Ash Kiln Village, night.
Firelight flickered before a newly erected Mortal Flame Stele. Dozens of youths sat cross-legged in cultivation, flames twinkling like stars in their palms—a splendid sight marking the dawn of the Mortal Flame Era. But suddenly, one boy shuddered. The flame in his palm abruptly went out, turning into a pinch of pale gray powder that scattered on the wind.
"My fire... my fire is gone!" he cried, his eyes filled with terror. "It... it turned to ash!"
Then a second, a third... they collapsed one after another, the flames in their palms silently dying, leaving only ash. Some lay unconscious, some wept and screamed, and some tried to rekindle their fire seeds, only to find they could no longer sense dou qi.
"This is no accident..." The old village physician tremblingly scooped up a handful of ash and held it beneath his nose. His expression changed sharply. "This ash... has 'consciousness.' It is... breathing."
By the time Lin Yan arrived, the horizon had turned the pale white of a fish's belly. He crouched and lightly touched the ash with his fingertips. Instantly, an icy burning sensation climbed his fingers—not fire, not ice, but a forgotten pain, like the final sighs of countless people on the brink of death.
"It is the Emberfolk's sacrifice," he murmured. "They intend to gather all flames into an offering and rekindle the ashen emperor flame."
"But... weren't they the ones who lit the mortal flames?" a girl struggled to ask. "We only gained fire seeds through the Mortal Flame Gate. Why would they destroy them?"
Lin Yan looked toward the Northern Desert, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Because they do not intend to destroy them. They intend to seize them."
"The Mortal Flame Gate awakened the myriad people's heart flame,