of the vault, leaving the dead and the rain to wash over the temple's final tragedy.
FLASHBACK END
---
PRESENT – ROSEN ACADEMY
The memory of that cold steel, that soft thud, exploded in Ulrich's mind at the very moment the Delta officer fired. It wasn't just a recollection; it was a reliving. The smell of rain and blood filled his nostrils. The helpless rage of an eight-year-old boiled up, mixed with the determined fury of the sixteen-year-old he now was.
He saw Lina, arms spread, ready to die for others—just like his mother had lived, and died, protecting a truth.
The violet beam lanced out.
And Ulrich moved. Not on borrowed energy from the earth, but on a tidal wave of resurrected grief and purpose. He intercepted, he redirected, he saved her.
As the shattered weapon clattered from the Delta officer's grip, Ulrich stood panting, the ghost of a temple's rain still cool on his skin. Lina was alive, staring at him in shock and awe.
But the Delta officer only stared at his ruined weapon, then at Ulrich. "Secondary target displays unpredicted energy manipulation. Threat reassessment: high. New directive: terminate both."
He raised his functional hand, and the remaining nine soldiers leveled their rifles, a chorus of high-pitched whines building as they charged.
Ulrich's heart, already hammering against his ribs, seized. He was spent from the redirect. He couldn't shield everyone. The memory of failure was too fresh, too raw. He saw Oz's tears, his mother's falling head. Not again. Please, not—
A shadow fell over them, accompanied by a sound like tearing silk and a rush of displaced air. Something massive and blue dropped from the sky, landing between the students and the Delta squad with an impact that cracked the academy's flagstones.
It was a Griffin. But not from any bestiary. Its coat was a shimmering, metallic cobalt blue, its feathers like polished sapphire, and its beak and talons gleamed like silver. Its eyes held an ancient, intelligent fury. And on its back, holding onto its feathery mane with casual grace, was Herr Anton Blüm.
The PPC teacher's usual jovial grin was gone, replaced by a grim, focused intensity. He patted the Griffin's neck. "Good timing, Zephyr."
He slid off the creature's back, landing lightly in a combat stance that was suddenly, obviously, not that of a simple gym teacher. His gaze swept over the cowering students, lingered on Lina, and finally settled on Ulrich with a nod of profound respect.
"Nice redirect, kid. Textbook vortex funnel. Now," he said, cracking his knuckles and turning to face the Delta squad, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "let the adults handle the trash."
He looked at Ulrich, and then at Lina, a fierce, protective light in his eyes.
"Which, stand. Lina, breathe. You two aren't done yet." He raised his hands, and the air around them began to crackle with a dense, tangible energy. "Let's protect your people."