A sharp wind swept across the ruined expanse of the outer training fields, rustling torn banners and scattering ash across the scorched earth. Lucius knelt in the center of a collapsed ring, chest heaving, his shirt torn and clinging to his sweat-slicked back. The aftershocks of the explosion that had erupted from his core moments ago still danced faintly in the air like the remnants of a dream—or a nightmare.
The silence that followed was broken by Master Rengard's voice, low and oddly reverent.
"...Heavenly Martial Body."
Lucius barely heard him. His vision swam, the world a haze of pain and shifting energy. His skin burned, but not with heat—something deeper stirred within, rewriting the very structure of his being.
Master Rengard approached slowly, boots crunching over blackened gravel. "Do you understand what you've just awakened?"
Lucius tried to stand, but his knees buckled. He braced himself on one trembling arm, gritting his teeth. "I… I didn't mean to."
"No one ever does," the old master said, kneeling beside him. "But the heavens have chosen you, Lucius. You've awakened one of the rarest constitutions known to man—the Heavenly Martial Body."
Rengard's hand gently touched Lucius's back, sending a ripple of qi to stabilize his aura. The storm within him quelled slightly, enough for Lucius to breathe normally again.
"What… is it?" he asked.
Rengard sat back on his heels, face grave. "There are countless body types across the cultivation world. Some are common, others unique, and a precious few… divine. The Heavenly Martial Body is among the most revered. It's not merely a vessel—it is a forge. One that molds the flesh and soul into a perfect weapon."
Lucius blinked, still trying to make sense of the rush of energy. "But… I'm not worthy of that. I'm a mistake. My birth wasn't even—"
"Don't," Rengard said sharply, cutting him off. "The heavens do not make mistakes. They do not ask for lineage or approval. When they choose, they choose for a reason."
Lucius looked down at his hands. His veins shimmered faintly beneath his skin, a pale golden hue pulsing through them like sunlight made flesh. A strange warmth suffused him, not like the burning pain of before, but something purer. Brighter.
He remembered the moment it had happened—his emotions flaring uncontrollably during the sparring trial. Pressure had built inside his dantian until it ruptured like a dam, and then…
Power. Blinding, consuming, radiant.
He hadn't even touched his opponent, but the raw burst of qi had flattened the training ring and sent a shockwave that reached the temple gates.
"I should have been disqualified," Lucius murmured. "I lost control."
"You didn't lose control," Rengard corrected. "You ascended. And now... everything changes."
By noon, word of the awakening had spread through the entire Verdant Ash Temple. The elders called an emergency conclave. Disciples whispered in corners. Some stared with awe, others with envy. But all watched him now.
Lucius had been confined to his quarters by the temple physicians, but it felt more like imprisonment than recovery. His body throbbed with energy that refused to settle. Meditation barely helped—every breath pulled in more qi than he could contain. His core, which had always been sluggish and unremarkable, now thrummed like a living sun.
He paced the floor, thoughts racing. What did this mean for him? Would they exile him again? Would they revere him? He wasn't ready for either.
A soft knock interrupted his spiraling thoughts. He turned as the door opened, revealing a familiar figure: Seris.
She stepped inside without a word, her expression unreadable. In her hands, she carried a lacquered tray with a steaming bowl of tea and a folded scroll.
Lucius tried to smile. "You're not afraid of me?"
"I'm too tired to be afraid of idiots," she said, setting the tray down. "Drink that. It'll help your channels settle."
Lucius took the cup gratefully, his fingers brushing hers. Her skin was cold. She sat across from him, folding her legs neatly beneath her.
After a few sips, Lucius finally asked, "Did you know something like this could happen?"
"No one did," she replied. "Not even Master Rengard. Your qi was always… unstable, but we assumed it was a flaw, not a hidden potential."
He frowned. "It feels wrong. Like I stole something I wasn't meant to have."
"You didn't steal it," Seris said flatly. "You survived it. That power would have crushed most cultivators. Burned them alive from the inside. But you're still here. That means something."
Lucius stared at the cup in his hands, watching the ripples of tea reflect his flickering golden veins. "What now?"
She handed him the scroll. "The elders want to speak with you. Tonight."
He didn't have to ask why.
The Hall of Ancestral Jade was a cavernous chamber at the heart of the temple, reserved only for the most sacred meetings. Massive pillars lined its circular edge, each engraved with the names of long-dead cultivators whose deeds shaped the land. At the center, beneath a vaulted dome of starlit crystal, sat the Council of Nine.
Lucius stepped into the chamber wearing ceremonial robes of white and silver. They felt alien on his skin, a costume meant for someone he didn't recognize.
The elders watched him silently as he approached the center. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to veiled suspicion. Master Rengard stood off to the side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
It was Elder Nael who finally spoke. "Lucius Ashborne. Do you understand why you are here?"
He bowed. "Because I awakened a Heavenly Martial Body."
"That is the surface reason," another elder said. "But beneath that, the real question is whether you remain safe to keep within these walls."
Lucius looked up sharply. "You think I'm a threat?"
"We know you are," said Elder Vaelin, the stooped woman with eyes like cold iron. "Power unchecked is always dangerous. You are no longer a mere disciple. You are a potential calamity."
Rengard stepped forward. "He is also a blessing. Do not forget that the emergence of such a body has not happened in this continent for over two hundred years. This is a turning point—for the temple, and perhaps the world."
"Perhaps," Nael said carefully. "But such power must be tempered. And that requires… extraordinary discipline."
Lucius swallowed. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes."
There was a long pause. Then, Elder Vaelin spoke again. "Then we place you under martial seclusion."
Lucius stiffened. Rengard's expression darkened.
"You will enter the Ember Vault beneath the temple," she continued. "There, you will train. Meditate. Control this body of yours until it bends to your will. You will not leave until we deem you ready."
Rengard opened his mouth to protest, but Lucius bowed his head. "I accept."
The words surprised even him. But deep down, he understood. This wasn't punishment. It was necessity.
If he didn't learn to control this… he wouldn't survive himself.
The Ember Vault lay beneath the deepest catacombs of the temple. Few had ever entered it, fewer still returned. The entrance was sealed with ancient scripts and carved dragon bones, pulsing faintly with a repellent energy that made Lucius's skin crawl as he approached.
Master Rengard walked beside him in silence. At the gate, he finally spoke.
"There's something I didn't say in front of the council."
Lucius turned.
"The Heavenly Martial Body," Rengard said quietly, "is not just rare—it's cursed. Many who awaken it become monsters, not legends. Their souls burn too bright, too fast. They lose themselves."
Lucius's chest tightened. "Then why let me go in?"
"Because the only alternative," Rengard said, "is to kill you."
Silence.
Lucius nodded slowly. "Then I'd better make it worth the risk."
Rengard placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've always carried something deep within you, boy. Not just strength. Purpose. Find it in the dark."
The gate opened with a slow, grinding groan, revealing a narrow stair descending into shadow.
Lucius took one last breath of open air—and stepped into the abyss.
The Ember Vault was unlike any place he'd ever known. The air was thick, heavy with ancient qi that pressed against his lungs. Fire crystals embedded in the walls lit the cavern with a dim, orange glow, flickering like dying stars.
But the real trial lay deeper.
Days blurred into weeks. Time lost meaning.
Lucius trained. Meditated. Fought against his own instincts. The energy within him surged constantly, trying to consume him. More than once he collapsed, veins burning, eyes bleeding golden tears.
But slowly, steadily—he began to shape it.
He discovered that his qi responded not just to thought or technique, but emotion. Rage amplified it. Clarity refined it. Despair fractured it. Hope wove it whole.
One night, after a particularly grueling session of channeling, he sat against the wall, shirtless and drenched in sweat. The air shimmered around him, his body glowing faintly with an inner radiance.
For the first time since awakening, he felt… aligned.
Not whole. Not yet. But on the path.
He closed his eyes. The void inside him no longer felt empty. It felt like a forge—waiting for him to shape something that had never existed before.
A whisper echoed faintly through the Vault. Not from outside, but from within.
"The fire that destroys… can also create."
Lucius opened his eyes, and in them burned a light that had not been there before.
The flame had not consumed him.
He had begun to master it.
[End of Chapter 7]