Ash drifted through the air like dying embers, settling over a land that had already burned once and then burned again.
A lone figure stepped through the ruin.
Flame-colored robes, once vibrant, were now faded by distance, travel, and age. They clung loosely to a body hardened by centuries of battle. Wild gray hair flared outward like a candle wick caught in a constant updraft, and the smirk carved into his face showed no respect for rank, age, or consequence.
Genzu.
Former Lunar Sage of the Ignisoul Nation.
Now known simply as
The Fire-Worn Monk.
He stopped.
Slowly, deliberately, Genzu looked around.
Charred stone. Melted metal. Craters where buildings once stood. The ground itself was scorched black, not by ordinary flame, but by something far worse something that had eaten the heat rather than released it.
"…Tch."
He crouched and pressed two fingers to the earth.
