Jiang Han awoke the next morning to the scent of burning herbs.
The bandage on his ribs was warm. Not painful—warm, like embers soaking into his skin.
He blinked up at Lin Yao kneeling beside him, grinding leaves in a chipped mortar. Her eyes were tired but focused, her fingers stained green.
"You're awake," she whispered, brushing strands of hair from her face.
"What time is it?"
"Not quite dawn. You passed out after cauterizing your wound with flame thread. It... smelled like burned pork for a while."
Jiang Han groaned and sat up slowly. "I'm guessing that wasn't a compliment."
She gave him a look. "You were lucky. Another half inch and you'd have punctured a lung."
He glanced down at his side, then at her.
"You're good at this."
"I watched my mother do it," she said quietly. "Before... before she died."
He nodded, watching her fingers move.
"You should teach me."
She blinked. "You want to learn first aid?"
"No. I want to learn everything."
---
By noon, Jiang Han was upright again, limping but steady.
He sat beside the small stream near the shrine, flame thread coiled gently around his fingertips. The spiritual energy here was weak—but stable.
He formed a loop.
Then two.
Then twisted them into a three-fold braid.
> More tension in the center… hold form longer… less flicker on the edges…
The process burned through spiritual energy like a leaky jug. But slowly—painfully—his control increased.
Each time a strand broke, he started over.
When Lin Yao arrived with a basket of moss and berries, she sat nearby in silence, watching.
"You've rebuilt that braid nine times," she said.
"Twelve."
"And you haven't cursed once."
"Doesn't help the thread hold shape."
She smiled faintly, then held out a bowl of boiled root stew. It smelled… questionable.
He accepted it with a nod and took a careful sip.
"Still terrible," he said.
"Better than starving," she replied with a grin.
They sat in silence a while longer. Finally, she said:
"You said something yesterday. About… gates of the Immortal Realm."
He stopped weaving.
His voice, when it came, was low. "I remember a world beyond this one. A place where the strong built heavens from ash, where gods walked with mortal faces."
She stared. "That's… mythology. From the golden age. Not even the high sects claim—"
"I lived there," he said flatly.
She didn't speak again for a long time.
---
That night, the wind howled harder.
Jiang Han stood alone near the edge of the valley, looking out into the trees. His ribs still ached. But he felt the weight of something approaching.
Not a beast. Not a bandit.
A presence.
Then—crackling footsteps.
Two silhouettes emerged through the fog. One tall and wrapped in spiritweave cloth. The other smaller, barely older than Jiang Han himself.
> Scouts?
The taller one stopped ten paces away. His voice was gruff. "You alone?"
"No."
"You hiding a village behind you?"
"No."
"You a clan?"
Jiang Han said nothing.
That was enough of an answer.
"Kid's got guts," said the smaller one. A girl. Short hair, eyes sharp as obsidian. She carried a bow over one shoulder and a jagged blade on her hip.
The man looked him over again.
"You lit a flame in the old shrine. That shrine was dead for twenty years."
"I relit it."
"That's dangerous."
"I know."
The man nodded slowly. "I'm Bo Ren. She's Yue. We're scavengers from Northern Echo."
Jiang Han raised an eyebrow. "Scavengers don't approach openly."
"We saw your flame," Yue said simply. "From two hills away."
Bo Ren leaned on his staff. "You awakened early, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll make you a deal. Let us stay the night. In exchange, we'll trade information. About the next wave."
Jiang Han paused.
Then nodded.
---
Later, under firelight, Lin Yao joined them. She moved cautiously, eyes flicking between the strangers.
Bo Ren explained.
"The Purge is rising again. We found a trail of corpses two valleys east. Blackened, twisted. Soul cores extracted."
"Voidspawn?" Jiang Han asked.
"No," Yue said. "Worse. Collectors."
Jiang Han frowned. "They haven't been active on Blue Star since the Second Cycle."
"You're not wrong," Bo Ren replied. "Which makes it worse. They're moving early. And targeting early awakeners."
Jiang Han's fists clenched.
Yue leaned forward. "You've got power. But it's raw. Unrefined. You're maybe Level 2?"
"Just crossed it."
Bo Ren grunted. "You're a spark in a storm."
"I'm forging the flame," Jiang Han replied, voice quiet but firm.
Yue smiled. "I like him."
Bo Ren reached into his pouch and pulled out a scroll.
"Here. Fire Art – Ember Pulse. Low tier. Not worth much to sects. But for a flame user who can't even cast ranged offense, it'll save your life."
Jiang Han accepted it slowly.
"Why give this to me?"
"Because," Bo Ren said, "you'll either burn bright enough to draw the Collectors—or bright enough to burn them. Either way, we want to know which."
---
That night, Jiang Han didn't sleep.
He studied the scroll.
Practiced the pulse.
Wove flame thread again and again.
He failed.
Then again.
But by sunrise, the forest echoed with the first beat of something new—
A compressed burst of flame, shaped and released from his palm, scorched a clean hole through a fallen tree.
> New Skill Learned: Ember Pulse (Basic – Fire Art)
Type: Mid-range burst | Cost: 15 SP
Damage: Scales with SOUL
Sync: 34% with Flame Thread
> EXP: 96/100
And as he stood there, hand still warm, he smiled.
One more fight.
One more step.