The Ash Vault was not a prison in name, but in truth it was nothing else.
Carved deep into the mountain beneath the sect's foundation, the vault was a labyrinth of stone corridors blackened by residue scars. The walls were lined with talismans that pulsed faintly, sealing the corruption of those who had come before. Some of those sealed chambers still whispered with the echoes of fragment-bearers who had failed voices clawing at the edge of sanity, trapped forever between mortality and godhood.
It smelled of stone dust, iron, and something faintly burnt.
Kael's footsteps echoed as he was led by two wardens into the chamber meant for him.
The chamber was bare. A circle of warding sigils had been etched into the floor, lines of silver ink interwoven with crimson powder. In the center: a mat of woven ash-fiber, designed to absorb residue overflow.
The wardens did not speak. They placed a satchel of rations, a jug of water, and a residue-measuring crystal by the wall, then departed. The heavy door closed with a sound that was more final than any lock.
Kael was alone.
The fragment pulsed.
This place remembers. This place reeks of failure. We will not fail. We cannot fail. Feed us, Kael. Feed us until they tremble.
Kael ignored it. He sat cross-legged on the mat, forcing his breath into rhythm. Inhale, hold, exhale. His conduit burned, two currents colliding.
He focused.
The sect's method for channeling residue was systematic, refined over centuries:
1. Anchor the breath.
2. Spiral the conduit along meridian paths.
3. Bind excess to the core.
4. Exhale corruption before it festered.
Simple for a normal cultivator. For Kael, with his dual resonance, simplicity shattered.
His natural flow wanted order. The fragment's current wanted chaos. Forcing them to move in tandem was like forcing a storm to march with soldiers.
He grit his teeth, weaving both together. Silver light leaked from his scar, dripping across the floor. The ash-fiber mat hissed, drinking it in.
Hours passed. Sweat streaked his brow. His body shook as he forced the two currents into a fragile harmony. Every time he faltered, the fragment surged, trying to seize dominance. Every time, he pushed it back, clamping down with discipline.
At last, he opened his eyes. The residue crystal by the wall glowed faintly it had measured the room's saturation. Most initiates in training left a trace. He had left a flood.
The crystal cracked down its center.
Kael exhaled slowly. This was only the beginning.
The next day, the trials began.
The first warden entered, carrying a jade tablet. "The Elders command your endurance to be tested. Hold the fragment's current for as long as you can without letting it consume the natural flow."
Kael rose to his feet, flexing his scarred hand.
The warden activated the chamber's wards. The air grew heavy. Talismans flared, creating resistance against his conduit. It was like breathing in molten stone.
Kael inhaled, drew the fragment's fire, and let it surge. Silver veins spread across his arms, his chest, his face. The fragment screamed to devour. He restrained it, forcing the natural current to weave beside it. The strain split his muscles with pain.
Minutes passed. Sweat poured.
His knees buckled. The fragment pressed harder, whispering:
Let us burn them. Let us prove our worth. Do not leash us, Kael. Chains are lies.
He snarled through clenched teeth, "Be silent."
The fragment laughed a sound only he heard.
When at last he collapsed, the warden noted the time and deactivated the wards. Kael lay gasping, the mat beneath him scorched with silver fire.
The warden's expression was unreadable. "Longer than the last one."
Then he left.
The second trial came three days later.
This time, Kael was placed within a sealed chamber. At its center, a sphere of residue corruption hovered the remnant of a failed fragment. Its radiation clawed at him instantly, seeping through his skin.
"Absorb it," the warden commanded from beyond the barrier.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Absorb corruption?"
The warden did not repeat himself.
Kael had no choice. He drew the residue in. The fragment surged with delight, swallowing the corruption like a starving beast. Kael wrestled to keep his natural flow intact, using it as a sieve to filter the poison.
The corruption fought back. His veins burned. His scar split, silver blood dripping to the floor.
But he endured.
When at last he collapsed, the sphere was gone. The corruption lingered in his bones, but it had been consumed.
The warden's voice was faintly impressed. "Survivable."
Alone again, Kael lay on the ash-fiber mat, staring at the ceiling. His body ached with wounds deeper than flesh. His conduit strained, frayed at the edges.
The fragment pulsed in satisfaction.
We grow. We devour. Soon they will kneel, Kael. Not because you mastered us, but because you let us be.
Kael clenched his fist.
"No."
His voice was raw, but his will was iron.
"I will not kneel to you. You are not my master. You are my burden. And I will bear you, even if it kills me."
The fragment laughed again. Louder. Wilder.
But beneath the laughter, Kael felt something else.
A flicker. A ripple in its resonance.
Not approval. Not surrender.
But recognition.
The Ash Vault was meant to break him.
Instead, it was shaping him into something the sect had no language for.
And the world beyond still reeling from the fall of gods would soon learn that fragments were not the only danger.
There were men who could wield them.