Ash drifted through the nursery like snowfall from a dying star.
The small dragonling's body had turned to dust in Lucius's hands, and he still knelt beside the lake where it had passed. The Fang was quiet now, its crimson glow dimmed as if in mourning. The surviving dragonlings remained in hiding—watching him from the shadows, eyes gleaming like coals. The guardian stood near, silent, not offering comfort, only witness.
Lucius's face was streaked with soot and grief.
"I failed," he murmured. "Even when I tried to protect them, I couldn't stop this."
"You fought with heart," the guardian finally said, voice slow and deep. "That is more than the one before you ever offered."
Lucius slowly stood, his legs shaky beneath him. "They died because they believed in me. And I… I barely understand what I've become."
"Then it is time to understand," the guardian replied, lifting its massive head. "Time you saw what was taken. And what remains."
The lake rippled again. But this time, it did not shimmer with heat. Instead, the water stilled to perfect clarity, forming a mirror of black glass. Lucius stepped toward it.
"I warn you," the guardian said, its golden eyes narrowing. "Truth can break the strongest will. The inheritance you carry is not glory—it is ash."
Lucius clenched his fists, the dragonling's death still burning in his chest.
"Let it break me, if it must. But I need to know."
He stepped into the reflection.
The world melted.
He fell—not physically, but inward. Spiraling through layers of memory and flame. His own thoughts scattered like leaves in wind. Then, suddenly, he stood upright on barren ground beneath a blood-colored sky.
The world around him was ruined.
Black mountains loomed like skeletal spines. Rivers ran molten, glowing red and white. In the distance, great cities lay crumbled, their spires shattered, their people nothing but ghosts. The very air reeked of sorrow.
Before him stood a child—no older than ten. Silver-haired, skin pale, eyes dim.
Lucius recognized him.
Himself.
But not… this self.
This child was not the boy from the Verdant Ash Temple. This child bore the mark of kings and monsters. A brand scorched into his chest: a sun shrouded in shadow.
The boy turned and walked, barefoot through ash and ruin. Lucius followed.
They crossed fields of broken steel, past corpses long turned to bone. The boy never spoke, never cried. He simply moved forward, his eyes fixed on a tower in the distance—so black it devoured light, so tall it stabbed the heavens.
Lucius knew what it was.
The origin of the Fang. The final sanctum of the Heaven Destroyer.
They reached its base. The boy stepped forward.
And screamed.
A voice—not his—echoed from the tower. A voice Lucius knew well.
"You are born from what we buried. Not from mercy, but from mistake."
Lucius reeled back as the tower surged with flame, images flashing through its surface.
—A cradle, filled with ash.
—A man falling from the sky, burned to bone.
—A woman, cloaked in shadow, weeping over a child that never cried.
—And finally, a black scroll, its text alive, writhing.
"Your inheritance," the voice said. "A soul scorched before it knew light."
The child turned and looked directly at Lucius. His eyes burned.
"You always knew, didn't you?"
Lucius froze.
"No…" he whispered. "I didn't…"
"You felt it. Every time you trained. Every time you meditated. You weren't growing stronger… you were remembering."
Lucius staggered. "Then… who was I before?"
The boy pointed to the tower.
"The one who died to become you."
The world broke apart again.
He awoke gasping, soaked in sweat, his hands clutching at the stone floor of the nursery. The lake had gone still again. The guardian loomed over him.
"You are not only his echo," it said. "You are his fragment. A shard of what the Heaven Destroyer once was."
Lucius stared in horror. "No… that's not possible."
"It is the truth," the dragon said. "And now that you've remembered, others will begin to as well."
Lucius's heartbeat thundered in his ears. His thoughts felt stretched. Images—visions—kept flashing before him: a battlefield, a throne of corpses, a kiss of fire and shadow.
"I was… born from him?"
"You are what he left behind when he tried to erase himself. A final ember in the ashes."
Lucius sat down heavily. "Then everything they told me—my parents, the temple—it was a lie?"
"Not a lie," the dragon said. "A shield. To give you time before the truth found you."
Silence stretched.
Then Lucius looked up.
"Is there a way to stop this? To sever myself from him?"
The dragon was quiet for a long time.
"Not without losing what you've become."
Lucius closed his eyes.
"I'll find a way. Even if I have to burn through fate itself."
Far above, the Verdant Ash Temple lay in mourning.
The Relic Fang cult's ambush had been repelled, but at great cost. Monks had died. Wards had been broken. The once-untouchable sanctuary now bore scars along its sacred walls.
Elder Vaelin stood before the shattered Seer's Basin, her fingers pressed to its cracked rim.
"He's no longer just a disciple," she murmured.
Rengard, beside her, nodded grimly. "He's remembered. The nursery confirmed it."
"And now the world will hunt him for what he carries," Vaelin whispered.
Nael entered behind them. His expression was unreadable.
"He is not the Heaven Destroyer," Nael said.
"No," Vaelin replied. "He is worse. He is the possibility of the Heaven Destroyer—without the certainty. We cannot predict him."
Rengard turned. "And yet we nurtured him."
"We sheltered him," Nael corrected. "Not for power. For atonement. The last time, we chose to kill. This time, we chose to guide."
Vaelin's eyes narrowed. "And what if guidance fails?"
Rengard answered coldly.
"Then we burn again."
Seris stood at the edge of the outer courtyard, watching smoke rise from the distance.
She hadn't spoken to Lucius since the Vault quake. The council had kept him secluded. But the ache in her chest told her something had changed in him—irrevocably.
She reached into her robes and pulled out the sealed scroll she had stolen weeks ago. Its title was branded in ghostscript: Ashborne Lineage – Restricted.
With trembling hands, she unsealed it.
The first line read:
"Subject Lucius – Recovered remnant of Heaven Destroyer Entity. Encapsulation successful. Emotional partition installed."
Seris's breath caught.
"He doesn't know," she whispered. "They made him forget."
And now, it was coming undone.
She looked up at the sky, storm clouds forming again in distant spirals.
"Lucius… what are you going to do when you learn all of it?"
Lucius didn't rest.
After awakening from the vision in the nursery, he remained beneath the earth, sparring with the dragonlings that still trusted him, learning to move in harmony with the Fang rather than against it. He no longer tried to suppress its whispers—he listened, then judged.
Each technique he practiced now came not only from the Heavenly Martial Body, but also from memory—his own, and someone else's.
He was beginning to understand.
Not everything born of the Heaven Destroyer had to lead to ruin. Not all fire was destruction. Sometimes, it was inheritance. Sometimes, it was rebirth.
By the time he returned to the surface, dawn was breaking.
The temple was quiet. The monks bowed low as he passed, not in obedience—but in fear. Rumors had spread already.
He reached the old stone path that led to his former quarters. And there, leaning against the doorframe, was Seris.
She straightened at the sight of him. Her face was unreadable.
"You look… older."
Lucius gave a faint smile. "I feel it."
Silence stretched.
Then Seris held out the scroll.
"They hid this from you."
Lucius took it, eyes narrowing.
As he read, his face hardened.
He looked up.
"They made me forget who I was."
Seris nodded. "And now you remember."
Lucius stared into the morning light.
"No. Now… I begin to remember."
He turned toward the temple's heart.
"There's more. I can feel it. The ashes of what he left behind… they're still burning."
Seris stepped beside him. "Then let's find them."
Lucius nodded.
And together, they walked into the firelight.
Lucius stared at the scroll again, this time more slowly. Each word burned—not with surprise, but with vindication. Deep down, a part of him had always known he wasn't born like others. That his power didn't come from training alone. Now, with the truth unveiled, his anger wasn't for the council alone—it was for the years he'd lived in someone else's shadow.
"I was never meant to be me," he whispered.
"No," Seris said softly, "but you became you anyway."
He turned to her.
"Do you still trust me?" he asked.
She didn't hesitate. "I trust the you that chose the dragonling over power. The you that questioned the Fang, even as it offered you strength."
Lucius closed the scroll.
"Then help me stay that person," he said. "Because I don't know how much of him still remains… and how much of me is built on borrowed ashes."
Seris met his gaze.
"Then we find the line together."
Lucius nodded.
The morning sun broke through the clouds, casting gold across the scorched tiles of the courtyard.
But beyond the walls of the temple, far across the horizon, a new flame had awakened—and it was watching.
[End of Chapter 11]