The First Flameborn's skeletal grin lingered as his chains of dead flame rattled. His hollow eyes burned with something like pity.
"Eirian... You must become stronger before you can learn the truth. I can't say more."
Eirian stepped forward, voice sharp. "What do you mean? What extension? What god?"
The corpse opened his mouth. "My brother was in the Purple Mist Realm... but that hand tore through space and time. It destroyed the entire world. My brother couldn't survive. I know vague secrets about why that hand tore through everything—"
He froze mid-sentence.
The air turned thick and sour. The whispers of the canyon died mid-scream. Even the wind held its breath.
The First Flameborn's eyes widened. "No. Not here. Not yet."
Eirian's Soulbrand seared in warning. Something moved in the dark. The ground split—not like an earthquake, but like a black mouth opening.
A beast pulled itself free from the abyss—a monstrosity of gnashing teeth and absence. Its body was a void, its edges blurring as if reality itself refused to look at it directly.
Dris choked, trembling. "A Nebula Stalker... They're supposed to be extinct!"
The creature had a hideous face—just a black mouth and a hunger that bent the world inward. It stood two meters tall, sharp teeth gleaming.
Where it stepped, sound vanished. Memory frayed.
The First Flameborn snarled, his chains flaring—but the beast ignored him and lunged at Eirian, its maw gaping wide.
Eirian sidestepped, his feet grinding into fractured earth, countering with a slash that carved a scar of white fire across the beast's snout. The creature roared—a sound like a dying galaxy—and retaliated with a whip-crack of its nebula-wreathed tail.
Eirian flipped backward, the tail missing him by inches, and landed in a crouch.
"Diris!"
Dris threw a blade. "Catch it!"
Eirian raised his hand, catching the blade as it pulsed, drinking in the ambient energy.
The Stalker blurred—faster than sight—but Eirian anticipated it. He ducked, rolled forward, and drove his blade upward into the beast's underbelly. Black blood sprayed across his face, burning like frost.
The beast convulsed, slammed a clawed limb down. Eirian barely raised his blade—the impact sent him skidding back, boots carving trenches in the earth.
He panted, bleeding, clothes torn. "This is a Nebula Stalker...? It's so strong!"
He attacked again, aiming for its eyes. "Let's see who wins this time."
The Stalker reared back, roaring with a bone-chilling shriek. A black hole formed in its mouth, its hunger warping the battlefield.
Eirian dug his sword into the ground, resisting the pull. His muscles screamed. Bones ached.
With a roar, he ripped his blade free and charged straight into the abyss.
At the last second, he twisted, his blade flashing in a perfect arc. It sheared through the beast's lower jaw, severing it.
The Stalker's maw collapsed, the black hole dissipating into dying starlight. The beast staggered, then began dissolving into mist.
Eirian stood, panting, blade dripping black blood. The creature's eye locked on him—hatred flaring—before it dissolved.
He smiled and raised a hand. "Become stronger. Or this world will eat you alive."
Then the beast vanished, leaving only the echo of its warning.
Eirian collapsed to his knees, bleeding from seven orifices.
Dris approached. "That was weird. Nebula Stalkers aren't that weak. Why did it vanish?"
Eirian agreed. "It didn't feel weak. So why did it retreat?"
Before Dris could answer—the ground shuddered.
A deep pulse thrummed through the earth. The air pressed heavy. Eirian's blade trembled.
"Something is Awakening?" Dris said solemnly.
From the vanished energy, black tendrils rose, forming a massive, lidless eye in the air. Its pupil was a swirling abyss.
A voice vibrated through their bones: "You have slain the Stalker. Now face the Veilborn Spirit."
The earth split. A hand larger than a temple clawed its way from the fissure.
Dris paled. "This aura... Soulspark Realm!"
The Veilborn Spirit moved slowly, inevitability in every step. One finger flicked outward—earth erupted.
Eirian dashed, dodging the shockwave. He retaliated, blade flashing at the Spirit's wrist.
CLANG! His blade cracked, fragments turning to ash.
The Spirit laughed. "Mortal metal cannot harm me."
It turned toward Dris—grabbed him in its colossal grip and squeezed.
Dris screamed, his bones cracking under the pressure. "I'LL KILL YOU!" he roared madly but he was helpless. The Spirit hurled him into a stone wall—the impact carving a crater.
Dris coughed blood, his organs crushed. He couldn't stand.
Eirian's eyes darkened. "Diris...!" But then—he saw it. A flicker of weakness in the Spirit's waist. When it crushed Dris into the stone wall.
"One chance..." He gathered energy into his blade. It glowed orange. He charged.
The Spirit moved—a flaming hand slammed down. Eirian rolled, ribs cracking.
"Pathetic," it rumbled. Eirian forced himself up. "This is it."
He leapt, blade flashing, plunging both blade and hand into the Spirit's weak point.
Dris groaned, unable to move. "I... I couldn't help. I'm sorry..."
Eirian screamed in agony. His flesh burned. Bones cracked. But he held on.
For a fleeting moment, a phoenix mark flickered on his forehead—then vanished.
Eirian smiled through the pain. "Even if I die... you're coming with me."
The Veilborn Spirit roared, its body convulsing as light erupted from within.
Then—silence. The Veilborn Spirit unraveled, its essence banished. Its errie voice echoed. "I'll return..."
Eirian's right arm vaporized. The sky wept shadows. Something ancient stirred beyond.
He fell to his knees, breathing ragged. The scorched soil blackened—dead.
Dris stumbled over. "Are you alright?"
"I'm alive. Barely. It wasn't its true form. Just a fragment."
He sat cross-legged, absorbing his shrouding energy. Wounds began to close—but some pain was deeper.
Later, he opened his eyes. "My arm was lost... my soul... both are damaged."
Dris nodded. "You'll need a Soulshaper."
"What's that?"
"Mystics who mend souls. They can regrow limbs, heal memories. But... they demand payment. Memories. Years of life."
Eirian's eyes hardened. "Then I'll pay."
A thought appeared in Dris's mind as he stared at Eirian oddly. Eirian noticed his gaze and furrowed his brows, feeling a bit uncomfortable.
"Why are you staring at me like I've done something wrong?" he asked, curiosity lacing his voice.
Dris remained silent for a while before finally asking, "How were you able to use Starflow Energy so efficiently? You're only at the peak of the Emberflesh Realm. Normally, only cultivators in the Soulspark Realm can barely begin to harness energy from heaven and earth."
A flicker of surprise crossed Eirian's face. "What is Starflow?" he asked, genuinely confused.
Dris was dumbfounded. He stared at Eirian, trying to determine whether he was lying. But the confusion on Eirian's face was too real.
After a deep breath, Dris began to explain:
"Starflow Energy is the lifeblood of true warriors—the divine current that fuels supernatural strength, speed, and mystical abilities. It's not mere physical stamina or mana. It's something far greater—a cosmic force intertwined with fate itself.
Some believe Starflow originates from the remnant energy of dying stars, absorbed by ancient warriors who first touched the heavens. Others say it's the essence of one's spirit made manifest—the brighter the soul, the stronger the flow. But darker theories claim it's the fragmented power of slain gods, siphoned by mortals who dared to challenge them.
Whatever its origin, Starflow is what separates ordinary fighters from those capable of battling forces beyond mortal comprehension."
Eirian listened intently, absorbing every word. When Dris finished, he nodded thoughtfully.
"So that's Starflow... Thanks for explaining it," Eirian said.
Dris gave a small nod in return.
And then both of them then closed their eyes and began to meditate, focusing on healing their injuries.
--
A Realm Beyond
Far away, in a dimension untouched by time, a pair of golden eyes watched.
The air here was thick with the scent of burning embers and forgotten prayers. A figure sat upon a throne of blackened bone, fingers steepled in contemplation.
"He survived."
The voice was neither male nor female, but primordial, like the first spark of fire in a frozen world.
A second voice answered—a whisper of wind through dead leaves. "He is stronger than the others. But is he strong enough?"
The figure on the throne smiled.
"We shall see."
Author's Note:
Thank you for joining Eirian's journey through Ashes of the Realms! Your support fuels this story's fire. 🔥
If you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reading the novel to your library, leaving a review, or dropping a comment — I'd love to hear your thoughts!