The air was thin as the Brothers climbed the northern path, thin and hot despite the snow. The wind carried not cold but heat, strange and steady, rising from the veins of molten stone deep below. Each step brought them higher into a world where fire and ice coexisted uneasily, the sky bruised red by the breath of the mountains.
Chen Feng led the way. His cloak was torn, his boots scorched, but his stride was sure. Behind him came Li Heng, the eldest, steady as a mountain; Zhao Ming with his twin blades; Wu Zhen the silent monk, staff glimmering faintly in the dark; and Feng Wuyue, bow slung across his back, watching every shadow. Bao rode with him still, the child's small hands gripping the archer's waist tightly.
None of them spoke. The silence of the mountains was too vast, too alive. Even their horses snorted uneasily, their breath steaming in the crimson light.
By midday they reached a plateau. From there, the path split in two one route descending into a valley filled with thick fog, the other winding upward toward jagged peaks that seemed to scrape the sun itself.
Li Heng dismounted, running his hand along the blackened rock. "The air here… it hums."
Wu Zhen nodded. "This place remembers the beginning. Fire was born here before men knew the word for light."
Chen Feng crouched, pressing his palm to the ground. The heat pulsed beneath his skin like a heartbeat. He could feel it faint but distinct the Sovereign's presence, deep and patient.
"He's here," Chen Feng murmured. "Not above, not below everywhere. Watching."
Zhao Ming tightened his grip on his swords. "Then let him watch us end him."
Li Heng's gaze swept the horizon. "No. We end him when we understand him. Power without knowledge is suicide."
They made camp as dusk fell. The sky turned dark red, then black, and stars burned faintly above the smoke-veiled peaks. Their fire crackled weakly against the wind, a small defiance in a world of flame.
Wu Zhen sat cross-legged, drawing sigils in the dust around the fire. "This place feeds on spirit," he said. "If we rest without wards, the mountain will drink our dreams."
Bao looked up, eyes wide. "It can do that?"
The monk smiled faintly. "All things can hunger, little one. Even stone."
Chen Feng stared into the fire. "Then it will find my dreams bitter."
He didn't sleep that night. When the others' breathing slowed, he rose and walked to the cliff's edge. Below, the world glowed a slow river of molten rock winding through the darkness like a living thing. The sound was a low, endless murmur, like a god whispering in its sleep.
He closed his eyes. I know you're there.
The voice answered at once. Always. You carry me as a torch carries flame.
Chen Feng clenched his fists. "You use my mother's death to break me. But you've already lost. I'll end you before you end this world."
The Sovereign's laughter rolled through his mind. End me? You are me, child. You cannot destroy what you are. Every time you draw your sword, every time you burn for justice, you feed the fire.
Chen Feng struck the cliff with his palm, the rock shattering beneath his hand. The echo woke the others.
Li Heng was at his side in seconds. "Another dream?"
"No," Chen Feng said through clenched teeth. "A warning."
By morning, they continued the climb. The air grew heavier, the heat rising from the stones until it shimmered around them. The wind carried strange sounds distant chanting, or perhaps the mountain itself breathing.
They came upon ruins halfway up the trail massive gates carved into the rock, half-collapsed and covered in ash. Symbols of the old dynasties gleamed faintly on the stone, mixed with fresher marks the sigil of the Sovereign, burned into the surface like a wound.
Wu Zhen traced one of the runes. "This was once the Temple of the Dawn Flame. The first to worship fire, not as destruction, but as renewal."
Zhao Ming kicked a piece of stone loose. "Looks like they changed their minds."
Li Heng motioned forward. "We go through. The other path is too exposed."
The gates groaned as they pushed them open, revealing a vast hall beyond columns blackened with soot, the ceiling cracked open to reveal the red sky above. Statues lined the walls, each depicting a warrior holding a flame in his hands. Their faces were worn smooth by time, but something about them felt alive, almost watching.
As they entered, the air grew colder, paradoxically so. Their breath misted in front of them.
Then a voice spoke from the shadows. "So the Ten have come at last."
The brothers drew their weapons instantly. From behind the farthest pillar stepped a figure clad in armor of black glass, the edges glowing faintly. His hair was silver, his eyes the color of dying embers.
Li Heng took a cautious step forward. "Who are you?"
The stranger smiled faintly. "Once, I was the Warden of this temple. Now, I am its prisoner."
Wu Zhen tilted his head. "Prisoner of what?"
"Of my oath," the man said. "When the Sovereign was cast down, I swore to guard his ashes. But he has no ashes left to guard only fire."
Chen Feng's sword flared in answer, the light throwing shadows across the ruined hall. "If you serve him, step aside. I won't spill blood needlessly."
The man's smile faded. "I serve balance, not the Sovereign. But balance demands proof."
Before anyone could react, the floor cracked. The heat surged up like breath, and the Warden blurred forward. His blade met Li Heng's in a clash that shook the hall. Sparks rained from their weapons, steel ringing like thunder.
Zhao Ming joined, his twin swords striking in perfect rhythm, but the Warden moved like flowing fire, every motion precise, every strike unstoppable.
Wu Zhen's staff met the Warden's wrist, deflecting a killing blow. "Enough! You test our strength, but what of your purpose?"
The Warden spun away, cloak sweeping through the smoke. "My purpose is to see whether the fire in your hearts burns with will or corruption."
Chen Feng stepped forward. "Then test me."
The Warden's gaze fell on him. "You carry it. The seed of the Sovereign."
"Then you know what's at stake."
"I do. And that is why you must prove yourself."
The battle between them was unlike any Chen Feng had ever fought. The Warden moved like flame incarnate, each strike unpredictable, beautiful, and deadly. Chen Feng's blade met his again and again, their lights merging into a storm of sparks.
But with every clash, the fire inside Chen Feng grew stronger. His vision blurred, the Sovereign's laughter rising in his ears. Yes. Let it burn. Let it consume.
He roared, forcing it down, channeling the heat into motion. The floor cracked beneath his feet as he drove the Warden back, strike after strike, until finally his sword shattered the man's weapon in two.
The Warden fell to one knee, breathing hard but smiling. "Good. You still choose your own fire."
The hall went silent. The air cooled.
Li Heng lowered his blade. "Is the test done?"
The Warden nodded. "For now. Beyond this temple lies the Cradle the Sovereign's resting place. Few return from it. Fewer still return unchanged."
Chen Feng sheathed his sword. "Then we will change the world itself."
The Warden rose, placing a hand over his heart. "Then go, and remember: fire destroys, but it also forges. Which one you become depends on the shape of your soul."
They passed through the far gate into a tunnel carved of pure obsidian. The walls pulsed faintly with crimson veins, the light dimming and brightening like breath. The heat was near unbearable, but none faltered.
At last, they emerged into a cavern vast as a city. Rivers of molten rock flowed through its depths, casting the walls in shifting gold and red. And at the center, half-buried in the stone, stood a colossal figure neither statue nor corpse, but something between. The Crimson Sovereign, encased in crystal fire, eyes closed, as if sleeping.
Chen Feng took a step forward. The heat seared his skin, but he did not stop.
Wu Zhen whispered, "He dreams of the end."
Chen Feng's voice was barely a breath. "Then I'll wake him to it."
The Sovereign's eyes opened.
The cavern trembled.
And the mountain itself roared.
The roar of the mountain became a living sound, rolling through stone and bone alike. Lava surged up through the fissures, red light flooding the cavern until every surface gleamed as if aflame. The brothers drew their weapons, their shadows stretching monstrously against the molten walls.
The Crimson Sovereign moved. The crystal shell cracked like ice, and his form began to rise. He was vast, but not in size alone his presence filled the air like a storm fills the sea. The fire did not burn him; it bowed to him, spiraling upward in reverent coils. His eyes, once closed, opened upon the intruders, and the world seemed to shudder in recognition.
"Who dares wake me?" His voice was not sound but vibration, echoing through the marrow of every living thing in the chamber.
Chen Feng stepped forward. "The one who carries your curse."
The Sovereign's gaze fell upon him, and for an instant the heat became unbearable, his very blood threatening to boil. The Sovereign tilted his head, studying him with something like amusement. "A child of fire come to challenge the flame. How poetic. How futile."
Li Heng stepped to Chen Feng's side, sword drawn. "We are not your children. We are the answer to your ruin."
The Sovereign's laughter was a ripple of molten stone. "Answer? There are no answers, only cycles. Fire devours, earth endures, and mortals crawl between the two pretending they can change the pattern."
He raised a hand, and the rivers of lava responded, twisting upward like serpents. They struck without warning. The Brothers scattered, their blades flashing as the molten whips struck the ground, shattering rock and filling the air with steam.
Zhao Ming leapt, both swords carving arcs of silver that cleaved through the fire. The molten spray turned to sparks before him, his body moving faster than sight. Li Heng met a stream head-on, his aura solidifying into a wall of pure intent. The lava hissed and split, unable to melt the weight of his will.
Wu Zhen's staff whirled, drawing a circle of wind and water that turned each ember aside. He chanted low and steady, his voice anchoring the chaos. "The body burns, but spirit endures. The flame tests, but does not own."
Chen Feng moved through them all like a shadow on fire. The sword in his hand pulsed with heat, the same crimson light that blazed in the Sovereign's eyes. Every strike, every step brought him closer to the sleeping god's core, the place where the heartbeat of the mountain thundered loudest.
The Sovereign raised his other hand, and the ground itself rose to meet him. Columns of fire took the shapes of warriors armored, faceless, burning figures born from the mountain's own rage.
"Show me," the Sovereign said softly. "Show me what the Ten have become."
And the cavern erupted into war.
The Brothers fought as one. Zhao Ming's blades sang, cutting through the flame-soldiers faster than they could form. Feng Wuyue loosed arrow after arrow, each shaft burning with blue light, piercing through molten hearts. Wu Zhen chanted, his mantra expanding until it filled the hall with a steady rhythm, the sound of calm against chaos.
Li Heng became the anchor unmoving, unyielding, his blade rooted in the ground, drawing every strike toward him and turning each one aside.
But even together, they were barely holding the tide. For every warrior they destroyed, two more rose from the molten rivers.
Chen Feng saw it. He could feel the rhythm of it the heartbeat beneath the battle, the pulse of the fire. The Sovereign was not summoning these soldiers; the mountain was birthing them. The entire volcano was his body, his will, his vengeance.
And Chen Feng was the only one who could reach its heart.
He leapt from the battle, bounding across the crumbling platforms toward the central altar. Fire licked at his boots, smoke clawed at his lungs, but he did not slow. Behind him, Li Heng shouted his name, but the words were lost in the roar.
He reached the altar a slab of obsidian inscribed with runes so ancient they seemed alive. The crystal shell that had once held the Sovereign's body had shattered completely now, and within the ruin, the Sovereign's heart burned like a sun.
Chen Feng raised his sword. "If I carry your curse," he shouted, "then let it end with me."
The Sovereign's laughter filled the cavern. "You think you can end what was begun before the world knew light? You think you can resist what you are?"
The fire surged upward, swallowing him whole. For a moment there was only flame no sky, no earth, only endless heat.
Then, from within the inferno, Chen Feng's voice rang out. "I am not your heir. I am your undoing."
The sword blazed brighter, light piercing through the molten walls like dawn through fog. The flame turned from crimson to gold, then to white. The mountain screamed.
Outside, the brothers fell to their knees as the entire peak began to convulse. Lava erupted from the fissures, spilling down the slopes like rivers of blood. The sky turned the color of iron.
Wu Zhen shouted above the roar, "He's binding the fire to himself! If he fails, the whole range will collapse!"
Li Heng closed his eyes. "Then we hold the mountain."
They spread out, each Brother planting his weapon into the ground. Their combined energy rose, forming a circle of light that encased the mountain's base. The heat pressed against them, tearing at their flesh, but none moved.
Inside the heart of the volcano, Chen Feng faced the Sovereign alone. The god's form loomed over him, vast and blazing, half human, half divine.
"You cannot contain me," the Sovereign thundered. "I am creation's fury. I am the flame that burns gods and men alike."
Chen Feng's voice was a whisper against the storm. "Then burn me. But I will burn you with me."
He plunged his sword into the Sovereign's chest.
The world exploded.
Light consumed everything fire, stone, air, thought. For a moment that stretched beyond time, there was nothing but brightness. The mountain cried out, then fell silent.
When the light faded, the cavern was gone. The mountain stood hollowed, its fire extinguished.
The brothers lay scattered across the slopes, their bodies battered but breathing. Smoke drifted upward into a pale dawn.
Li Heng was the first to rise. "Chen Feng?"
There was no answer. Only silence.
They searched for hours, moving through ash and ruin. It was Wu Zhen who found him kneeling amid the scorched stone, his sword buried in the ground before him. His eyes were open, reflecting no light.
Li Heng approached slowly. "Brother…"
Chen Feng stirred, blinking as if waking from a long dream. "It's quiet," he murmured. "For the first time, it's quiet."
Wu Zhen looked at the sword. Its flame had died. "You bound him?"
Chen Feng shook his head faintly. "No. He sleeps. Deep within the mountain. Waiting."
Zhao Ming looked out toward the horizon. The sky was clearing, sunlight spilling across the valleys below. "Then we've bought peace for now."
Li Heng put a hand on Chen Feng's shoulder. "Rest. The world will still need you when it wakes."
Chen Feng didn't answer. His gaze was distant, fixed on the mountain's heart. Deep below, he could still feel it a slow, quiet pulse. The Sovereign's heartbeat, echoing faintly beneath the stone.
He closed his eyes. Sleep then, he thought. I will be ready when you rise again.
Behind him, the Brothers gathered, their shadows long against the pale morning light. The wind carried the scent of ash and new earth.
For the first time in years, the world was still.
And yet, far below, the fire dreamed.
The smoke hung for three days before the wind carried it away. The sky above the Mountains of Echoing Flame slowly bled from red to gray, from gray to a soft dawn gold. The air still trembled with heat, though the fire had gone out. Rivers of once-molten rock cooled into black veins through the land, twisting and gleaming like hardened scars.
Chen Feng stood at the mouth of the hollowed mountain, the ash swirling around his boots. The others kept their distance at first. He was motionless, eyes half-lidded, the sword still buried in the earth before him. The faint shimmer of residual power glowed around him like the dying breath of the sun.
It was Li Heng who approached first. His steps were slow, deliberate. "The mountain's heart sleeps," he said softly. "But what of yours?"
Chen Feng didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted toward the horizon, where the valleys stretched far and dim, smoke curling upward like lost souls. "It's strange," he murmured at last. "After so much fire, the silence feels heavier than the flame."
Wu Zhen joined them, robes torn, staff cracked. "The silence is truth," he said. "It's what remains after the fire forgets to roar."
The others gathered around. Zhao Ming and Wuyue both bore burns along their arms; Linghu and the younger brothers limped from wounds earned holding the circle that had kept the mountain from collapsing. They looked not victorious but spent, like ghosts who hadn't yet realized they'd survived.
Li Heng's voice was steady. "We did what we came for. The Sovereign's body is broken, his will bound beneath the stone."
Chen Feng turned his head slightly. "You felt it too. He isn't gone."
Wu Zhen nodded grimly. "No. Only dreaming. The fire dreams in his name now."
The eldest Brother looked around at the smoking slopes. "Then let him dream. If he wakes again, the world will have its own defenders. We have done what ten men could."
Chen Feng said nothing. He looked down at his hands blistered, trembling faintly with the echo of that godlike heat and flexed his fingers. The cracks in his skin glowed faintly, then dimmed. The power within him had quieted, but it had not left.
The mountain groaned once, a deep sound like distant thunder rolling beneath their feet. Then it was still again.
They left the crater by the western path, where melted rock had hardened into a rough road leading down through the ravines. Along the way they passed the remnants of what had once been life: scorched trees turned to glass, skeletal birds fallen mid-flight, the bones of small animals gleaming pale against the black soil.
Wuyue walked beside Chen Feng, silent for a long time before speaking. "Do you ever think the world notices what we do?"
Chen Feng glanced at him. "The world burns. It forgets quickly."
"Maybe," Wuyue said. "Or maybe it remembers differently. Not names, not faces just the shape of the fire."
Chen Feng didn't reply.
They reached a small stream, miraculously untouched by the devastation, cutting through the ash like a thread of silver. They camped there that night. No one spoke much. The fire they built was small, fragile, more symbol than warmth.
When sleep came, Chen Feng's dreams were shallow and strange. He saw the mountain from above, its heart glowing faintly beneath the crust of stone. Within that glow, he saw movement not the Sovereign, not exactly, but something forming. A shape of flame coiled like an unborn serpent. Watching. Waiting.
When he awoke, dawn had returned. Wu Zhen was meditating by the stream, his reflection trembling in the water. Li Heng stood on a rise overlooking the valley, his expression unreadable. The rest of the brothers were packing what little they had left.
Zhao Ming noticed Chen Feng's stare. "You should eat something. You haven't touched a thing since the battle."
Chen Feng shook his head. "I can't taste anything but smoke."
Zhao Ming didn't argue. He tossed him a canteen instead. "Then drink the water. It's clean, somehow."
Chen Feng took it, sipped, and for a moment the coolness chased away the last heat of the mountain. But only for a moment.
When they broke camp, the valley below seemed to stretch endlessly, a labyrinth of shadows and glints. The distant cities were veiled in haze, their outlines softened by ash. The world they'd returned to was not the one they'd left.
Halfway down the slope, they met the first survivors farmers with burned faces, carrying what they could in bundles. One old man fell to his knees at the sight of them. "The fire stopped," he whispered. "Did you do this?"
Li Heng helped him rise. "The fire sleeps, old one. Go rebuild what you can."
The man nodded, tears streaking through the soot on his cheeks. "We'll plant again. Even in ash, rice can grow."
As they continued down, more people appeared: families with carts, monks from ruined temples, soldiers without banners. All moved eastward, away from the mountain. Word had already spread. Whispers followed the Ten Brothers wherever they walked.
Some called them saviors. Others called them cursed.
By the time they reached the lowlands, a small village had formed out of tents and wagons. The air smelled of smoke and sweat, but it was alive people rebuilding, hammering, cooking. Children stared at them with awe; elders bowed low.
Wu Zhen stopped by a group of monks tending to the wounded. Their robes were torn, but their eyes were bright. "Who leads here?" he asked.
A woman turned, her head shaved, her posture calm despite exhaustion. "No one leads," she said. "We survive together."
Her gaze lingered on Chen Feng. "But you you're the one from the mountain, aren't you?"
Chen Feng said nothing. The woman smiled faintly. "The land will remember your fire. It already has."
He felt the unease stir again, the same unease that always followed victory. He turned away. "Tell the land not to remember too much."
That night, the brothers sat by the edge of the makeshift camp, their fire casting flickering light on weary faces. Zhao Ming sharpened his blades in silence. Wuyue mended a broken bowstring. Wu Zhen traced symbols in the dirt.
Li Heng looked at them one by one. "The borderlands are still wounded. The Lotus remnants scatter like sparks. Our task isn't finished."
Zhao Ming snorted. "It never is."
Wu Zhen's eyes stayed on Chen Feng. "And what of him? His battle is not with men anymore."
Chen Feng stared into the flames. "As long as the Sovereign sleeps, the world has time. But if he wakes"
"He won't," Li Heng said firmly. "Not while you live."
Chen Feng looked up. "And when I die?"
For once, even Li Heng had no answer. The silence stretched between them, thin as thread, heavy as stone.
The wind rose again, carrying the scent of ash down from the mountain. The stars above were faint, blurred by the smoke that never seemed to clear completely.
Wu Zhen broke the quiet. "The fire inside you does it hurt?"
Chen Feng hesitated. "No. It… listens."
The monk nodded slowly. "Then keep it listening. When fire stops listening, it starts devouring."
The days that followed blurred into one another. They helped rebuild where they could lifting stones, mending walls, calming frightened refugees. Yet everywhere they went, Chen Feng saw the same eyes staring at him, eyes filled with fear and reverence both.
At night, when the others slept, he would walk to the edge of the camp and look back toward the distant mountain. Some nights, he could see a faint red glow beneath the clouds, pulsing gently like the ember of a dying hearth.
But sometimes, if he listened closely, he could hear it whisper. Not words just sound. Low, rhythmic, endless.
The heartbeat of the fire.
On the seventh night, Li Heng came to him quietly. "The world will need us again," he said.
Chen Feng nodded. "It always does."
"But you, you can't keep burning for it forever."
Chen Feng smiled faintly. "Maybe I was never meant to stop."
They stood together in silence, two silhouettes framed against the dark mountain. Somewhere far away, thunder rolled a soft, distant murmur.
Wu Zhen's voice came from behind them, calm and certain. "The world is not done testing us. The flame never ends. It only changes its name."
Chen Feng looked once more toward the horizon, where dawn's first light touched the edge of the smoke. "Then let it come. Whatever name it takes, I'll be ready."
And as the sun rose over the blackened peaks, the mountain breathed once more a slow exhale, deep and ancient, neither blessing nor curse, only a reminder.
The fire had not died.It had simply learned patience.