One Day Later – Within the Hall of Rebirth Flame (涅炎殿 · Niè Yán Diàn)
The Hall of Rebirth Flame stood silent under the breath of twilight, carved deep into a mountain's heart where the ancient fires of Ignisyr never truly died. Its walls glowed faintly with veins of living magma, casting a warm, sacred light that seemed to throb like the heartbeat of the world itself.
Gentle, ever-shifting flames flickered along the ceiling, weaving patterns that told stories of birth, death, and rebirth. Here, in this cradle of undying flame, where fire healed as much as it destroyed, a miracle of survival was unfolding.
On one of the flame-threaded beds, Elder Huǒ Chénróu stirred at last.
A tremble ran down her fingers. Her chest rose with a ragged, desperate breath—as if she were clawing her way back from the edge of oblivion. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and pained, their once-fiery glow dimmed to embers.
She gasped softly, a sound both fragile and defiant.
Pain wracked her body like molten chains. But before she could move, before she could force herself upright, a flurry of shrine elders rushed to her side, cloaked in flowing flame-silk robes that billowed with every hurried step.
"Don't move!"
"Please, Elder Huǒ—lie back down, quickly!"
"Your body's energy veins are still mending—you must not strain yourself!"
Their voices—so urgent, so full of fear—wrapped around her like unseen hands, pressing her gently but firmly against the cushions. The golden healing sigils engraved into her robes pulsed faintly, flowing flame-light through her weakened meridians.
At the far end of the hall, watching with hearts twisted in worry, stood the pillars of the Lóng Family—the mighty Patriarch Lóng Tiānrán, and his two elder sons, Lóng Hǎoyán and Lóng Jùnfēng.
Their eyes—usually proud and steady—were clouded now. With fear. With helplessness.
But even drowning in agony, even smothered under the mountain of her own pain, Huǒ Chénróu fought to speak. Her lips parted, her voice a broken whisper born from the ashes of duty:
"Where… where is the child? Where is... Lóng Yán? Is he... safe?"
The very air seemed to freeze.
All the flames dimmed in an instant, as if holding their breath with her.
A shrine elder stepped forward, his hands raised in calming reassurance, though even his fingers trembled slightly.
"He is alive, Elder Huǒ. Alive and whole. Unconscious... but stable. The caretakers watch over him. His body remains unharmed. No wounds… no permanent damage. Only exhaustion."
A choked, trembling exhale escaped Huǒ Chénróu's lips—a sound caught between relief and disbelief. Tears burned the corners of her vision but did not fall.
"I'm… glad. Truly… but… it's impossible. That child—how could he possibly endure something like that...?"
Her words faded into the thick, humming silence.
The shrine elders exchanged wary glances—glances heavy with questions none dared yet ask.
It was then that Lóng Tiānrán, whose presence seemed to command even the flames themselves, stepped forward, his great hands clenched tightly at his sides.
His voice rumbled through the chamber, low and steady as rolling magma:
"Elder Huǒ… please. Tell us everything. What happened… inside the shrine?"
Recounting the Cataclysm
Huǒ Chénróu closed her eyes briefly, gathering the shattered pieces of memory like ashes swirling in a dying wind. When she spoke, her voice was faint but clear—a survivor's testimony etched in blood and flame.
"Everything… began normally. Lóng Yán awakened his soul element without issue. His Flame… was bright. Pure. Brighter than any child I have ever seen."
She coughed softly, a spasm of weakness.
"But when it came time for his Beastpulse Awakening… everything changed."
The flames on the walls flickered uneasily.
"He approached the Flickerlight Basin as expected. Yet as he drew near… the molten pool shimmered. Not as a reflection—no. It shimmered as if alive. As if something ancient and slumbering was breathing... beneath the surface."
Her hands trembled against the sheets.
"And then… it happened. A rift. A wound in the air itself—torn open by forces beyond understanding. A tear of flame and time."
She gasped for breath, the memory cutting deeper than any blade.
"From that rift… eyes opened. Eyes like burning twin suns. Eyes that devoured all hope of resistance."
A suffocating hush drowned the hall.
"The moment they opened… a Domain descended. It crushed everything. My body collapsed like straw under a falling mountain. I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe."
Her voice, raw with awe and terror, cracked:
"That pressure… it could have killed anyone beneath Level 6—Pulse Control—instantly. Perhaps even stronger cultivators, too."
The shrine elders paled. Even the sacred flames recoiled.
"And yet…"
Her gaze fell upon Lóng Tiānrán, trembling with disbelief:
"Lóng Yán did not fall."
"I saw him. That tiny body—shaking, yes—but standing. Facing those impossible eyes. Facing death and eternity without running."
Tears blurred her vision at last.
"I tried. I tried to save him. I summoned my Beastpulse Armor, fused my spirit with my beast's claw… doubled my strength..."
"But when the creature roared—just once—my armor shattered like thin ice in a storm. My soul screamed—and I blacked out."
The chamber shuddered under the weight of her words.
"Through the haze before I fell unconscious... I caught a glimpse. Only a glimpse. Something dragon-like… wreathed in stars and flame. But what it truly was—I still do not know."
Unsettling Realizations
One elder whispered, his voice breaking:
"A Level 5, 7-Star elder… defeated by a single roar…"
Another added, horror dawning in his eyes:
"What kind of… beast… could wield such strength?"
Lóng Tiānrán's hands, fists of stone, trembled at his sides.
"Then… how did my son survive?"
No one answered.
Silence reigned, thicker than the ash of a dead world.
Until finally—hesitantly—one elder stepped forward, as if speaking a forbidden truth:
"Maybe… the beast wasn't trying to kill him."
All heads turned sharply.
"Maybe... it was testing him. Choosing him."
His voice dropped to a whisper:
"Maybe… it crossed realms not to destroy—but to bond."
The flames, the stones, the very mountain seemed to shudder with understanding.
Patriarch Lóng Tiānrán's eyes glistened, ancient fear and immortal hope warring within them.
"Chosen..."
He whispered the word like a prayer. Or a curse.
Behind him, Lóng Hǎoyán and Lóng Jùnfēng could do nothing but watch.
They were still only boys. Yet they could feel it.
The terrible, glorious weight of the truth:
Their little brother had faced a power beyond this world… and had not knelt.
He had stood.
Alone.
Quiet Corridor – The Elders' Secret Discussion
Later, in a narrow flame-lit corridor, hidden from the public eye, four shrine elders huddled together, their faces as pale as ghostlight.
One spoke, barely above a whisper:
"It must be… 破脉之崩 – Pò Mài Zhī Bēng… Pulsegate Shatter."
Another nodded grimly.
"He didn't just awaken a Beastpulse. He tore through the boundary between worlds."
"Connected directly to the Beastpulse Realm…"
They exchanged grave looks.
"This must be reported. Immediately. The upper echelons—the Blazebirth Crucible Hall in Cindralore—they must know."
The flames along the corridor danced wildly, reflecting the storm now rising in their hearts.
For in their bones, they understood:
A child like this would change the world.
And the world would not react kindly.
Meeting the Lóng Patriarch
In the main hall, Lóng Tiānrán stood alone, unmoving, a silent sentinel before the doors of the healing chamber.
When the elders approached, he did not turn.
Their voices broke against the shield of his silence.
"Patriarch Lóng, we believe your son may have triggered a Pulsegate Shatter... a once-in-ten-thousand-lifetimes event..."
"The rift. The pressure. The beast's manifestation—there is no other explanation…"
"Prepare yourself. Greater powers may come seeking him."
Still, Tiānrán only whispered:
"All I want… is for him to wake up."
The corridor once again fell into silence.
The low crackle of the sacred flames along the walls was the only sound, and even that seemed distant — as if the fire itself dared not disturb this moment.
The shrine elders lowered their heads, not out of shame, but out of the deep, inexpressible respect they felt for the weight Lóng Tiānrán now carried alone.
He was not merely a Patriarch.
He was a father.
A father standing before a storm the world had not seen for countless generations.
A father who had no sword sharp enough, no shield thick enough, to protect his youngest child from the tide that was surely coming.
And still, all he asked for — all he begged for — was simple:
"Let him wake."
He did not care about glory.
He did not care about destiny.
He did not care about the heavens trembling or the realms stirring.
He only cared about the tiny, precious life sleeping beyond that door.
The boy who still clutched his dreams in small fists.
The boy who had laughed with him in the gardens and fallen asleep against his chest, warmed by stories of ancient heroes.
His son.
His Yán'er.
The eldest shrine elder swallowed heavily, emotions twisting across his weathered face.
In a voice almost too soft to hear, he murmured:
"May the heavens be merciful..."
And they left him there, alone in the fire-lit hall, waiting with a patience only love could forge.
Meanwhile – The Brothers Who Would Not Leave
Hidden in the quiet edges of the Hall of Rebirth Flame, two small figures stood vigil.
Lóng Hǎoyán and Lóng Jùnfēng — once mischievous, playful boys — had not laughed in two days.
Their clothes were wrinkled from sleepless nights.
Their young faces, normally bright with childish boldness, were weighed down by a solemnity far too heavy for their years.
They did not complain.
They did not ask to leave.
They simply stayed — side by side, unmoving, as if by their sheer will they could pull their little brother back from wherever he had wandered.
Without speaking, they moved — slipping closer to the healing bed.
The flames surrounding Lóng Yán seemed gentler here, almost protective, wrapping his small form in a cocoon of warmth.
Jùnfēng knelt down first, biting his lip to hold back tears, reaching out a tentative hand.
But before he could touch his brother—
"You two punks—what are you doing?!"
A sharp voice cracked across the hall, startling them both.
One of the elder caretakers stormed forward, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together like thunderclouds.
Caught, the boys quickly bowed, heads lowered.
"We're sorry, Elder!"
"We just… we just wanted to be near him…"
The elder's fierce expression faltered.
He stared at their small, trembling forms — and he saw not disobedience, but loyalty.
Not foolishness, but love.
He sighed, long and heavy, and ruffled both boys' hair roughly.
"Worrying won't wake him any faster, you stubborn cubs," he muttered.
"But... stay, if you must. Just stay quiet."
The boys nodded fiercely, eyes shining.
And so, they knelt beside their brother once more.
The flames crackled quietly, as if offering a lullaby.
The world outside continued to turn — but here, in the Hall of Rebirth Flame, time itself seemed to hold its breath.
The Dream Realm – Within the Star Vein Nexus
In the depths of his soul, far beyond the reach of healers or family, Lóng Yán wandered through a dream unlike any other.
He opened his eyes —
And found himself adrift in an endless world of mist and shadow.
There was no ground beneath his feet.
No sky above his head.
Only swirling fog stretching into forever, humming with the heartbeat of something ancient and unseen.
"Father? Big brothers?"
"Where are you?!"
He shouted into the void, his tiny voice trembling, but strong.
No answer came.
Yet he did not sit down. He did not cry.
He ran forward — barefoot, small, determined.
Around him, the dream began to change.
The fog cracked underfoot, and from the shattered world, heat exploded upwards —
Great rivers of molten lava tore through the mist, birthing flaming tornadoes that clawed at the heavens.
Thunder roared with enough force to tear mountains apart.
Lightning cracked across the churning skies like heavenly whips, each bolt carrying the fury of gods.
The world was ending.
And Lóng Yán stood in the center of it all.
The fire lashed at him.
The wind shrieked against his skin.
The lightning clawed at his spirit.
Yet he did not fall.
Instead — the chaos swirled around him, drawn irresistibly toward the center of his chest.
There, nestled deep within his soul, his Star Vein Nexus (星脉核心) pulsed weakly — a fragile seed of limitless potential.
The forces of flame, storm, and wind crashed against it —
And instead of fusing, they locked it.
A Seal.
A prison made not of chains, but of elements themselves.
The bond he had formed — the link to the ancient beast waiting for him —
It was hidden.
Bound beneath layers of cosmic flame and primordial storm.
He would awaken.
He would grow.
But the truth of his Beastpulse would remain buried for ten long years… until the time was right.
Until he was ready.
Before the Lava Mountain
The world shifted again.
The storm calmed.
The ground solidified beneath his feet, turning into cracked, burning stone.
And before Lóng Yán now loomed a titanic mountain of living lava, its peak crowned with golden flames that burned brighter than the sun.
Atop that impossible summit… rested an egg.
Large as a curled child.
Black as obsidian.
Veined with molten rivers of crimson and gold.
A soft, rhythmic pulse echoed from within — a sleeping heart of unimaginable power.
Inside the egg, faint and flickering, was a curled dragon embryo —
its body formed of pure, living flame, wrapped protectively around a golden core.
Lóng Yán's breath caught.
"Wooooow... such a big egg..."
He whispered it in awe, voice full of innocent wonder, as he tiptoed closer.
Reaching out a small hand, he tapped the egg lightly with one finger.
"Hey! Who's inside? Hehe… wake up~!"
He giggled, utterly fearless in the presence of the miracle before him.
But just then—
From the corner of his eye, he saw it:
A floating, glowing scroll.
A scroll of living flame, inscribed with runes that shifted and danced like starlight.
Curious, he reached out—
And without warning, the scroll shot forward and slammed into his forehead!
"W-What?! What what what!? Come out!! What just happened!?"
He spun in a circle, arms flailing, voice rising in frantic, hilarious panic.
And then—
The world faded to black.
Back in the Real World – Awakening
"Lóng Yán has awakened!"
The cry shattered the heavy stillness of the Hall of Rebirth Flame like a blade through glass.
Elders rushed forward.
Patriarch Lóng Tiānrán surged into the room, Lóng Hǎoyán and Lóng Jùnfēng on his heels.
They surrounded the bed, hearts pounding.
"Yán'er! Are you alright?!"
"Are you hurt?!"
"Can you hear us?!"
Blinking against the sudden brightness, Lóng Yán opened his eyes — wide, round, confused.
The faces above him blurred, then sharpened —
And the first thing he saw was love.
Pure, fierce, overwhelming love.
"I... I'm fine... I think..."
His voice was small but steady.
But then—his eyes widened.
He clutched his forehead dramatically.
"Dad! Brothers! Did you see?! A flame scroll! It hit me!"
Everyone stared at him, baffled.
Patriarch Lóng Tiānrán gently touched his son's forehead.
"There's nothing there, Yán'er."
A shrine elder chuckled kindly.
"You were asleep for four days, child. Perhaps… it was just a dream."
"Four days...?"
Lóng Yán repeated it in a daze.
But it had felt so real.
The fire.
The dragon.
The egg…
He shook his head, clearing the fog.
And then—
He threw aside the blanket with a grin bright as sunrise.
"LOOK! LOOK!! I made it!!"
In a burst of joy, he summoned fire to his palm.
A pure, vivid flame danced on his small hand, crackling with life.
The air around him shimmered with radiant heat.
Everyone froze.
Stared.
And then—
Smiles broke out like dawn after a long night.
"He really did it…"
"He awakened…"
"A true flame!"
The joy was overwhelming.
The storm had passed.
And for the first time in days, the Hall of Rebirth Flame was filled not with fear—
But with hope.
Hope that burned brighter than the flames on the walls.
Hope that warmed even the coldest corners of weary souls.
Hope born not of grand prophecy or destiny proclaimed from high heavens—
—but of a small boy, standing barefoot, laughing as he held fire in his tiny hand.
Lóng Yán laughed with pure delight, the sound like sunlight breaking through thunderclouds.
He danced in place, the flame swirling around his fingers like a playful spirit.
"Dad! Big brothers! Look, look! I really did it!"
Lóng Tiānrán knelt before his son, a trembling hand reaching out to steady the boy's shoulders—not because Yán'er was falling, but because he himself could barely stand under the surge of overwhelming emotion.
Pride. Relief. Gratitude. Love.
They all clashed together in his chest, a torrent he could not voice, could not master.
Behind him, Lóng Hǎoyán and Lóng Jùnfēng cheered loudly, forgetting all solemnity, rushing forward to hug their little brother, careful not to snuff out the flame that danced between them.
Even the shrine elders, once so distant and formal, clapped their hands together, exchanging teary smiles.
It was a moment no one would ever forget.
Scene: The Beastpulse Reveal Attempt — The Breath Held
But even amidst the waves of celebration, a new current began to rise.
A shrine elder, barely able to contain his excitement, stepped forward quickly, his long flame-patterned robes fluttering behind him like banners in a windstorm.
"Lóng Yán,"
he said eagerly, voice thick with anticipation,
"you have awakened your flame... but what about your Beastpulse?"
The hall immediately quieted.
The elders straightened.
The healers paused.
The very flames along the walls seemed to lean closer, listening.
Everyone knew—everyone remembered—the impossible phenomenon that had erupted during his awakening.
The shattered sky.
The rift.
The roaring beast that had almost broken the shrine.
Surely, surely, the creature bound to Lóng Yán now would be no ordinary beast.
Surely, it would be something ancient, something mythic, something that could shake even the heavens.
Even Lóng Tiānrán, normally so composed, found his heart pounding against his ribs.
He laid a steadying hand on his son's small shoulder and smiled gently.
"It's alright, Yán'er. We all want to know. Can you show us?"
Lóng Yán blinked, wide-eyed and curious.
"How?"
His innocent question made a few of the elders chuckle softly.
Tiānrán leaned closer, his voice patient, fatherly:
"Focus, little one. Feel the flame inside your chest. Find where it's deepest... where it becomes part of you."
He gently tapped Yán'er's heart.
"That's your Star Vein Nexus — the place where your Beastpulse sleeps."
The boy nodded earnestly.
"Good. Now gather your flame there, just a little bit... bring it to your fingertip."
He mimed the movement for him—slow, careful.
"And when you feel it gather… write the word '汇 – Converge' in the air."
"After that, call out: '解脉 – Unbind!'"
The hall went utterly silent.
Not a breath was wasted.
Not a sound dared break the moment.
Elders leaned forward.
Healers froze mid-step.
Even the flickering lights steadied, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
The Attempt – A Sudden Collapse
Lóng Yán closed his eyes, a fierce little frown scrunching his forehead in concentration.
He inhaled.
He exhaled.
And deep within his soul, he found it—the small, glowing star that was his flame element—shining brightly inside the warm dark of his Star Vein Nexus.
He gathered the energy carefully, feeling it flow along his veins, heating his blood.
He raised one small finger—
Began to trace the character—
"汇—!"
But the moment the flame-touched energy brushed the very core of his Star Vein Nexus—
Something went terribly wrong.
A crack, sharp and invisible, split through his soul.
K-CRACK!
The gathered energy rebounded violently, like a hammer striking shattering glass.
The force lashed outward, throwing him backward as if he were nothing more than a leaf in a storm.
"Ah—!"
Lóng Yán cried out, collapsing heavily onto the flame-silk bed.
"YÁN'ER!"
The cry tore from Tiānrán's throat, raw and desperate.
He rushed forward, catching the boy before he could fall again.
Hǎoyán and Jùnfēng darted to either side of their brother, faces white with terror.
The shrine elders converged at once, hands flashing with healing seals, their voices tense but controlled.
"Stabilize the Star Veins!"
"Check his spirit channels—quickly!"
Diagnosis – A Seal Beyond Mortal Hands
After a few harrowing breaths, an elder placed a trembling hand against the boy's heart.
He exhaled in relief.
"He's stable. No ruptures. No internal bleeding. His life force is intact."
Another, older elder—his brows furrowed deeper than canyon walls—stepped forward and added gravely:
"But his soul... bears a wound. Not one of injury—but of sealing."
The elders exchanged grim, puzzled glances.
A seal?
A lock placed directly upon the boy's Star Vein Nexus?
By what?
By whom?
Only forces beyond this world could touch a soul so deeply.
One elder finally whispered, his voice laden with wonder and fear:
"It wasn't time yet.
His Beastpulse... it's hidden.
Hidden by a will not of mortal making."
The Father's Embrace
Cradling his son's small body against his chest, Lóng Tiānrán bowed his head low.
He pressed his forehead against the top of Yán'er's tousled hair and whispered:
"You did enough, my son... more than enough."
"Rest. Grow strong. When the time comes, you will awaken fully. We'll be here. We'll be waiting. Always."
His voice broke at the end.
And none dared to interrupt the sacred silence that followed.
The sacred silence wrapped around the Hall of Rebirth Flame like a living thing—tender, heavy, unshakable.
Every elder lowered their gaze.
Every healer bowed their head.
Even the flames lining the ancient walls seemed to dim, bowing their flickering bodies low in reverence to the moment unfolding before them.
Here, in this cradle of fire and stone, Lóng Tiānrán — the Sovereign of the Flameblood Lineage, the Iron Pillar of Ashmere — was not a Patriarch.
Not a warrior.
Not a figure of awe.
He was simply a father.
A father holding his precious child against a chest that had endured a thousand battles, but could barely withstand the tiny, fragile weight of his son's unconscious form.
His calloused fingers, so used to gripping spears and swords, now trembled as they brushed messy strands of hair away from Yán'er's peaceful face.
"More than enough..."
The words left him again in a whisper, softer than any prayer he had ever uttered to the heavens.
Tears—unforgivable for a man of his stature—threatened to escape his tightly clenched eyes.
But he did not wipe them away.
Not here.
Not now.
For in this moment, no pride mattered.
Only love.
Only gratitude.
Only the silent, desperate promise that no matter what storms came, no matter what demons or gods set their sights upon this boy—
He would stand before them.
He would burn the skies if he had to.
He would raze the world itself, if that was the price.
Because this child...
This flame...
Was everything.
Scene: The Departure – A Family's Silent March
As the sacred moment waned, the shrine elders finally stirred.
One stepped forward, voice low, formal, but brimming with genuine respect.
"Patriarch Lóng... you have our eternal prayers."
"Please... take him home. Let the warmth of family heal what flame and time cannot."
Tiānrán nodded once — a heavy, deliberate gesture.
He rose to his full height, towering and unbreakable, yet cradling Yán'er as one would cradle the most delicate ember in a winter storm.
His eldest sons, Lóng Hǎoyán and Lóng Jùnfēng, flanked him without a word, their young faces grim with the weight they too now bore.
The great doors of the Hall of Rebirth Flame creaked open.
A gust of night air swept inside—cold, sharp, almost jealous of the warmth it touched.
And so, the Lóng Family marched forward into the darkness, carrying with them the fragile flame of tomorrow.
The shrine elders, all assembled in full formal array, bowed deeply as they passed.
Not as superiors to an inferior.
But as mortals paying homage to something they barely dared to name.
Something... destined.
Scene: Behind the Doors – The Whispers of Worry
But even as the doors swung closed behind the departing family—
Even as the echoes of their footsteps faded into the night—
The tension that had been buried beneath celebration and hope resurfaced.
Stronger.
Sharper.
The shrine elders gathered in the deepest shadows of the hall, their flame-patterned robes whispering against the stone as they huddled together.
Their faces—moments ago radiant with joy—were now drawn tight with fear.
"It cannot be hidden."
One elder spoke first, his voice like a dry crack of kindling.
"The signs are too great. Too many witnessed the phenomena."
Another nodded grimly.
"The Pulsegate Shatter... the failed Beastpulse Reveal... the rift... the roaring domain that bent even spirit laws..."
A third elder whispered what none wished to hear:
"This child... may awaken forces beyond our control."
The flames along the walls twisted violently, as if recoiling from the very thought.
One elder, ancient beyond reckoning, slammed his staff against the ground with a sharp clang, drawing the others to immediate attention.
"We must report this. Immediately."
"To the Blazebirth Crucible Hall."
"To Cindralore itself."
"The Sacred Flame Council must be informed."
They all nodded — some reluctantly, some fearfully.
For they knew:
Such news would not bring guardians alone.
It would bring seekers.
Scholars.
Kings.
And worse.
It would bring those who saw not a child, but a weapon.
Not a life, but a key.
A key to realms that had no place in the hands of mortals.
The Final Whisper
As the shrine elders dispersed into the corridors, scattering like anxious shadows, one lingered behind.
A younger elder, his robes still crisp with recent induction, stood before the great flame altar at the heart of the hall.
He knelt, bowing until his forehead touched the warm stone.
And in a voice so soft even the flames barely caught it, he prayed:
"Please..."
"Let him have the strength to endure what is coming."
"Let him not be crushed by the weight the heavens have placed upon his shoulders."
"Let him live... not as a weapon. Not as a tool."
"But as a boy. As a flame. As himself."
And somewhere, high above the world, beyond the reach of mortal prayers—
The sleeping stars stirred.
The ancient flames flickered.
And destiny, vast and terrible, shifted slightly upon its course.
[End of Chapter 3]