Shadows Over Emberhold
The Fireheart clan could be called a family of considerable prestige, firmly rooted in the heart of Emberhold City.
Across the lands, only four noble clans held the unquestioned reverence of the martial world:
The Voltmaw Clan, ruling from Voltramir City,
The Blackfist Clan, dominant in Vellore City,
The Onyxhide Clan, whose influence reached Ironvale City,
And the Snowfang Clan, strong in the frozen reaches of Glaciera.
It was a hierarchy etched into the memories of all martial artists, whispered in reverence, and feared for the power each clan wielded.
The Fireheart clan, in its early days, could not hope to rival the fame of these four noble houses. Yet, many believed that, given time, the Firehearts would rise to claim a stature equal to theirs, their influence growing steadily with each passing generation.
Loret Fireheart, known across the martial world as the Fire Beast, was the current head of the clan—a man counted among the top hundred masters of the Alliance of the Ten Clans. And not just a master of renown, but one of the strongest among them, his prowess respected, even feared.
Yet, beyond strength, Loret was known for his unyielding righteousness. That sense of justice flowed through the veins of the Fireheart clan. Martial artists of the family devoted themselves to protecting civilians, never exploiting their power to dominate or control. They were called the Sentinels of Emberhold, and they earned that name through deeds that echoed far beyond the city walls.
The children of Loret were already stirring whispers of greatness.
The first daughter, Rias Fireheart, had displayed a natural talent that few could rival, earning her the title of Phoenix Saber among martial artists. And the second daughter, Mio Fireheart, possessed a skill that could easily rival Rias, ensuring the legacy of her elder sister would continue and flourish.
With these two shining heirs, many believed the Fireheart clan's destiny was sealed—to rise ever higher, to carve its name into history. The blood of greatness seemed certain to pass onto the next generation, their fame and prowess assured.
Everyone had assumed that this would be the path of the clan.
I had assumed it too.
Until the young Lord—the only son of the Fireheart clan—fell into darkness. Not just darkness, but a corruption so deep that he became a general of the Night Lotus Demon.
The dynasty's fate had shifted in a single, irrevocable moment.
"-Young master."
The voice of my escort pulled me from my thoughts. Morning had already arrived.
I rose, the first rays of sunlight spilling softly through the window.
"I've woken up," I replied, my voice hoarse from the strange, restless sleep.
I had barely slept these past days, caught in the whirlwind of my own disbelief.
Sigh. I splashed cold water on my face, trying to steady my thoughts.
'…So this really isn't a dream.'
Three days had passed since I returned to my younger self, since death had somehow been reversed.
"How did this happen?" I whispered to the empty room.
There was no answer, no guidance—only silence.
On the first day, I had felt hollow, as if wandering through a past I could never change, trapped in an illusion where my actions meant nothing. I ate, I slept, and I floated through time, numbed by despair.
In hindsight, I should have known something was off the moment I tasted the food and felt the warmth of the sun on my skin.
Yet I had spent the second day the same way as the first, blind to the impossibility of my situation.
"What a retard," I muttered bitterly.
How had it taken me three days to grasp what had happened?
I turned to the window. Gone was the iron prison of the Alliance of the Ten Clans' basement. Instead, the sunlight flooded the room, warm and golden, brushing across the wooden floor.
A subtle warmth spread through me—not just from the sun, but from the recognition that I had returned to the happiest time of my life, snatched from a life destroyed utterly.
I didn't know why, I didn't understand the mechanism, but it felt real.
No, it has to be real.
I clutched that thought, grounding myself in the tangible reality of my own body, in the sensation of warmth in my fingers, the beating of my heart.
And yet, questions tumbled relentlessly in my mind.
Now that I've returned to the past… what should I do? What should I think?
I had to anticipate the pivotal events of the future, remember them, change what I could—but the flood of thoughts was endless. Thousands of possibilities swirled like a storm, threatening to overwhelm me.
Then, a voice called from outside the door.
"-Young master."
I froze, losing my train of thought entirely.
"-The Lord of the house will arrive soon."
Goosebumps ran down my spine. I had been so consumed by the numbness of the past three days that I had not even considered this.
"Father is coming…" I whispered to myself, and a tight knot of anxiety formed in my chest.
My father—who had likely left the clan for work—would return today. Only a few days had passed in this timeline, yet for me, this marked the first encounter in many, many years.
My head throbbed already, not with joy, but with fear.
It wasn't excitement that filled me at the thought of seeing him—it was dread.
His cold, piercing eyes and the sharp, cutting words of my previous life still haunted me, etched deep into memory.
How long are you going to live like that? Do you intend to remain a disgrace to your family till the end?
Those words had burned me, and though I deserved them, understanding did nothing to dull their sting. They had shaped me, scarred me, and even now, they ruled over my heart.
And after everything I had endured, I realized with a clarity that cut deep:
I was still afraid of my father.
"-Young master?"
The servant's voice, patient but insistent, called me again from the doorway.
"I'll be outside after I get ready. How much time do I have left?" I asked, voice trembling slightly.