Chapter 12
The first crack in the ice didn't sound like breaking.
It sounded like a heartbeat.
Faint. Deep. Echoing under the surface like something ancient remembering how to wake up.
Rui stood frozen at the edge of the crater, sword drawn, pulse flaring in his veins. The wind had gone still. Even the trees had quieted—as if nature itself was waiting to see what would happen next.
Below, the figure beneath the ice had shifted.
Not much. But enough.
His arm—barely a twitch.
But it was real.
Yan Zhi stepped up beside him. Her shoulder was wrapped in fresh bandages, the blood beneath them still wet.
"You shouldn't have touched the seal," she muttered.
"I didn't," Rui said.
She shot him a look.
"Not intentionally."
They'd spent the night trying to understand what the village elder meant. That this heir—this Fifth Pulse—had chosen to be sealed. That he was afraid of himself.
But now…
The choice might not matter anymore.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the ice. Thin lines of gold, not white, like the pulse inside was bleeding through.
"Is this you?" Yan Zhi asked.
Rui shook his head. "I don't think so."
Because the flame in his chest—the Dragon Pulse—was quiet. Not gone. Just... watching. As if even it was unsure what they had just unleashed.
Another crack.
Then another.
Below the ice, the man's eyes opened.
They weren't glowing.
That's what unsettled Rui most.
All the other heirs—Jin, the boy in Azhakai, the masked girl in the shrine—they had that light in their eyes. That hunger.
This one's eyes?
Empty.
Just dull brown. Human.
Too human.
Then his lips moved.
No sound.
But Rui understood.
Not with ears—with the pulse.
"Let me go."
Rui stepped back.
Yan Zhi grabbed his wrist. "Don't. He might be lying."
"He hasn't moved."
"Yet."
She was right. They didn't know who this man was. What he'd done. Why he'd chosen to sleep instead of burn.
But Rui knew one thing: if this heir woke up angry, the village wouldn't survive.
So he made a decision.
And raised the black sword again.
The pulse stirred instantly.
Heat surged through his arm, and the blade groaned—almost gleeful.
It remembered the Fifth.
Recognized him.
Wanted him.
Rui sliced the tip of the sword down through the seal lines drawn across the crater.
The ice shattered.
The blast knocked them both off their feet.
Chunks of ice flew in every direction. Golden energy burst from the crater in a wave of flame and ash. The trees bent backward, roots groaning. Snow melted instantly in a ten-meter radius.
And at the center of the crater...
The heir stood.
Tall. Shirtless. Arms at his sides. Hair damp with frost.
Steam curled off his shoulders.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
He just stood there. Breathing.
Watching.
Like someone trying to remember what the world was.
Then he spoke.
His voice was dry. Raw.
"You shouldn't have woken me."
Rui stepped forward. "We didn't mean to—"
"You carry the last flame," the man said.
It wasn't a question.
Rui nodded once.
"I didn't think it would ever reach someone else," the heir murmured. "I thought I was the end."
He looked up.
And smiled.
It wasn't a cruel smile.
Or sad.
Just… tired.
"Is it still burning?" he asked.
"The pulse?" Rui said. "Yeah."
"Then they're still coming."
"Who?"
The heir didn't answer. He turned toward the village.
And started walking.
Yan Zhi caught up to Rui as he followed him down the ridge.
"You realize this could be a trap."
"He could've killed us already."
"Or he's saving it for later."
Rui didn't argue. Because maybe she was right.
But something about the Fifth felt different.
Calm.
Dangerous, sure—but controlled.
They followed him through the fog.
The village was already awake. Doors open. Fires stoked.
People waiting.
And when they saw him—really saw him—they dropped to their knees.
Even the elder.
"You've returned," the old man said.
The heir didn't respond.
He just looked around, taking in the faces, the walls, the mountains beyond.
Then he said, "How long has it been?"
The elder's voice trembled. "Two hundred and thirteen years."
The heir nodded.
Then looked straight at Rui.
"You don't know what's coming," he said. "But it's already started."
They talked in the shrine an hour later.
Just the three of them.
Rui. Yan Zhi. And the Fifth Heir—who gave no name.
"I burned five sects," he said, staring into the fire. "Not because I wanted to. But because the pulse inside me wouldn't let me stop."
"You chose to seal yourself," Rui said.
"Because I saw what I would become. What they became. And I knew I'd kill more. So I asked them to bury me."
Yan Zhi sat in the shadows. Watching him. Not moving.
"You were afraid of it?" Rui asked.
"No," the heir said. "I was afraid of what I'd stop caring about."
They sat in silence after that.
The wind scratched at the roof.
The fire popped.
Finally, Rui stood. "I need to know how to stop it."
The Fifth looked up. "You can't."
"There has to be a way—"
"There is no end. The pulse isn't a gift. It's a curse that thinks it's holy. You don't kill it. You only carry it until it carries you."
"That's not good enough."
"Then do better than me."
The Fifth stood.
Walked to the door.
Paused.
And said: "If you really want to change fate... follow the storm."
That night, Rui sat outside.
Snow falling again. Quiet. Almost soft.
Yan Zhi joined him, coat pulled tight.
"He's leaving in the morning," she said.
"Where?"
"Didn't say."
Rui nodded slowly.
"He scares me," she added. "But not the way Jin did."
Rui didn't respond.
Because he understood exactly what she meant.
The Fifth didn't threaten anyone.
But his presence felt like standing next to a landslide that hadn't fallen yet.
It might not. But if it did—no one was getting out.
At dawn, the Fifth Heir left the village.
No goodbyes. No commands.
Just a direction—north.
Toward the storm.
Rui watched him vanish into the white fog.
And then—
From far behind the mountain ridge—
a second pulse answered.
The ground shook as the wind shifted, carrying a sound that wasn't wind at all—
It was a roar.
One Rui had heard once before... in his dreams.